#the woman he fell for all those years ago on that slave ship - the woman he swore he’d find and free if he could | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lazarettta · 3 years

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Misthios II

Characters (Mother Miranda, Reader, Lady Alcina)

Word count (3.1k)

Rating (M)

Warning (little NSFW, language)

Did you really think that Miranda was going to let you leave so easily? Again?

Anything italicized is a flashback...this is part two to Misthios

Your time with the Vikings was fun but all good things had to come to an end. Over the years, you hadn't been too keen on letting too many people in on your secret. Your friends and makeshift family were getting older and you weren't. You were still fit for battle and as young and strong as you were twelve years ago. You knew that you'd overstayed your welcome but you weren't ready to leave until there were too many comments about you not aging a day. It had taken you a week to get your steed ready for long travel and to make sure that you had everything necessary, including the coin to purchase more supplies should you need it.

You weren't above doing odd jobs during your travels if needed. The viking children ran alongside you and your stallion as you both trotted out of the village until you were on an open road. You saluted them before taking off into a run following the lead of your war horse, allowing her to dictate your travels until she decided that she needed a break.

You had all of the time and opportunity in the land.

You traveled like that for a few days until you were coming upon a village but the path was winding and would take some time but you had plenty of daylight and were in no rush. Everything was peaceful until you came across an overturned wagon and nearly trampled over a body laying face down into the soft ground. The dark puddle around him did not indicate that the man would be rising soon.

You were quick to draw your bow and arrow, a good distance from the fight and you had an advantage in case any of them came for you. There was a black flag on the ground near the wagon but it held an insignia that you didn't recognize but you knew royalty when you saw it. The soldiers had the upper hand but there were a few of them dead as well. On the other side, you saw one of the bandits jump on the back of a horse to leave.

Without much of a thought, you raised your weapon of choice and not a second later, you felt the smooth wood of the arrow slip between your calloused fingers and you watched proudly as it found a home in the base of the man's spine, effectively halting his escape but leaving him alive for the time being but he was not without suffering.

It was at that same moment the last bandit was struck down. The remaining soldiers turned to you with their swords raised but before anything else could happen, a sharp and clear but decidedly feminine voice stopped the misunderstanding before it could happen.

A woman with light-colored long hair stepped from behind a large oak tree with two foot soldiers in tow. She didn't seem to care about the ends of her dress being sullied by the mud and blood on the trail as she made her way towards you. You climbed down from your horse when she was closer, not surprised that you were taller than she was but she wasn't that much shorter than you really.

Most other women you met that were your height or taller were fellow warriors. Her eyes were what really startled you, they were so clear they were almost white. They did not have a clear color to them, not one that you could see.

“You are a very long way from home, Viking.”

“Yes, in search of a new one.” you glanced over her shoulder briefly to the soldiers dealing with the one who tried to escape, his agonized yelling startling a nest of crows nearby.

“You don't seem like the type to miss a killing shot.”

Your gaze fell back to her unwavering one and you fought the urge to fidget under her stare even though you were the one towering over her. Her posture was none threatening and her smile had a teasing tilt to it, but her eyes...they pierced your soul, pinned you. You were unsure if you wanted to run from them or figure out how deep they went.

“I figured your King and Queen would want one alive to question.”

“The King has been dead for a long time now.” The woman tilted her head back slightly as if looking at you in a new light and you straightened your back and pushed your shoulders subconsciously and the corners of her pale lips curled a little more. “Have dinner with me tonight, viking, as a token of my gratitude. Those bandits have been quite a torn in my side for a very long time now. Thanks to you, maybe now I will find their leader.”

The physical ache you felt when waking up was around your throat, well your whole neck. Your skin had long since healed over but it took the aches and bruises a while longer to go away. You don't know how long you've been unconscious but even without opening your eyes you knew that you were no longer outside on the side of a mountain which meant that she didn't kill you. But she still hurt you. You didn't know if she showed restraint because you both knew that killing you would be pointless and temporary or she truly didn't want to see you harm even if she was upset with you. You knew that it was the former.

Upset being the understatement.

You opened one eye then the other, wherever she put you it was warm if not a little moldy and it was definitely dark, you weren't quite sure if the torch on the other side of your cage helped any. Maybe it wasn't meant for you to use to see but to ensure that you wouldn't go completely insane in total darkness. It made more sense, you wouldn't want your prisoner to look around either lest they find something to use to escape.

You moved so that your back was against the stone wall, mildly surprised to find that it was a little damp. Your neck was still covered in dried blood but you didn't bother trying to scrape it off, knowing from experience that it wasn't the most pleasant feeling and one you chose not to deal with at the moment though you did pick away the random straws of hay from your skin as you'd been laying on it.

If you had to guess then you were in a basement, whether it was hers or not—you couldn't just sit there. Your backpack was long gone, you didn't have to look around your little cage to know that much. You checked for your gun not surprised to find that it was gone...she even took the damn holster.

You checked for your knife on your waist...gone. You checked the one that was hidden in your boots, or was supposed to be but it was gone too. Even after all this time, she knew you all too well. But even without weapons, a small cage like this wouldn't be enough to keep you. You just needed a plan but you had no idea where the hell you were. You reached up to feel your neck where you remembered her nails digging painfully into your flesh...

Gold plated armor, soft leathers and the finest silk that currency could purchase found themselves haphazardly tossed about all over the floor of the room. They reflected nicely against the small flames of the candles around the room.

The room was temporary, a small stop during your travels across the sea—this was merely a supply stop, but with the weather so severe, the waves were slaves to Poseidon's wrath. The ship was safer docked but she wouldn’t spend another night on board if she didn’t have to.

And didn’t, neither of you did. You were her personal champion—you went where she went. She pointed, and you left a path of bloody boot prints. Her wish was your command.

She laid bare before you, it wasn’t a sight that many were blessed with and no matter what sin you’ve committed at this woman’s whim (hell, even your own), you always thanked the Gods for giving you sight.

The fireplace is the only thing lighting up the entire room behind you both, you could feel the heat of it drying up your sweat but not all of it. You were straddling her, knees on either side of her waist—one hand on her waist and the other by her head, fingers interlaced with the hand that wasn’t reaching back clutching you tight, nails digging into your skin but that slight pain only fueled you.

Her light hair was out of its strict confines and complicated royal hairstyle, now splayed across her blemish free back and the pillows.

This was your reward; having her. You did exactly as she asked, you brought her the heads of those who crossed her and bathed in their blood and in the blood of their loved ones. You left no stone unturned simply because it was her wish.

And in return…you got her, however you wanted. But even trapped underneath you—she was never not in command. You placed your other hand next to her head as well, feeling her cool breath ghosting over your fingers turn sharp and unsteady when your hips snapped forward without warning. Her fingers tightening around yours. She tried to push back against you to take back some control but you met her attempt with untamed energy. Miranda's breathy chuckle tapered off into a mix of a growl and a moan when you did it again and again…

Shaking your head, you let it fall back on the hard wall behind you with your eyes closed. You've longed since buried those memories but they were fresh, as if they were made yesterday. The ache in your heart felt fresh too.

Then you felt it. No you felt her. Her presence was so strong, nearly suffocating and that feeling of dread was crawling up your spine again and you suppressed a strong shudder. You reluctantly opened your eyes, knowing that those eyes you fell so hard for would be looking back at you—the same eyes that tore to shreds. Even after all this fucking time...

You exhaled slowly and heavy, content to just stare at your boots, “I didn't expect to find you here of all places...”

“Would you have come if you'd known that I would be here?”

You looked up and saw that her startling bright eyes were staring back at you, still just as clear as the day you first met, “Why am I in this cage and not dead in a ditch? Besides the fucking obvious.”

She didn't say anything to you for a moment, simply standing there staring at you—drinking you in, it made your skin crawl, both good and bad. If she was bothered about you blatantly ignoring her question, it didn't show—or at least that damn mask she was wearing hid it away from you. All those emotions you'd long since buried and thought you dealt with came bubbling back to the surface like bile in the back of your throat but you kept a tight rein on it. Your explosive temper never dulled over time but you got better at containing it.

But no matter how good you were with restraining yourself, Miranda always knew. You could see it in her eyes. You hated her for it.

“I felt you the moment you arrived.” she said instead after long minutes of unblinking silence, she edged closer to your cell, unconcerned with the fact that you could lunge forward at any point and grab her. “I'm relieved to find you're still alive...and in good health?”

“Either kill me and ditch me somewhere, or just let me go, Miranda. I'm not doing this with you.”

“I cannot and will not do either, (Y/n).” she responded coolly after another minute of silence, keeping your gaze now that you've given it to her, “I just got you back, I'm not going to let you leave me so soon. Not again.”

“You didn't really give me a choice the first time!” you snapped back despite what you told yourself earlier about keeping calm and breathing, but seeing Miranda now—even more beautiful than she was before? It was too much at once. “You made that decision for both of us.” you said, much more quieter but she was close enough to have heard you perfectly fine and you were finally able to look away from those burning eyes.

“You're different.”

“The world is different.”

“Time has made you soft.”

You scoffed, “Would you like to borrow some of it? I mean...what the fuck is this? Where am I?” She regarded you calmly as if she was assessing you, but her eyes were roaming too much to be a simple assessment and you just laughed, sharp and unforgiving, you couldn't help yourself, “Do you feel guilty? Did you ever?”

“I don't have time to feel guilty!” she answered a little too quickly and you saw how her shoulders shifted slightly beneath those feathers, always a tell sign of hers that you never failed to notice and honestly you were surprised that you still even remembered her tales. She was so obviously different, you both were but this dance? While off tune and tense, was still your dance.

“Right, I see.” you tried to ignore it, you really did, but a little piece of your heart fell away at her admission because there was still a small part of you that still longed for closure.

“(Y/n)...”

“Do you even remember what you're supposed to even feel guilty for?”

“Stop it! You're not being fair!” she growled at you, pressing closer against the bars—if she pushed anymore she'd probably break the damn things, or materialize right through them but that didn't stop you from scrambling to your feet to meet her head on, refusing to let her have the full advantage.

“Neither were you! I...” you stopped abruptly, literally choking on your words and you forced yourself to close your mouth and Miranda watched every single emotion drain from your face as if you had flipped a switch and her hands balled into even tighter fists at her sides, unsure what to say and you had nothing left to say.

You two stood staring at each other, once again. Eyes locked but not a word more was said. She reached up, one hand wrapping around an old iron bar, her engraved golden nails clinking softly against the metal.

“Mother Miranda.” a firm but sinewy voice echoed around you both, calling for your attention and it was feminine but you couldn't see who it belonged to. She was just out of range of the cell entrance and you'd have to move closer to Miranda to see who it belonged to—and that wasn't something you were interested in doing, “I apologize for the interruption...but we have a problem.”

“What.” Miranda hissed, her voice no longer soft and velvet—the only way you could describe it was deity like. Stronger, harsher and it would've been scarier if you didn't know the woman behind the mask.

“That fool Heisenberg let that man thing escape the forest and he's now roaming in the village.”

“I see.” Miranda's eyes fell to you again, radiating more power than they did earlier. You'd been so busy arguing with her, you hadn't heard the other woman approach and you wondered how much of that she actually overheard, “When you are ready to talk, I will be waiting for you, my little warrior.”

“Stop calling me that!” you spat, glaring at her irritatingly, “I'm not your anything...perhaps your enemy. You'd do better by just letting me leave, Miranda because you and I both know that killing me isn't an option.”

“And I already told you. I'm not letting you leave me, not again.” she was suddenly right in front of you, inside of the iron cage and you had no fucking idea how she did that but she was too close but the stone wall behind you didn't give away, no matter how hard you pressed. Her eyes were softer now, and you actually had to crane your neck a bit to see them, even at an even six feet, “Learn the truth then you decide if you wish to leave or to stay.”

“The truth?” you scoffed, well aware that you two still weren't alone, “The truth has long since past to be of any interest to me.” you lied straight through your teeth all the while looking into her eyes, you saw a speck of emotion but it was hard to tell when they were so alive, “I don't care about your truth anymore, Miranda.”

“You may not...but I do. Did our love mean nothing to you?” you both ignored the startled noise behind you, “All those late nights and early mornings? I think about them often when this life permits me to...I...do have regrets, (Y/n)...and wishes, most never granted.” she admitted, quietly—her deity voice gone for the moment, “One of my biggest regrets and my biggest wish was you, (Y/n).”

You didn't know how to unpack that in this moment because Miranda suddenly had both her hands on the wall, trapping you as she leaned closer—you knew what she was doing, hell she even knew what she was fucking doing? Was it working? Like the fool you were—it was.

“Allow me time to settle this issue and then we will talk, (Y/n).”

You could see the uncertainty in her eyes, and you almost told her to go fuck herself...it was on the tip of your tongue but your heart was still as stupid as it was thousands of years ago. You kept your lips firmly pressed together, but nodded curtly almost reluctantly. She didn't smile, not really, but that familiar curve of her lips made you tense a little. You were a fucking idiot, and you knew it.

“Lady Dimitrescu will house you. I will send for you when I am ready.” she lingered for a second longer, seeming to want to say more. Suddenly she pushed herself away from you and walking out of your cell with ease, pushing the heavy door out of her way leaving you bewildered.

Had it been unlocked this whole time? She hadn't even bothered to retrain you, but she knew you wouldn't make a move because now she had now something to keep you behaved long enough and you agreed to it.

Ayyye Alcinnaaaa! Idk who's playing but Donna's house scary as shit. Y'all fuck with this story?

#resident evil 8 #mother miranda x reader #alcina x reader #mother miranda #lady alcina x reader #resident evil #resident evil village #lady alcina #lady dimitrescu #dis tew much #assassin's creed odyssey #I'm simpin hard af over here

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echo-bleu · 3 years

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Retrouvailles

Fandom: Hamilton/AmRev/18th century RPF, Elams&Lafayette, Canon Era

Written for the server's group prompt challenge. Loosely based on this quote (loosely because it got away from me, as usual). Read it on AO3.

Georges slips out from Alexander’s hand on his shoulder when the passengers of the newly docked ship start disembarking. He’s anxious, but excited, his boyish enthusiasm still overwhelming the vague dread that pools in all their minds, the fear of what they might find. Alexander watches him bound up to the group of passengers trying to find their footing on land and immediately find the people he’s looking for. Two girls, one already a young woman and the other just a teenager, tightly holding hands. They’re both too thin, but they grin widely when Georges reaches them and engulf him in a hug.

Eliza’s breath itches when she sees the man standing behind them, clutching the railing for support. Alexander almost doesn’t recognize him. He’s aged, more than she imagined, his face thin and drawn. He’s of an age with them, but he looks much older. His clothes hang on his frame, and the lines around his eyes and his mouth tell a story of hardships that bring Alexander right back to the prisoners and the slaves he saw on the streets of Christiansted.

Almost reflexively, Alexander grabs Eliza’s hand for support. She sighs softly at his side, her expression mirroring her own. On Alexander’s other side, John swallows harshly. After so many years of worrying, the relief is overwhelming, but it doesn’t come close to extinguishing the guilt that feeds the flame.

They tried to tell themselves that it was the only way, that they couldn’t help their friend, that America couldn’t afford another war. They lent full support to Angelica’s effort to help Lafayette escape and they arranged for his back pay from the war to be approved by Congress, even collaborating with Jefferson to expedite it. They tried to tell themselves that it was enough. But what can truly justify leaving their friend to rot in prison half a world away, while they safely built a family and a country here?

Lafayette has his arm around a woman’s waist, supporting her. She looks tired and wan, although still young. Adrienne, Alexander assumes, Lafayette’s wife and Georges’ mother. Adrienne who, according to the letter Lafayette sent to warn them of his voyage, fell so ill in prison that she nearly couldn’t sail. Georges’ sisters seem healthier than either of their parents, but there are shadows in their eyes even as they embrace their brother.

Adrienne’s choice to join her husband in prison, along with her daughters, after most of her own family was executed by the terrorist government in France, seemed both incredibly courageous and heartbreaking to Alexander. He remembers discussing it with Eliza many times when they first heard it. He remembers Eliza whispering that she didn’t think she was that brave.

He remembers John murmuring that she would never have to make such a choice, but all three of them know the hard choices Eliza has made for her husband and for her family.

Alexander takes a deep breath and he walks closer to the thinning group of passengers, until Lafayette, who is now hugging his son, finally spots him. His eyes widen.

There’s a moment of bittersweet silence, years of absence flashing between them. Then Lafayette straightens and takes a step forward, leaving his wife to embrace their son. “Mes amis,” he says, his voice broken and thin but as warm as Alexander remembers.

John has joined Alexander, while Eliza remains one step behind. She formed her own friendship with Lafayette, years ago, off the battlefield in Albany, before Alexander even met either of them. She’s hesitant now, as if afraid that he won’t remember her, that time or difficulties will have erased those memories. Alexander wants to reassure her, but he doesn’t know how to reassure himself, even as he stares transfixed at his old friend.

With a smile on his face, Lafayette no longer looks like a shell of his former self. His face is full of shadows, but his eyes are as bright and alert as ever. Alexander’s fears of having lost his old friend fade away as Lafayette opens his arms to them, and Alexander and John gratefully fall into his embrace.

It’s almost like it used to be. The guilt still eats away at Alexander, but it can be addressed later.

“Bienvenue,” John says softly as Alexander is still trying to find his words. “It has been so long.”

Alexander closes his eyes in his friends’ embrace, and he takes a step to the side to bring Eliza into the fray. He swallows the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Sixteen years since they last saw each other, since the war. Five of which Lafayette spent in prison, and his friends with hardly any news.

George Washington couldn’t make it to New York to welcome his adopted son, so Alexander takes it upon himself to do as he always used to do, and be his mentor’s voice. “Welcome to America,” he says. “Welcome home.”

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #marquis de lafayette #john laurens #hamilton fanfiction #amrev #mine #echo's fanfiction

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crimson-dxwn · 4 years

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Love So Alike (Jango Fett x F!OC)

Summary: Jango Fett takes the occasional bounty posting to keep things interesting. This time, his ship gets hit and he crash-lands far from Kamino. Fortunately, he is found.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, mild lustful thoughts

This is going to be multi-part! Also many apologies for the sh*ttiest pic collage ever. I tried. HMU if you want to be on the taglist!

-------------------------------------------------------- This day has been fucked to shit, officially. His latest bounty had friends. Nothing he couldn’t handle, but Slave I, Slave I had taken more damage than he was prepared for. One of said Klatoonian friends nailed a lucky shot. Right to the damn hyperdrive, and now he was stranded in the Outer Rim, parsecs from Kamino. Jango’s next priority was picking which skughole to crash-land on and try to fix the damage.

His bones protested the bumpy ride to the surface of the green and blue marble enlarging rapidly before him. Ralltiir, the most hospitable-looking planet in this system. It was about as populated as Concord Dawn, which wasn’t saying much. Fortunately not Republic controlled or occupied. The navicomputer helpfully told him that it was an agricultural world - great - with a few mid-size urban centers. The best he could hope for was to try and aim for one of those. The choking whine coming from the backside of his ship was leading him to believe that it wasn’t just his hyperdrive that was damaged. Smoke started to fill the cockpit, acrid and hazy, as he struggled to keep the controls on course for a settlement. His helmet could only filter so much particulate - every breath burned and his head swam.

He entered atmo at the same time as a great boom echoed from below him, shaking the ship as his stomach lurched uncomfortably. This wasn’t going to be pretty. His hands were numb now on the controls and he struggled to keep them gripped to the joystick. The details of the world below were rapidly coming into focus as Slave I careened toward the surface. His head spun from the lack of oxygen, and he ripped his helmet off to find even more acrid air. Boba...his thoughts ran toward his son, left on Kamino in the care of the aiwha-bait while he chased bounties. He should’ve stayed with his son; he was gonna die on this planet, covered in mud, far from Kamino. There was way too much water, more than he judged when he’d briefly studied the map. If he overjudged his landing, he’d drown in the middle of nowhere with nobody to come looking.

The joysticks protested his efforts to pull the ship up parallel with the ground as trees whipped by, filling his windscreen completely. Solid ground blessedly met the flat landing platform of his ship as the g-forces nearly robbed Jango of consciousness and his head cracked against the console. Boba. He’d make it back. Just another bumpy landing, he thinks, as he stripped out of his harness, coughing black soot from his lungs. There was a little blood left on the back on his hand when he wiped his mouth. Nothing to worry about. He’d had worse. As soon as he could breathe fresh air, he’d be able to think straight and get out of this. When the edges of his vision weren’t blackening and closing in. Finally he made it down the lowered ramp. And his vision blacked out completely.

Through her binocs, Roha watched the man faceplant into the mud. His ship crashing had nearly blown both eardrums to smithereens a few minutes ago and she couldn’t resist clambering up on an outcropping of rocks to watch the ship come down, barely a klik from the homestead. He wore strange armor, from what she could judge that wasn’t soot-blackened or covered in churned soil from the crash. She couldn’t identify his ship, but Roha guessed it wasn’t common from its unusual shape. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen in her roughly thirty years here. Truly, the man must be a skilled pilot to be able to crash-land so delicately that his ramp could still open. From the look of the back end of the starship, he’d taken some heavy damage, probably from some less-than-legal outfits. The man cut quite a figure until he fell, face-first, towards the ground. Part of her hesitated to help, worried that it might be a ploy. But the way he’d gone slack led her to believe that his need was genuine. And so she wiped her dirty hands on her skirt and hurried to the smoking hulk. She prayed she wouldn’t need the small vibroblade hidden alongside her right leg. Roha’s breathing was coming fast by the time she reached the prone figure. Not that she had much to worry about - he hadn’t moved a muscle since passing out.

Roha crouched next to him, watching his back rise and fall shallowly for a few seconds before getting her arms underneath his torso. Flipping him on his back was going to be difficult. The man wasn’t tall, but he was thicker than she anticipated, dense with muscle and weighed down by silver fox armor. Mud squelched as she dug her boots into the mire, searching for some leverage. Finally she got him on his back. Soot streaked his face - his very handsome face. Joining the old scars lining the man’s rugged features was a new gash over his left temple, still oozing blood. Two fingers on his neck revealed a strong, regular pulse, and despite being minimally conscious he seemed to be relatively intact.

The ship had hidden itself relatively well, nestled in a copse of trees at the bottom of the valley, though others were likely to have seen the craft. It was fortunate he’d landed where he did. Half a klik farther east and he’d be at the bottom of the ocean. He groaned a bit - that was encouraging - but didn’t open his eyes. He needed medical attention, that much was obvious. And shelter, that too. No use worrying in who’s shot him down at the moment. That was a worry for later. Now that she’d determined he was alive, the next problem was how to lug his unconscious body back to her cabin.

She knelt in the mud as rain started to mist down on the two of them, him unconscious in the mud and her knee deep in the mire. Eventually she trudged back to the homestead in her soggy boots and harnessed her single orbak and constructed a makeshift stretcher for him to haul. The man was blessedly still breathing when she led the animal back to the crash site. His eyes were still closed and the oozing from his cut had stopped. Was she really about to bring this stranger into her home? Maybe he’d recover and be on his way. Roha checked his breathing again. Still his chest rose and fell, rapid and shallow, dark brows furrowed.

The orbak huffs, indignant at being roped into extra work for the day. The sun had set below the mountains in the west and her breath steamed out in from of her face. There wasn’t much time before it became too cold for him to be lying out in the open, wet and covered in icy steel. She sighed and made her decision as the orbak stamped his feet, impatient for a warm stall.

“Me too, boy,” she murmured to the beast. Using her full weight, she heaved the man onto the stretcher. The mud soaked through her skirt, so cold that it numbed her skin from her thighs all the way to her ankles. She couldn’t wait to light a crackling fire...maybe heat up some water for a bath. Her skin crawled at the thought. Darkness was falling, and the rain falling harder with it. She clicked in the back of her throat to urge the pony back home. He carried the man easily and she thanked her lucky stars she’d traded for him six months ago, though she lamented not trimming his feathered fetlocks which were - to her dismay - now caked in dark fertile mud. Another worry for tomorrow.

She got him back to the homestead. It had been hers for years since her husband had died. Modest though it was, it was enough. Though a main pitfall, she now realized, was the single bed. Not that she’d be sleeping much anyway, with an unknown man in her home. But part of this felt...right. If she left him outside like, she’d never forgive himself if he died. Damn the consequences. Still wouldn’t sleep a wink.

Her heart breaks for her bedding when she finally rolls his mud-covered body on it with a pained groan. Though fortunately he’d gained a bit of consciousness on the trip to the cabin so she didn’t have to lug his dead weight through the threshold. She on the other hand, was absolutely exhausted. It was all she could take to strip him down to his basics to look at his abdomen and extremities. Hideous bruises covered his chest and stomach. It looked incredibly painful. The man hadn’t done much in terms of movement besides thrash his head from side to side and moan softly. He needed a medical droid, but there wasn’t one for a long ways. The best she could do was cool compresses for the bruises and keep him warm and hydrated. And pray he lived.

---

When Jango wakes it’s because someone is touching his face. It wasn’t something that happened often. And when it did it filled him with prickly discomfort. He greatly preferred the security and anonymity of his helmet. The desert that was the back of his throat distracted him for the moment. He tried to get his bearings. No helmet, but he vaguely remembered removing it in the ship. No comforting weight of beskar on his chest. An arm reaches up to inspect exactly why he was in his basics and how he was going to escape….wherever this was. Forcing his stinging eyes open, he registered a slatted wood ceiling, the smell of woodsmoke and an undercurrent of earthy sweetness he couldn’t quite identify.

A hand stopped his own and Jango grasped the attached forearm, hard. Time to break out.

His abdomen strongly protested his efforts to sit up. Pain struck him, so overwhelming he almost blacked out, and he let out a pathetic noise that normally he wouldn’t be caught dead making. Half groan, half sob. He’d really done it now. Jango settled for simply turning his head and a woman came into view, forearm still trapped in his grip. When her pleading eyes met his, he dropped his hand. She was maybe the least threatening thing that his mind could conjure up at this exact moment.

“Don’t try to sit up,” she said, “you’re badly injured.” He’d established that already, thanks.

“Where..” even talking hurt. He tried again. “--where am I?”

“Ralltiir,” the woman replied, “in the Outer Rim. You crash landed--”

“I know that,” he interrupted. She shut up, wariness in her soft brown eyes.

“Where is my armor?”

She pointed to the foot of the bed she’d laid him on, and there it was, neatly stacked in a wicker basket. “And my blasters?”

“Confiscated,” she replied. She was rubbing her forearm where he’d grabbed her. Jango could see the marks from his fingers marring her skin. He didn’t make a habit of hurting women, but sentiment about which parts enemies had between their legs didn’t prevent them from killing you.

“Your ship went down about a klik north of here. You passed out from smoke inhalation and I couldn’t just leave you facedown in the mud-” her speech was getting faster and faster; it was obvious she was scared of him. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so gruff with her. After all, she could’ve just slotted his shebs outside Slave I. Jango reaches a hand up to his face. Quite the stubble growth. He had to have been lying here for almost a day. More than enough time for her to call any sort of scum - slavers, bounty hunters, or worse. He sighed as she babbled on, wringing her hands nervously. He decided to take pity on her and interrupt.

“-can I at least have my undersuit back?” She looked at him with a wide, embarrassed expression. Sheepishly, she went to the basket and pulled out his shirt and pants, neatly folded and suspiciously devoid of mud.

“I’m Roha,” she offered, with a pregnant pause, obviously expecting him to return the favor. He supposed it was enough that she dragged him a klik back to what seemed to be her home and probably her own bed.

“Jango,” he replied. Roha gave a small smile in response and started busying herself with rearranging the stacked armor and accessories in the basket.

After his show earlier it was clear that he was going to need help sitting up. Frustration boiled deep in him - it wasn’t often he needed help. Especially from wilting female farmhands. From an upright vantage point he’d be able to get a better idea of his surroundings. Besides, being kept supine under heavy blankets was making his claustrophobia flare up.

“Uh..” he started, “do you mind...” Maker, he hated feeling this helpless. Jango grit his teeth and tried again. “Can you help me sit up?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” She reached an arm out and he grasped her hand with his. It was still painful, but she was surprisingly strong. Soft brown curls fanned out from her face and there was a strand of something caught in it. Hay. A strange impulse to brush it away flashed across his mind, but he pushed it down. Roha stood back a few paces, still watching him carefully. It was good she was wary.

Throwing off the woven blankets, he gingerly rose. Somehow his legs had survived mercifully intact, though now with his chest bare he could see the extent of the bruising that he could previously only feel with every breath. Moving was slow, and he needed to use the edge of the bed for support. Jango could feel the woman’s eyes still on him, skin prickling at the unwanted contact. It reminded him too much of his youth, stripped down to his basics, injured, helpless and trapped in an unfamiliar place.

“Do you mind?” he snapped over his shoulder. He could practically feel her blush. It rose over her cheeks and down her neck, barely tinting her tanned skin.

Her eyes snapped to the floorboards, looking chastened. “Sorry.”

Jango got his bearings as he changed, taking in the little cottage. It was one spare room, likely with a fresher out the back, much like the ones he’d grown up in on Concord Dawn, except this one was made of light-colored wood. He imagined must have quite the concussion because all the sights and smells of such a humble place had begun dredging up memories he swore he’d forgotten forever. Maybe it was the osik’la jedi playing mind tricks - as they were wont to do - weaving a scene to get him to talk. Unbidden, his stomach rolled over and the room spun with it. He breathed hard through his nose, trying to steady himself. Blessedly, the nausea faded but he had to slow his movements to a crawl and focus on one point in front of him. He already felt less exposed with the flight suit on. It was something.

“My ship?” he asked.

“Besides the back end? Relatively unscathed,” she said, eyes still glued to the floor, “but I’m no mechanic.”

No shock there. He made a noncommittal sound under his breath. Despite his suspicion of head trauma he did remember his hyperdrive getting shot to smithereens as well as the smoke pouring out the engine room and filling the cockpit. The question of where he was going to get parts to fix Slave I was a bit of an afterthought, as he currently could barely move. Plus, he’d been unconscious for hours and there were more pressing needs to take care of.

He cleared his throat. “Fresher?”

“Out back,” she replied, and gestured at the heavy wooden door at the back of the homestead. “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” He hoped he could keep his feet enough to manage a piss. Guess he was about to find out.

When get returned, she was pulling something out of the ancient looking oven. It was a giant behemoth of cast iron with a chamber to feed in sticks of firewood. Whatever it was smelled...amazing. Jango was back on the bed, despite his best efforts to stay upright, and settled for simply watching her like a hawk from his perch, trying his best to ignore the ache that gnawed in his belly.

“Why are you helping?” He’s a little shocked the phrase slipped out. But he wants to know. She should’ve just left him, called the cops or whatever passed for them in this backwater. He wasn’t used to blind kindness, to giving without some sort of transactional relationship.

She was still fussing around the stove, conspicuously letting him have his privacy. He was more grateful than suspicious and so he fell silent, content to watch her work. Half her skirt was tucked into the thick leather belt wrapped around her waist. It was thick and worn, with a swirling tooled pattern, and much too big for her. It was fastened on its smallest setting, which happened to be a sloppily awled hole far from the rest of its counterparts.

“Is it just you all the way out here?” he asked, strength fading fast.

Again, she eyed him warily, but replied, apparently dismissing him as a threat at present. “Yes, just me.” Without elaboration she went back to her cooking and Jango finally gave into his screaming midsection. Lying on the bed felt like such a relief. It had been a while since he’d been badly injured and he’d almost forgotten how much it took out of you. The clinking and shuffling from the other end of the room lulled him back under despite his best efforts, and he fell asleep wondering about Boba.

———

That night Roha woke to Jango’s anguished murmuring, listening to him thrash from her nest of blankets in the corner. She’d wanted to get a little broth into him, but he’d fallen fast asleep after their brief, awkward conversation and she wasn’t keen on waking him again. He’d survive without broth for a night, at least. Now, though, he was fretful and she hoped it was a nightmare rather than his injury.

Boba, he kept muttering, over and over. A name? His partner perhaps? A parent? A child?

Trying to get back to sleep was impossible. Roha settled back against the wall and willed him to calm. At first she thought it worked, until he started visibly shaking, large hands gripping the sheets. His muttering changed violently. He was almost yelling now, in a language she didn’t recognize - harsh and grating on her ears. She debating waking him once again. He was going to hurt himself. Tangled in the sheets, he kept shouting in the strange language.

She was exhausted. Wary to wake him too suddenly, she kept her distance, though she knew he could barely sit and walk on his own. The moonlight spilled through the window to the bed, lighting his features in his half-sitting position, arm clutched over his midsection.

And then he looked right at her. The eeriness of his wide open eyes struck her.

“Anade kyrayc...”

“Jango?” she asked, her voice low and soft. She didn’t dare touch him.

He hissed. “Ke’pare.”

She started a little more strongly this time. “Jango.” He stilled and the absolute expression of anguish on his face broke her heart.

“You’re safe,” she assured him. His dark eyes were glassy and stared less at her and more through her, still wandering in the land of nightmares. Though he calmed a little, breaths coming less harshly than a few minutes earlier. “Go back to sleep. You’re safe here.”

Relief weakened her knees as he paused and gingerly laid himself back down, still trembling ever so slightly. Noting his sweat-dampened head and soaked clothes, she rummaged in the storage space below the bed for a pair of Jet’s old pants and a tunic and set them at the end of the bed. She hoped they would fit, though right now she was too exhausted to care much. Curling up in her corner once again, she slept fitfully, chased by fretful dreams of her own and unable to get comfortable on the hard floor despite the cushioning of her quilts.

Hours later, she was roused once again by the sound of someone foreign in her home. Jango was returning from the fresher, in his sleeping clothes. Deep purple circles ringed under his eyes. She felt the same - this cycle of waking the other was getting old.

“‘Morning,” he said gruffly.

“Good morning,” she replied. The warm orange sunrise was peeking through the window over the sink. As good a time as any to get up - the animals would be waiting to be fed.

“I thought you might like a change of clothes,” she offered, nodding towards the tunic and pants. Jango squinted at them. “They were my husbands. If you’d like to bathe, the inlet out front is cold but clean...or I can bring water from the well for you?”

“That won’t be necessary”

“I’ll be at the barn, just yell if you need me.”

He looked down, looking halfway bashful rather than stern. “Thank you,” he said finally.

He glanced at the clothes again and Roha busied herself with the kitchen scraps for the roba, not wanting to pester him or reveal any more embarrassing details about herself.

“There’s bread wrapped in the cloth on the counter,” she threw over her shoulder on her way out. Her own stomach was grumbling terribly, but it would have to wait.

The barn was a ways from the house. Enough that any - unpleasant - smells wafted away in the wind, but close enough for a bearable walk when the snows fell. The chill of early spring was in the air and the breeze was clean and fresh, nipping at her cheeks and making her wish she’d thrown a shawl on over her thin top or under the quilts and furs on her bed. It was plenty warm in the house with a banked-low fire. The creamy white stones that lined the outside had been specially picked for their insulating properties.

The chores whiled away mindlessly. On her way to the pasture she heard the faintest creak of the front door back at the homestead. It shocked her that he’d refused her offer to heat him some bath water. Most men she knew would’ve jumped at the chance to be waited on hand and foot, all while denying that they liked it, or worse - expected it.

Pouring the grain into the trough, she resisted the urge to look for him behind her. Though the tip of the inlet was a ways away, she still averted her eyes while she walked the path back to the barn. If he felt up to bathing, he was probably out of the woods for now.

She heard the breath he sucked through his teeth when he realized how cold the water was and smiled. Maybe he’d changed his mind about that bath. She peeked just for a moment to the shore, just to make sure he was safe and not lying facedown on the pebble beach. The water was waist height, lapping at his lower back. His shoulders were tense, whether from cold or pain she couldn’t tell.

Roha couldn’t believe she’d mentioned Jet. She rarely spoke of him, let alone reveal to strange men staying in her home that she didn’t have a man of the house. Her mother would disapprove. What she would also disapprove of his how long Roha has been staring at a naked and injured man’s heavily muscled back while he bathed. Heat rose to her face and for once she was glad she was alone out here. Insistent bleating of the gathered sheep in their shed finally drew her attention away from the very well-made man half-submerged in her little bay.

She fed them their allotment of grain as usual, but something was off. Almost all her ewes were pregnant, and it was a little early for them to lamb, but the one with the cream fleece and black undercoat was nowhere to be seen. A little pit formed in her belly. It had frosted overnight, and if the ewe gave birth in the pasture, the lamb was vulnerable to hypothermia. Roha hopped the fence, leaving the rest of the flock to their breakfast and headed out into the pasture. Parts of the grass in the shade still crunch with frost under her boots. She’s lucky the ewe’s coat sticks out so much or she’d never have found her in the copse of trees at the far corner of the pasture complete with a tiny black lamb, curled up by its mother, barely moving.

The mother was concerned, nudging the little creature with her nose, trying to get the little one to perk up. Crouching by the pair, she tries to rouse the lamb. It breathes fast, wet coat cool to the touch. She sighs. They’d need to be separated; the baby was too cold now to be kept in the shed. Roha prayed Jango was washed and dressed as she rushed back to the cottage.

He was back in bed, dressed in Jet’s old clothes, breathing deep and even. The bath had taken a lot out of him, then. Oblivious, the tiny thing in her arms gave a weak cry. Jango opened an eye to assess and Roha busied herself making a nest out of a ratty old blanket and mixing formula she kept in the storage shed.

When she glanced back at her guest, he was upright on the bed - a promising sign.

“What’s this, then?” he asked.

“Little one came on an inopportune morning,” she replied, rubbing the lamb dry with the blanket and scooching herself closer to the fire for warmth. It took to the bottle well, fortunately, and drank its fill. Jango watched silently as she worked. She stroked the little whorls of wool on the lamb’s head absentmindedly. Jango didn’t look confused at why she had a farm animal indoors and she wondered if this wasn’t the first time he’d crash landed on a rural world and been taken in. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Sitting here, alone with him in the small house brought back the events of the previous night vividly. She’d never ask what he’d dreamed about. He likely wouldn’t remember, and the last thing Roha wanted was to dredge up any painful memories he might have. And by the amount of scars littering his body, he had many. What she couldn’t help beng curious about was the name he’d called out, distinct from the rest of his speech.

She tried to be as nonchalant as possible.

“Who’s Boba?”

One look at his expression told her that she’d made a wrong move.

--------------------------------------------------------

Mando’a Translations

anade kyrayc - everyone’s dead

Ke’pare - wait

#Jango Fett x OC #Jango Fett #Roha (OC)#sw prequels fic #my writing #barely edited we die like men

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danipixel · 3 years

Text

Doorways

Maul and Daia somehow finds themselves in a world they weren’t sure existed. They find more than just visions of their past. Can he change his past? Their future? Maybe if they find the right doorway, they can avert disaster. If they find it, should they? Perhaps another voice, or two, in the darkness can help them find answers to their questions about this new world.

A/N: Daia Veeral is my own OC. A former Jedi turned smuggler who found herself working for Maul before befriending him and eventually the two fell for each other.

Word count: 6.1K?! How did I make a one shot that long?

Darkness filled the sacred space. It was silent, untouched and pristine, as no being had stepped foot in this realm for centuries. Everything was still, save for the darkened portals scattered across the entirety of the pocket reality. Suddenly the stillness shattered as a portal split open and threw two beings into nothingness. Maul and Daia stumbled together as they tried to find footing on the nonexistent ground. All around them, dark portals burst to life as glowing pathways spread out in every direction from where the two stood.

The human woman spoke first, “What just happened? Last I checked, there wasn’t a hole in the universe in my cargo hold.” The two turned to see the way they had entered still glowed behind them. Through the shimmering hole in space they could see the interior of the Fever Dream, as if it were nothing more than a simple doorway. She reached out to touch the image and her hand passed through into the space of her ship. The air on the other side of the portal was warmer than the cool space around them. She pulled her hand back to rejoin the rest of her body and circled around the entrance. It was a perfect circle, floating in the air that could be entered from either side. The two dimensional doorway nearly disappeared from the side, save for the glowing haze around it. “I’m dreaming. We’re dreaming. We passed out and we’re sharing a dream.”

“This is no dream. Something, the Force perhaps, brought us here.” Maul walked along one of the paths before them, taking in the empty expanse before him. Small lights that could almost be stars shone in every direction around them. “The question is, where are we and why?”

Daia followed after him, nearly tripping over herself as her curiosity took over. Hours upon hours digging through holopads and hardcopy books in the Jedi Archives flooded through her memories. Something about this place was familiar, she just had to place it. “I think I know this place. I read about it as a Padawan in something called the ‘Chain Worlds Theorem’. It’s a place where every point in time and space connects. I thought it was just a story or a metaphor for enlightenment.” Her feet took her to the first portal before she realized what she was doing. It held an image from her own childhood, her Gathering. Her robes were torn and her curly hair had snarled itself into a matted mess from tumbling through the ice caves of Ilum. “I found my saber crystals that day. I couldn’t believe that I’d found two.”

Maul peered into the image of Daia’s past. A small smile crept onto his face at the image of her past self completely disheveled and beaming with pride at the crystals in her hand. “You were adorable.” She flicked his arm lightly once she’d peeled herself away from watching her own childhood. Maul followed another path a few steps before stopping dead in his tracks. “The World Between Worlds! I found this in my studies. My master was obsessed with finding it.” His eyes darted around from gateway to gateway as all the pieces fell into place. “The ancient Sith believed that one could know the future and change the past from this place.” He took off for the next gateway at a sprint, ideas rushing through his mind. As if reading his thoughts, the next portal showed him exactly what he was looking for. Inside the glowing ring he saw himself, over a dozen years younger and pacing before a red laser gate. His most hated enemy stood on the other side of the gate. “I can change it.” His hand hovered before the portal nearly touching its surface.

“Maul wait!” Daia appeared at his side. “Don’t do it. You don’t know what the consequences are.”

“Consequences? I should have walked away victorious, not fallen into madness.” His eyes flashed in anger as the memory played out before the two.

She placed her hand over his and pulled his arm down to his side. “Okay, say you win that fight. What happens then? You go back to Sidious, you stay his apprentice, his slave. Then what? What makes you think that would be any better?”

Maul snarled as he pondered her words. He knew she was right. Changing his past did not guarantee that he would be pleased with the outcome. On the other hand, he was right there. All he had to do was reach out and his fate would be changed. He was resourceful, intelligent, he could change his destiny to whatever he chose. Yet, something stopped him. He couldn’t say what but something stayed his hand. He pulled away and looked back to her. “What if we change a different day?”

“What day are you talking about?”

“You’re right. I would have been Sidious’s slave the rest of my life had I walked away from that fight.” He clenched his fist at his side before he turned away from the memory. “What if we find a different day? One that we can both agree was unnecessarily cruel to both of us.”

She watched the emotions play over his face as she considered his idea. There was no doubt in her mind to what day he was referencing. “This is a dangerous path, Maul. I want him back too but we don’t know what will happen.”

Maul clasped both of her hands in his. “What damage can it possibly do? Savage is through one of these portals. All we need to do is step through and bring him with us.” His voice turned from his usual strong tone to pleading with his next words, “Let me have this. Let me save my brother.”

“If we do this-”

The world lit up behind her and another figure stepped into the darkness. A voice echoed out of the shadows. “The past is the past. It is not to be rewritten.”

Violet, silver, and crimson lit the world around the pair as they drew their lightsabers and spun to face the intruder. The two stepped apart from each other in unison to flank the third figure. Maul growled into the shadows. “Show yourself!”

The voice came again, sounding not unlike Maul’s own. This one was rougher, more world weary. “Lower your weapons. I mean you no harm.” The figure walked into the light with his hands held out at his sides. Before them stood a red skinned Dathomirian, with the same fiery eyes, the same crown of horns, the same tattoos, the same droid like legs as Maul. The only real difference between the two men was the second one appeared older. The older man walked closer to the pair and studied Maul with the same intensity that Maul was studying him.

Maul, the first one, lowered his saber and stared closely at the older man. “How is this possible?”

“I know as much as you. Something brought me here and then I saw you try to change our past.” The two circled each other like two nydaks mirroring one another before they fought for the same territory. “You want proof that we are the same. Very well. Tell me, what will satisfy you?”

The younger man snarled slightly and stepped away from his older counterpart. “When I, we, were taken from Dathomir as a child, my mother said something to me that I have never forgotten. If you and I are the same, then you have the same memory.”

The two men spoke the same words in perfect unison, “Walk tall, safe in the knowledge that your mother shall always walk by your side.”

The crimson blades that illuminated the space around the two finally retracted once Maul accepted the answer. “No other being has ever heard those words. We are the same.” He took a final look at his older self, taking in every new scar, every wrinkle. The man was thinner, as if he’d been unable to eat properly for some time, but still a powerful adversary should the wrong person cross him. He still held himself with the strength and pride he always had, but this one also held a sadness that Maul didn’t recognize. “How old are you? What happened to you?”

The older man chuckled slightly. “I believe I am 51. I may be 52. Time stopped meaning much of anything to me quite some time ago. By the looks of you, you must be around 35.” Maul nodded in response. “As for your other question, I cannot tell you. As I said, the past should not be rewritten.” He turned to the side at the sound of Daia’s sabers still thrumming in the air. “Daia? Is that you?” He took a few steps in her direction. “It is. You look as beautiful as ever.”

She eyed the man with suspicion, still remaining unconvinced of his identity. “How do I know you didn’t hear what you just told him in one of these portals? For all we know you’re a changeling assassin Sidious sent after us.”

“True, I might be one of his tricks. I see his cruelty is still fresh in your mind. The two of you must have been on Stygeon recently.” He flinched at the memory. “If you won't trust me, then trust your own feelings.” He came as close as she allowed and locked her gaze with his. “Do you remember that night in the desert on Mandalore? I told you that you shone like the stars. You told me that you loved me. I was terrified at what that meant, but you soothed any fears I had.”

She stared back into his eyes as the man told her the story she held close to her heart. His eyes the same fire she always found in Maul’s, his passion, his mind that never stopped flying at lightspeed, the love he held for her and her alone. With a quick glance back at the Maul she had arrived with, she saw him nod to her and mouth the words, ‘He is me’ and she placed her weapons back under her jacket. “It is you." She reached out to place her hand on the side of his face. He was thinner than her own Maul, and while the years had hardly aged him, she could still see some of the marks time had left on him. The furrow between his brows was deeper as was the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. The hint of laugh lines brought a smile to her face. She'd kept him smiling through the years. "You’re...you’re…”

He leaned slightly into her touch. “An old man, I know.”

She laughed lightly, “I was going to say you’re still handsome.” That brought a small smile to his face. “Last I checked, early fifties wasn’t old.” She looked back where he came from and saw the familiar interior of a Mandalorian fighter with no one on the other side. “Why are you here alone?”

He glanced at where the ground should be beneath their feet. Something the others could only describe as regret passed across his face. “I was on a personal mission. I had left the syndicate in your hands in my absence.”

She was stunned at the idea of running Maul’s crime syndicate herself. She’d never seen herself as one that others would look up to and follow. Maybe some of his skills as a natural leader will rub off on her. “Am I good at it?”

“Amazing.” He breathed out the reply.

Before the conversation between the three could continue, a bright flash of light filled the darkness again as a fourth figure tumbled through into the empty world. Behind him they saw the interior of a ship wholly unfamiliar to Daia but very well known to the men beside her. The man was on his feet in a flash, red double bladed saber snapping to life in an instant. “Where am I?!” Anger rolled off of the man in massive waves. If this were Maul, he had yet to master his own rage.

The eldest zabrak held out his hand in an attempt to calm the young man. "Calm yourself. No one here will harm you."

This new man was unlike the other two. He was wild and full of a barely contained rage that simmered just beneath the surface. Exactly what a Sith apprentice would be. His eyes darted between the people before him as he stood ready to pounce at the first sign of aggression. "What is this? Some sort of test?" A quick growl escaped the young Sith. "A trick of the Jedi?"

"No test. No trick. No Jedi." The older man still had his hands out and gestured to the two standing beside him. "The three of us all managed to stumble into this place from different times."

"Who is she?" The youngest quickly tipped his head in Daia's direction.

Maul stepped forward defensively, answering the young man's challenge. "One of the few good things in your life. Now put your weapon away before I take it from you." He lacked the depth of patience his older counterpart had cultivated over the years.

No longer content to stay in the same place, the young Maul began pacing back and forth as he spat his accusations at the three. "You tell me this is no Jedi trick, then why can I feel the Force around that one? She’s clearly been well trained. It screams Jedi." His pacing stopped abruptly and he lunged forward, blade aimed for Daia's neck.

In a brilliant flash of violet and silver she caught his blade before he could remove her head from her shoulders. He pulled back for a second attack before two more crimson blades joined the fray and knocked his attacks off course. The space was aglow with red light, the blades hissing and crackling against each other. Somewhere amidst the sea of red, one of the older zabraks had twisted the saber from the youngest's grip and threw him backwards several meters. He was back on his feet in an instant.

"Enough!" Maul bellowed at the young man as he took possession of his saber. Now that his short lived attack was over, every blade was deactivated as quickly as they had snapped to life.

Daia took her opportunity to examine her youthful attacker. She circled around him taking in what made him different from the other two. She first realized that he was smaller than the others. Where before she reached just under Maul's chin, this man's eyes marked the top of her head instead. Besides his age, he was more on edge, his eyes constantly sought for any sign of attack all around him. Whereas she'd known Maul to be more still and patient than herself, this man never seemed to stop moving. This was Maul, the Sith. He wasn’t Maul, the crime lord or Mand'alor. He was not the man she knew. Not yet. "So this is Maul, the great Sith Lord. You're shorter than I expected."

He stood tall and proud. His chin lifted slightly. "Darth Maul." He emphasized the title more than his name. He really was a Sith, the Sith she had heard so much about when she was still a Jedi. The first anyone had seen in a millennia.

"Cute title." She smiled at him. "You'll have a better one some day."

It was his turn to begin circling her. "Do not mock me, Jedi. You may find yourself as my next target."

"Oh, he's a cocky little shit." She shouted to her companion. "Just to let you know, I've fought you before. You're very good, but not as good as you think you are little Sith." She flashed a challenging grin at the young Sith as she matched his pace step for step.

He never took his eyes off of her. Her lack of fear in the face of the man that should bring certain death for her kind kept the man intrigued. Without looking away he addressed his fellow zabraks, "Tell me, is this Jedi always this difficult?"

Maul shook his head as he chuckled fondly. "Yes."

"You have no idea." answered the eldest with a smile on his face.

"Oh the ex-Jedi argument." Daia took a step closer to young Maul. A threatening growl rose in his throat at her defiance. "We haven't had that one in a long time. This'll be fun."

Maul let out a long sigh of frustration at his mate's behavior. "Daia, stop antagonizing me...him." She winked at her adversary and backed away, giving the young man space to breathe and think again. "We still have no idea why we have been brought to this place. Was this all just chance or has the Force brought us here for a purpose?"

"This place," the future Maul walked about the empty space, taking in the immensity of the darkened world around them. "the World Between Worlds, can give a person the power to change the past and the future. It was hidden for a reason. It needs to remain that way." As if reacting to his words, several gateways around the group flared to life, showing various moments of Maul and Daia's lives. As quickly as they opened, the gateways snapped shut again.

No longer on the offensive, the apprentice's eyes widened in wonder at the possibilities before him. "The World Between Worlds? My master has been searching for this place." Daia could see the same ideas flicker across his face that she had seen pass across Maul's a few minutes before.

"We know. Every memory in your head is in ours." The elder pointed to the junior man's head and then to his own.

The apprentice snorted incredulously, "I have no reason to believe that."

Maul snapped at his past self. His patience with himself was wearing thin. "Have your eyes failed you, boy? Or do you just refuse to believe them?"

Daia stifled a laugh, "Have you always been that stubborn and suspicious? I thought that was a recent development."

Maul scowled at the apprentice, "It appears that I have."

Their elder spoke up to prevent another outburst between the two. "It appears he needs to be convinced just as you did. Shall we?" Maul rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. "On the day you left home, your mother whispered something to you. What was it?"

All three men spoke the same words in near perfect unison. Their faces all lost in a shared memory. "Walk tall, safe in the knowledge that your mother shall always walk by your side."

The young Sith took a step back from the other two. He'd never told another soul about what she had told him. "How did you know that?"

"As we said, we are you.” The oldest answered. “Your future."

"If you are me," the Sith moved closer and eyed the two men up and down, "then explain why I appear to have gotten taller."

Maul looked down and was silent a moment as he searched for the words to answer. "There was...an incident during a battle." Both men held out a synthetic leg. Maul tapped his shin with the end of his lightsaber. The metallic clang drove his point home. "Our legs were replaced afterwards. We are taller as a result."

"You are saying I lose in combat? Impossible." Young Maul shook his head in disbelief. "I would be dead if I had lost."

"Fine." Maul waved a dismissive hand. "Don’t believe me. Instead believe that you had a growth spurt in your 30s."

The Sith's eyes focused on the saber hills on each man's belt. They were both the same double bladed design as his own, but not the exact same weapon. "Those lightsabers you carry. They are not mine."

"They are now." Maul tossed the young Sith's lightsaber back to him.

"I have a question." Daia held up her hand like a patient student. "What do we call each of you right now? You're all Maul but that's going to get confusing fast." The three looked at each other. She had a valid point. They couldn't keep calling each other 'you'.

The youngest man spoke up first, his head held high and proud as he named himself. "Sith."

Maul stood looming over the younger man. "You are an apprentice, Apprentice." The apprentice sneered up at him but gave no argument. "I suppose we can address me as Lord for now."

The eldest man looked to Daia while he chose his new name. "Shadow."

"That's what I call him." She glanced over to Lord.

"I know." Shadow gave her a soft smile. "You never stopped."

Apprentice interrupted Shadow's reminiscing. They still had more pressing matters than old pet names to discuss. "Again, what are we doing here? If I could bring knowledge of this place back with me, perhaps my master-"

"No!" Shadow shouted. "He must never know of this place." He knew his old master's mind too well to let the thought take root in his younger self's mind.

"Why?"

"Your master has been feeding you lies since you were a boy. Giving him this power would be one of the worst mistakes you could make." Lord chose to press on what he knew to be Apprentice's greatest fear. "Do you wish to remain his slave forever?" The thought sent a shiver down Lord's spine.

Apprentice thought about what Lord had said to him. It was true, he didn't wish to remain under Sidious's control for the rest of his life. He walked amongst the gateways, catching glimpses of his past beyond each one. One gate showed him walking the halls of a palace he had never seen before. Beside him walked two nervously fidgeting Neimoidians. They appeared to be conversing with a holoprojection of his master. "Then we use it to peer into the future. With that knowledge we could mold it to suit our needs. Take whatever power we seek and control our own lives."

Daia reached out to stop him before he saw too far into his own future. "That won't work, Apprentice. The future isn't static, it changes with every choice we make."

"Precisely." Lord paced while he spoke, one hand on his chin as his mind raced. "The only changes one could make that would hold any amount of certainty are those in the past, like the one we were about to make before we were interrupted." Lord fixed his gaze upon Shadow before searching amongst the points of time playing out before him. He'd glimpsed Savage in one of them for just a moment out of the corner of his eye but lost him just as quickly.

Shadow snapped him out of his contemplation. "Lord, for the final time, you cannot do that!" His fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He needed a moment to recollect himself before he could continue. "Rewriting the past, no matter how tempting will have consequences you cannot forsee."

Lord was in Shadow's face in an instant. "So I should just leave him to die?!"

"Who are you talking about?" Apprentice's confused voice broke through the tension between the other two.

Lord dismissed Apprentice's question with a wave of his hand. "It is none of your concern."

Daia put herself between the two men and addressed Lord. "Maybe this conversation should be a little more private.” Apprentice didn’t need to be made aware of what his future held any more than he already had. She turned to face the young Sith. “Apprentice, do you speak Mando'a?"

"No."

Her plan for privacy may work. "Shadow, how is yours?"

An answer in perfect Mando’a was all Shadow needed. "I still speak it just fine." He had maintained his fluency over the years. That brought a spark of pride about Daia’s skills as a teacher.

Daia quickly glanced over to Apprentice who only offered her a shrug. He had no idea what was being said. "If you don't want to change anything, then maybe he shouldn't know about Savage yet." The mention of his long lost brother’s name drew Apprentice’s attention but he quickly dismissed it as a mistranslation on his part.

"Very well.” Shadow fixed his attention back to Lord. “I understand wanting to bring him back, but it can not happen."

Lord snarled directly into his aged face. "And who are you to tell me what I can and can not do? We would still be eating insects while babbling to ourselves in a cave on Lotho Minor if not for Savage! I failed my brother and you are telling me that there is nothing I can do to avert that failure when the very thing I need in order to do that is staring me in the face!" The Force snapped and crackled around the two men as their tempers flared.

"I am you!” Shadow flung Lord back a few steps. “That is who I am. I lived with that failure for 15 years and have lived with more failures than I care to think about.” The anger on his face was quickly replaced with a look of regret. “I tried everything in my power to restore what I have lost. Every single one comes at a price. This price is something none of us can know until it is too late."

Some of the tension between the two Mauls dissipated as Daia spoke up. "You keep bringing that up. What sort of price are you talking about?"

A deep sigh escaped Shadow while he sought for the words to answer her. His metal feet clicked on nothingness as he paced while he thought. "In all my years of research, I have found evidence of exactly two people to successfully reach this plane and change their own past. The results were disastrous for both. In their personal logs they had each documented how the galaxy changed around them, at first for the better. As time continued on, more misfortune fell upon them. They found themselves compelled to alter their past more and more until they ultimately destroyed themselves. Even the slightest change can have unforeseen effects on the future." Shadow stared wistfully into one of the portals for some time before he shook his head and continued. "There is so much I desperately desire to change from this place, but the cost is too high."

Lord opened his mouth to argue but the empty space had its own ideas. Every portal as far as any of the four could see shook and flickered in and out of existence. The pathways that connected them all disappeared beneath their feet. The solid nothingness momentarily lost form, throwing the group off balance. Human and zabraks collided with each other before they could find their feet again. "What was that?” Apprentice asked. “The entire world shook."

"We are running out of time here.” Shadow answered urgently. “Soon our respective doorways will close and we shall all be trapped if we don't leave."

"So….what?” Daia yelled into the darkness. “We were all pulled here for nothing?"

"I believe what happened was that by chance the two of you found an entrance into this place. Once he entered,” Shadow pointed to Lord, “it pulled the two of us here as well."

"So we all just what? Go home and forget this,” Daia held her hand out to the other three and the expanse around them, “ever happened?"

"Perhaps,” Lord said “Shadow is right. The best course of action is to keep this place hidden from Sidious. It holds a power he should never have access to."

"What do I say when I go back?” Apprentice muttered to the others. “You both know what happens when I fail." Anxiety and fear rolled off of him at the idea of returning to his master a failure.

"Say nothing, Apprentice.” Lord placed his hands on the younger man’s shoulders in an effort to calm him. He understood the fear Apprentice was feeling all too well. “Tell him you succeeded at whatever mission you've been sent on and nothing more. This isn't the only secret you have kept from him."

He quickly nodded in agreement. "Very well. I hope to never see this place or you three again." A small smirk came to the man’s face for the first time.

Lord gestured to himself and Shadow. "Clearly you will."

"Remember, not to let your hubris blind you. You are skilled, but not invincible." Shadow’s parting wisdom left the man with a look of mild confusion but he listened to the older man’s words carefully.

Daia placed a hand on the young Sith’s cheek. He flinched and stiffened at the contact but accepted the small act of affection. He couldn’t remember the last time he had received any "Be kind to yourself, Apprentice.” She rose to her toes and placed a kiss just below his horns. “The galaxy has been cruel enough to you."

Apprentice turned and ran for the portal to his ship. Small waves lapped across its surface once he stepped through back into his own time. He nodded a farewell to his counterparts and the portal snapped shut. The space where it had been moments before was dark and pristine once again. It was as if he had never been there at all. As if reacting to the sudden change, surrounding portals snapped in and out of existence once again. The ground shifted from solid nothingness to a consistency closer to soft sand. The three were thrown to the ground with a greater force than the previous quake. Every light flickered for several moments before everything came to a standstill.

Lord rose first and held out a hand to assist Daia in rising to her feet. "These quakes are getting worse. We need to leave."

Shadow found his way back to his feet. He straightened his clothing as he stood straight again. "I agree. We need to get back to our respective times.” The three followed the glowing path back to the portal that led to Shadow’s time. The empty interior of the Nightbrother still waited for him on the other side. “I do have one request before we all leave."

"I won't change anything.” Lord couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Not from you.” Shadow looked down to his mate’s past self standing before him and gave her a warm smile. “Daia, would you give an old man one last kiss goodbye?"

She returned his grin. "Of course I will." She again brought her hand to Shadow’s face like before. His eyes fell shut as he allowed her to guide his face down to hers when she brushed her lips against his.

He held his hand over her own as he returned the soft kiss she granted him. His eyes remained closed and he brushed his nose against hers as he pulled away. "I miss you, my love.” He whispered as he opened his eyes to look into hers. “I will find you again in the Force."

Before she could question him, Shadow let go of his hold on her hand and turned to return back to his own time. Daia reached out and shouted after him, "Wait, what? Maul!” He stepped through to his own time as she attempted to stop him. “What do you mean?! What happened?!" He left the two with a smile and the portal snapped shut. Again the world shook and fell between existence and non existence.

Maul took hold of Daia’s hand and pulled her back from the empty space where the portal had been. "We need to go. Now!" The two took off running for their home. The quakes around them grew in intensity. Pathways and gateways rapidly flashed in and out of existence. Their own portal opened and closed before them as they drew closer and closer to their own time. The two dropped into a sprint towards home. The view of the Fever Dream’s cargo hold snapped open and closed with every step. Lights went out behind them and the ground began to gave way to nothingness as they leapt through the portal into the cargo hold. The gateway snapped shut with a hiss.

The pair laid on the cold floor of Daia’s ship, safe and back in their own time. They stayed there in silence for a few moments. The only sounds to be heard besides the ship’s life support system cycling clean air was the heavy breathing as they processed what just happened to them.

Daia was the first to stand. “We made it.” She offered a hand to Maul as he pushed himself off the floor.

He took her hand and pulled himself upright. “So we did.”

She squeezed his hand, refusing to let go of him. “Do you....remember that happening to you?”

Maul’s face was one lost in thought as he searched his memories. “Yes? The memory is hazy but it’s there. I thought it was all a dream. How could I not have?” He looked down and brushed a thumb across Daia’s cheek. She leaned into the affectionate gesture. “I do remember what you said. I never listened but thank you for trying.”

“What do you think he meant? He said he misses me.” A tear escaped her eye. The older man had been so sad. So full of regret. “What happened to him?”

Maul wiped away the tear. He lowered his head to place his forehead on hers. He never dropped her gaze while he spoke. “I don’t know but I do know that whatever befell that man will not happen to us. I will not allow it.”

She shook her head despite his assurances. “You don’t even know what happened to him.”

“I don’t need to know what happened to him.” Determination filled Maul’s entire being. “I will not be him.” He pulled her into a kiss and for a few minutes the two stayed like that, holding on to each other in the cargo hold of a smuggler’s ship. Finally the two broke apart and headed towards the cockpit. Daia took her usual seat in the pilot’s chair and Maul in the copilot seat. They punched in the hyperspace coordinates for home. She activated the hyperdrive and the ship was thrown into hyperspace, towards Mandalore and whatever future awaited them.

____________________________________________________________

A young Darth Maul stepped back through a glowing portal into the sleeping quarters of the Scimitar. He took a quick look around and everything was exactly the same as he had last seen it. The only sign that he had been disturbed at all was that his bunk had been rendered a complete mess. The young man resigned himself to the reality that whatever had just befallen him had been nothing more than a vision from the Force. Perhaps he had simply been dreaming and tumbled from his bunk. Whatever it was, there was nothing he could do about it now except return to his master. Darth Maul cleaned up the mess that was his sleeping quarters and made his way to the cockpit of his Sith Infiltrator. His master waited for him on Coruscant, so Coruscant was where he needed to be. He would not speak of this vision. He would serve his master well and one day face his destiny as the next Dark Lord of the Sith.

____________________________________________________________

Maul, the Old Master, entered the portal to the Nightbrother, ignoring Daia’s shouts behind him. He took one last look at himself with her by his side and the portal snapped shut, leaving him once again alone in his ship. He took his place in the pilot’s seat and began methodically entering hyperspace coordinates. His mind focused on where he was what headed and the task he had sought out to complete. Atollon was the world he sought out. From there he could find the young man that would be his apprentice and sort out the jumble of information the two had gathered from their joined holocrons. With the boy’s help, his mission would be complete. Maul hesitated before activating the hyperdrive, his mind returning to the detour he had just found himself. To his mate whom he missed dearly. “Just a little longer, my love. I will find him and do what I need to do. Perhaps then I can find you in the afterlife. Wait for me just a little longer.” The viewport before him filled with streaks of light as his ship was thrown into hyperspace and towards his fate.

#star wars #the phantom menace #star wars the clone wars #star wars rebels #darth maul #maul #darth maul x oc #maul x oc #multiple mauls #time travel #Daia Veeral #Maul arguing with himself

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snowbellewells · 4 years

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A Cottage by the Sea: Part Three

Hello there, lovely shipmates and readers! I truly never meant to keep you waiting so long for this next installment, but there we are. I went back to school, and then somewhat over-committed myself in other fic events and ideas as well, and time just flew by before I could get this update to you! I hope that you will still enjoy all the same. I’ll stop making excuses and just let you read. This may seem like a bit of a “talky”, slower chapter, but I needed to let Killian learn and work through some things, and to set Emma on her course...

** So many thanks as always to @cssns for the opportunity to participate in such a fun and amazing event, and to @searchingwardrobes for the gorgeous and stunning cover art I simply adore. And a special shout out in this chapter to @winterbythesea for the suggestion of a name for Emma’s horse that sounded just right as soon as I heard it! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…

Read it from the beginning HERE or on AO3

Part Three

“My mother?” he questioned, voice hesitant and perplexed as he scrambled to stand and face the ethereal being who had stepped gracefully from the pool, and after just a moment appeared miraculously dry with not a hair out of place - as if she had never been underwater at all.

Killian blinked, half expecting her to disappear when his eyes reopened. When the beautiful nymph - for that was what she must be - still stood before him, watching curiously, he shook his head and wondered vaguely if he had hit it after all, either in the wreck or once washed to shore. “My mother died… long ago… when I was a mere babe, according to my father. It cannot be possible for you… that you… I mean…” Gesturing helplessly with awkward hands, Killian finally let his words trail off, beseeching her with a look to understand.

The mysterious lady’s eyes seemed to darken their blue shade with the sadness glistening in their depths. Shaking her head, she stepped closer, practically gliding over the ground between them. “Killian, my dear,” she crooned, her cool, soothing hand caressing his cheek with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. “There is so much you do not know…” she shook her head sadly, beckoning him to follow her to a spot in the shade of the trees around the clearing. “Come, let me explain. It has been kept from you long enough. And…” she swallowed some deep emotion. “I’ve waited so long to talk to you.”

Biting his tongue against more indignant and disbelieving outbursts, Killian found he was greatly comforted by the soft press of her fingers on his own, and followed her dutifully to a large, flat rock at the clearing’s edge and took a seat. He had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue and nearly as many rebuttals to her claim. Yet, he found he also wanted her to stay there - whoever or whatever she might be. He needed to know what she had to say.

When the woman’s large eyes turned to meet his again, she asked, “What do you remember of the time before you came to Misthaven?”

Running a hand back through his damp hair - dark like hers, in almost the same shade, he realized then - ruffling it up off his forehead and making it stand wildly on end, Killian shook his head at a loss. His hand fell back to his thigh with a slap as he shrugged and answered her with sheepish honesty. “I’m afraid you won’t gain much from my memory; it’s frighteningly blank beyond boarding a tall ship for some long journey with my father and my brother Liam. Then, somehow…” he shrugged again, knowing there should be more, but instead he had only ever found a mystifying blank. “Then my father is just… gone. Liam and I were alone on that vessel, little better than slaves.” His eyes fell to studying his rough-calloused hands, as if he felt abruptly unworthy to meet her eyes. “We were trapped there for years, Captain said we had a debt to pay and we weren’t getting free until we did so. Never let us out of his sight when we docked, so we couldn’t run. It was too far to swim for freedom on some shore, even though we could both swim like seal pups.” A bitter and raw half-smile pulled up one side of his mouth in a crooked smile before he continued.

As if she could sense his hurt and the hesitation that plagued him, the lovely being reached out once more to take his hand in hers, rubbing cool, soft fingers over the back of it in comfort. She did not speak, nor try to press or hurry him, merely waited patiently for Killian to find his words and purge the rest of his story.

“Truth be told,” he finally sighed in resignation, “I would still be a servant to that wretched captain… if not for the storm…”

That serene face only stared back at him, listening kindly and conveying the sense that she understood - more than he could remember being understood before. Eyes as blue as his own looked deep beyond his outer appearance, the sadness at his suffering as clear as if she had spoken it aloud. Instead, she gave a gentle nod, and once more waited patiently.

“There was a storm at sea, some years ago now,” he finally pressed on, reaching the part of his tale that both lead to his greatest loss and his truest joy. “It blew up suddenly and many were washed overboard - Liam and I among them. I do not know if they left us purposefully, not worth the risk and effort, or if they genuinely couldn’t see us in the rough waters. At any rate, I do not know how I survived. Through what twist of fate I washed ashore in the kingdom of Misthaven when Liam did not, but that was where I woke. I was found by the princess, who was just about my age, taken in and nursed back to health by the royal family - unbelievable as it seems - and eventually I joined their navy. Only, it would appear, to be shipwrecked once again on my first mission as a lieutenant.”

Here the woman returned his rueful smile at the course that had shaped his life thus far. There were many details he had omitted - his love for Emma, and her for him, chief among them - but it seemed needless to prattle on. In fact, it was clear his mysterious companion was at last ready to speak.

Remorse was clear in the face entirely too beautiful and flawless to be fully human as she reached the hand not still holding his up to trace the scar on his cheek - made long ago by a sadistic bosun before a nine-year-old Liam had jumped between and taken the brunt of the punishment. Tenderness and wistful longing filled her gaze as she did so. Her voice was still mellifluous when she spoke, though soft and slightly broken with her emotion. “My son, what you’ve been through… it pains me more than I can say. The hardship you endured, the abandonment and mistreatment you suffered, none of it was anything like the life I wished for you and your brother when you were born. Such dreams I had for you both as we sat outside our little cottage, watching the tides roll in and little sandpipers running over the sand. Liam was so sweet, so attentive, bringing me seashells as I held you and sang lullabies, anxious to help you learn to swim and build sandcastles…”

She trailed off for a moment, her pearly white teeth pressing into her lower lip as she struggled to suppress a new swell of emotion before continuing. It was just as well. Killian’s mind was racing, hardly able to make sense of such idyllic, wonderful scenes of which he had not even the slightest recall.

Her other hand fell to her lap and her fingers were pulled free of his as he lurched to his feet and began to pace with the unsettled agitation overtaking him. “Why do I remember none of this?!” he implored, his every breath bringing an emotional swing from anger to stark devastation and back. It was as though he had been robbed anew of the loving family and carefree childhood he had grown up missing - this time by the assertion that he had possessed such treasure once and could not even picture it. “If you truly are who you say,” he finally demanded, returning to the lovely, dark-haired woman and crouching to peer into her face once more. His fist tightened and then opened reflexively, his adamance on gaining some answers, some understanding, clear. “If you really are my mother… What happened all those years ago? Why did you leave us? Where were you when Liam and I were taken into servitude? Where have you been for all this time in between? … Why… why were we all alone in the world?”

He blinked rapidly, unwilling to show more weakness than his ragged question had already revealed. For the lost little boy who had never known his mother, who had never understood why he and his brother were surrendered to such a cruel fate, was still inside the grown lieutenant, but Killian could not let that broken child surface now, not when he might finally gain answers. His mouth was a firm line as he stared down this mysterious nymph; his eyes hard as he refused to let her look away.

A tear escaped her eye and ran down her porcelain cheek, a luminescent drop of liquid glowing brightly on its way. She was clearly suffering at the admission of his hurt, whatever else he might think of her. And when she spoke again, her voice was flinty and resolved; he could doubt her sincerity no longer. “Killian, I am your mother. Whether you accept it or not, that is as much truth as the waves coming in to meet the shore. But your father - he beguiled me. He had more power - and more darkness - than I knew. He stole you boys, my dearest loves, from me. By the time I had located you once more, and made preparations to bring you both here to Ogygia for safety, it was too late. Liam had been lost to the depths - stolen forever where your father could keep him for himself eternally. And you had been taken in by the royals of Misthaven. I watched that evening as they found you, and I came back unseen to watch you many other times with your crewmates, your golden-headed princess… any glimpse I could steal of you as you grew up hearty, strong and brave - just as I always knew you would. It seemed unfair to make myself known then, to uproot you once more… not when you appeared so happy…” She searched his face as her words came together in dawning realization. “What that - Was I wrong?”

Overcome, Killian shook his head, not sure how to address his reply. Finally, he managed to murmur, “No, no you were not mistaken. They treated me as if I were their own. I was as happy as I have ever been…” His eyes seemed to be attempting to focus on something far back within his memory, long ago and leagues away. “But - “ he tried again, wetting his lips and plunging forward with his unbelievable question. “If all that is true, does that make… Is my father…?” He found he could not speak the ridiculous question his mind was urging him to ask.

She nodded instead, relieving him of it. “Yes, he is Davy Jones. And I am Calypso, daughter of Atlas.”

Killian knew his mouth must have fallen open, gaping at the woman before him, returning his gobsmacked look with nothing but open honesty. “Son, please believe me,” she urged, reaching for his hand once more. She nearly beamed with fragile-seeming hope when he dumbly allowed her to twine their fingers again. “I know it must seem like a lot to take in… a monstrous amount to believe on good faith, but I am telling you the truth. Never did I wish to be parted from you or your brother. I would never have left either of you by choice. That Liam is lost to us…” here she solemnly shook her head, bowing it over their joined hands to press a kiss to his knuckles, “For that, I can only apologize that I was unable to save him. You must know that I tried, Killian.”

Slowly but surely the rushing sound that had taken over in his head, the pounding of his heart and the strange sense of hysteria which had very nearly enveloped him, began to ebb away. The hurt and doubt did not vanish - and he had so many questions for her that he hardly knew where to start - but the hardest knot of bitterness and anger in his chest eased, loosened enough that he could catch his breath and study this woman before him - his mother! - with a focus that brought acceptance, and even a sort of thrill. He had a mother, who loved him and wanted to know him. How could he in good conscience turn away? And if all she said was true, of which he felt all but certain, then she had already suffered just as he had. Why should he force either of them to bear anything more?

Leaning in, an uncertain, almost eager look transformed his face as he spoke in an awed whisper. “You searched for us?” he repeated, letting the comfort of it sink into his soul. “You tried to get us back? To save Liam?”

Tears were pouring down the sea nymph’s face now, to the point that she didn’t even speak, merely nodded vigorously and opened her arms wide to him in welcome.

“Mother,” he exhaled, and gave in. He could hold back no longer. Resting his head on her shoulder, Killian leaned into a maternal embrace of the sort he had been missing all his life. His shoulders hitched with silent weeping, letting out much that had been buried so deeply he had not even known it still pained him.

Gentle, soothing fingers ran through his hair, rubbed his back as she rocked back and forth gently, at last feeling completed to have her child back in her arms, grown though he might be. She let him purge the torrent of grief and fear, lightly humming a melody that eased him and that Killian felt vaguely he had heard somewhere before.

His mother! His mind could hardly grasp the revelation, and yet, she was there. He might still be shipwrecked and stranded - lost - but he was no longer alone.

~~***~~

Under cover of dark, the very night after they had received news that Killian’s ship was lost, Princess Emma was using the filtered light of the full moon to sneak from her apartments and down to the stables. She had listened all day as her mother and father spoke to their trusted inner circle, debating and considering if there were any possibility of even some of the ship’s crew having survived - and how they would go about seeking them in a rescue mission if the chance existed. Was it even possible to look for a ship that was by now shattered in pieces and likely sunk to the depths, invisible to their eyes? And yet, Queen Snow had interjected more than once, her boundless well of hope apparent, could they truly do otherwise when their adopted son and dozens of other loyal sailors might still live?

Her husband and their advisors agreed, and yet, there was the other practical concern that any search voyage might only be sending more innocent lives into a trap - a snare set by a supernatural foe they did not understand well enough to combat and survive. Eventually, all left the council chambers but the King and Queen, and Emma herself. It was then that they used a mirror - a magic one enchanted to allow them to communicate, which had been gifted to Snow by Ariel as a wedding present when she married her ‘Charming’. Using it, they contacted the maritime kingdom’s rulers for more information.

The news had been dire. Emma shivered even then, hours later, under her heavy riding cloak as she gingerly gripped the vine-covered trellis next to her balcony and swung out onto it, needing to climb down and cross the lawn to the stables undetected. The memory still haunted her, of Ariel explaining how legend had it that Davy Jones took any prisoners left alive aboard his phantom ship, eternally pressed into his cursed crew.

What it had boiled down to in the end was that they could not send more men out on a fruitless mission; not knowing where to send them, or even where they should begin, and especially not when most likely the only result would be their capture or death as well. All the same, Emma had felt hurt and betrayed on Killian’s behalf - despite the decision making logical sense. It was maddening that they would do nothing when Killian would have left no stone unturned, no island or inlet unsearched, if the roles were reversed and any of those who sat debating whether to search for him or not were lost. She had just barely managed to bite back such recriminations, knowing they were unfair, but she could not help storming from the meeting, unable to helplessly stand by any longer. She had heard her father gently urging her mother to let her go, to give her some time, and she had been in her rooms ever since. Not crying or grieving as most probably believed, but plotting her next move.

Though she had no evidence to back it up, Emma knew - simply knew it in her marrow, as sure as she felt her heart beat and her blood pound in her veins - that her lieutenant was out there somewhere alive. Just as she had since the first shock of the shipwreck’s announcement had worn off, she still believed that, were her sailor no longer in the world, she would be aware of the loss, the lacking in all that he left behind. There had been a link between she and Killian since he washed ashore and she found him all those years ago; in her deepest being, Emma felt it was because they were meant to be together, always destined, two halves of the same whole, just like her parents. She might not profess such girlish dreams aloud, but she harbored the belief nonetheless. And, since she had not felt the agony she would fully expect if he had been ripped from life, no inkling of the void she knew would split open her chest if he ceased to be, then he could still be found. It was as simple - and as much a challenge - as that.

It mattered not that she didn’t yet know where to go, she would be on her way before any could stop her or hold her back. She could chart a course from there. That afternoon as she had prepared and packed, the messenger bird she had sent out returned with her letter for Killian unopened on its leg. Yet, even that could not deter Emma. He could be somewhere the creature simply had not found. It didn’t mean… but she shook her head abruptly and refused to contemplate that possibility.

Alighting on the ground with a little hop, Emma glanced back up the ivy-trellised wall she had just descended, allowing a moment’s pride that no alarm had been rasied and none seemed the wiser. There was a fair dose of irony in the fact that she was now trying to steal away under cover of night to escape her parent’s watchful concern and protection, when it had been her mother, the Queen herself, who had first shown her how to make that scale down the outer walls in case they were ever under attack and Emma found herself in need of an alternate means of escape. Regardless of its original intention, the lesson had stuck, and the princess put her skills to good use. The cool wetness through her thin slippers brought a delicious sort of shiver up from her toes through her legs and the rest of her as she dashed across the already dew-kissed grass.

Upon entering the royal stables in a state of warm and cozily quiet peace - as if all inside were bedded down and drowsing for the night - Emma blew out a breath of relief. Her returning calm was encompassing enough that she gave a startled jump of surprise when her mare, Lady, whickered and bobbed her head to her in greeting.

“Hey there, Sweet,” Emma crooned, offering an apple to her beloved pet, her favorite mount since she first learned to ride as a little girl. Her father had given Lady to her when the mare was still a young colt, and they had been fast friends ever since. The horse playfully bowed her head to her mistress, nudging Princess Emma’s shoulder with her long velvety nose and munching the treat contentedly. As Emma’s fingers continued to scratch along the gentle creature’s forelock, she murmured soothing words and the horse seemed to almost nod in delight, bobbing her head and huffing approval with short snorts of air.

“Ready to go for a ride?” Emma continued, making quick work of saddle and bridle before leading Lady out of her stall and back towards the entry of the large main stable. It was as if the animal could indeed pick up the nervous excitement radiating from her rider; the sharp clopping of her hooves made quick staccato taps along the solid floor and seemed to mimic Emma’s ever-quickening pulse in her ears.

With one last glance around, making sure they were still undetected, the princess stepped into Lady’s stirrup, swung herself up onto the animal’s back, and gathered the reins in hand as she quickly doused the lantern she had lit in the hanging sconce just inside the large enclosure. Stealth was imperative, but now that she was in the clear, she would never risk a fire that could endanger the other horses, grooms and trainers. She would see well enough by moonlight once outdoors again.

A slight shudder ran through her as she glanced back at the castle over her shoulder once more. Lady trotted easily into the forest once Emma had found the gate watched by her uncle who was known for his habit of falling asleep at the most inopportune times. Slipping past him while he snored unawares, the going was easy and the path familiar from there.

Horse and rider made swift time, passing through the trees and down toward the harbor in nighttime shadows unmolested. When at last they neared the more rickety end of the docks where local fishermen and merchants kept their smaller sailboats and personal water crafts, Emma dismounted and moved toward one particular skiff, alone and completely abandoned, bobbing quietly on the gentle waves. At first glance, it appeared forgotten there without owner, but as Emma drew even with the small yet sturdy vessel, she could see it was just as she remembered - simple and unassuming certainly, but well-cared-for and more than adequate for her needs.

With little time to waste, knowing it would not be long before her absence was discovered back at the palace, and she needed to be far enough out to sea by then so she would not be spotted or returned home by well-meaning rescuers who wished to see her safe even before having Killian found. She simply couldn’t agree with that logic - royal duty or no - and in the end it was her life. She stroked lovingly over her horse’s withers again, one last scruff at the velvet muzzle in affection, before murmuring, “Head on home now, girl. You know the way,” before removing bit and bridle and watching as the little mare nodded her head as if in understanding of the command, turned and trotted back the way they had come, hooves clipping first against the wooden planks of the pier, then the cobblestones of the street beyond, tail swishing as she moved further into the distance.

Puffing out a short breath, Princess Emma consoled herself with the fact that her horse did know the path back to the castle well, and that nothing untoward would befall her - especially not so early in the pre-dawn hours when the streets and forests were almost completely deserted. Urging herself back into motion, she loosed the ties holding the small craft to its place along the pier and hopped fron the docks onto the boat deck without lingering any further. She allowed barely a moment of anxiety for the rush of concerns flooding her mind - tasks to bring the boat ‘round, set her on course, and guide her safely from the harbor and the proximity of other ships, pier and shore into open waters. She had no time to be timid; she knew what had to be done, had practiced and rehearsed it in her mind numerous times in the last few hours as she put her plan in motion. Now she simply had to follow through.

Luckily, the water was smooth and still, the wind with her, and the others vessels nearby safely anchored out of her path. With her mind on her route, eyes clear and hands steady, Emma was soon leaving the mouth of the harbor and gaining speed as the wind truly caught in the sails overhead. Her sailor had taught her well, and she was on her way to find him.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @capswantrue @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @bubblegum1425 @jarienn972 @courtorderedcake @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @profdanglaisstuff @mariakov81 @ineffablecolors @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @carpedzem @let-it-raines @stahlop @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @nikkiemms

#cssns20 #cs au ff #cs au mc #a cottage by the sea #part three #lieutenant duckling au

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djchika · 4 years

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Alex Appreciation Week Day 5: wanna go for a ride (smut/fluff) | music

(aka a snipper from what appears to be a Pretty Woman AU)

When Alex left Roswell for the last time, he’d prepared for a life destitute. Possibly a hand to mouth existence, but one that wasn’t bound by his dad’s rules. Surrounded by found family and good friends.

What happened was the opposite. Bank was all Alex had. No one he called family, barely any friends. Just a shit load of money from a dead father who forgot to remove his estranged son from his will.

Funny how life worked out.

Manes security was the crown of the Manes empire. It had been built on his father’s unwavering, paranoid insistence that the human race needed to defend themselves. Against what exactly? Alex was never sure. No one else knew either, but they still bought into the belief.

The company started with simple security solutions that branched out to tech which led to multibillion-dollar government contracts. His brothers were all happily ensconced in the family business while Alex had jumped ship the moment he could.

Or so he thought.

“What the fuck do you mean he left it to me?”

“Technically he left it to his sons, but Flint signed away everything to do with the company when he started his own business, Gregory insists he’s retired, and after his breakdown Clay gave Gregory special power attorney and Gregory’s saying Clay doesn’t want it either.”

“Well, I don’t want it! Jim, are you hearing yourself? I can’t take over my father’s company.”

“Your father had the entire board of trustees under his thumb and he kept a lot of secrets. Without one of you to figure things out they’re going to strip it for parts and sell to the highest bidder. You might not care for your father’s legacy, but the Manes Group cuts a hundred thousand paychecks across several businesses. That’s a lot of jobs on the line.”

Fuck.

That had been five years ago. Five long fucking years of going from a quiet life running a small music shop near the home town to living full time in New York city.

Nothing about his new life vaguely resembled his life in Roswell.

Well, except for Kyle Valenti.

“It’s two in the fucking morning. Go home,” Kyle ordered from where he was leaning against Alex’s office door.

“Should I even point out how hypocritical that is considering you’re here too?”

“That’s because you’re a slave driver.”

Kyle was lying through his stupid perfect teeth. Alex worked hard to make sure they were one of the best employers in the country thankyouverymuch.

Besides, Kyle wasn’t even technically his employee. Their firm, Valenti, Valenti and Son had been the company’s firm even before Alex took over.

“I’m going home after this. Leave me alone.”

“As your legal counsel I highly recommend sleep before signing any of those.” Kyle said, nodding at the stack of papers on Alex’s desk. “I’ll be back Wednesday. I already had Jill pencil me in to your afternoon so we can start discussion on the Long deal.”

Alex clicked opened his calendar. “My Monday’s surprisingly free we can do it then.”

Kyle walked over to Alex’s desk, leaning down just so he could point at Alex’s laptop monitor obnoxiously. “That’s because Monday is the day before Christmas Eve and you declared it a company holiday.”

“Right,” Alex said, pushing Kyle away. “See you Wednesday, then.”

“Are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure I don’t want to go home with you for Christmas. Yes, I will be fine spending Christmas by myself. Asking me a dozen times isn’t going to change my answer.”

Alex appreciated Kyle’s concern, but going back home provided complications he didn’t want to deal with at the moment.

With a sigh, Kyle straightened and started towards the door. “Fine. I’ll see you in four days. You also have four days to get me the present you forgot to buy me so you won’t feel bad that I already left your present at your place.”

Presents. Shit. He remembered signing off a list from Jill, but Kyle always insisted that didn’t count. Maybe he could get him something online.

Seeming to read his mind, Kyle turned and pointed a finger at him. “You better make an effort of going to a store for me, jerk.”

That was how Alex ended up asking the driver to see if there was a shop anywhere that was still open.

That was also how Alex literally fell into Michael Guerin.

“You looking for something? Wanna go for a ride?”

The familiar low drawl had Alex’s heart beating wildly in his chest. He turned quickly, misjudged his center of gravity and only avoided a complete pratfall because Michael’s arms were suddenly around him keeping him steady.

The shock he was feeling was clearly mirrored in Michael’s face.

“Alex?”

The last time he’d seen Guerin was the last of summer after high school. He was being shipped off to West Point, while Michael was supposed to be on going to UNM on a scholarship.

They’d been friends in the way that two queer kids in a small dessert town naturally gravitated towards each other. Something had bubbled beneath the surface but they’d left it to simmer. Neither wanting to risk the tentative solace they found in each other.

A long series of almosts that never culminated to anything.

Alex had graduated, gone on a couple of tours, got blown up and opted for an honorable discharge.

Michael had apparently graduated, found out working with any sort of system didn’t fit him, and chose to travel the country in his truck, picking up odd jobs where he could.

When he meant pick up. He meant pick up.

Michael gave a low whistle when they entered Alex’s apartment. It was disproportionally huge for someone living alone, but it had come with the inheritance and he’d never gotten around to looking for a new place.

"Always knew you were loaded. I didn’t think you were ‘bring out the guillotines’ rich.”

“I’m not. Or I wasn’t. This was all my dad’s. I’m always afraid I’m going to find a room I didn’t know existed and find out someone’s been living there the whole time,” Alex admitted.

Michael smirked as he made himself comfortable on the leather couch. “Still not a fan of horror movies?”

“I learn from them. There’s a difference,” Alex corrected as he slipped off his tie, coat and shoes already discarded. “Drink?”

“Yeah, why not.”

Alex poured them each a glass, watching as Michael surreptitiously took in the rest of the room. He wondered what Michael assumed of him based on it. He’d never gotten around to looking for a new place and he’d definitely never gotten around to redecorating. Nothing outside of the bedroom was his aside from the baby grand he’d gotten himself as a gift a couple of years ago.

“I see your horror movie education never taught you not to let strangers into your home,” Michael said when Alex handed him a glass of whisky, neat.

“You’ve always been strange. Hardly a stranger.”

He sat down next to Michael, taking a long drink from his glass as Michael did the same. The liquid flowed smoothly down his throat, warming his body quickly. It also served to quiet the butterflies that were fluttering oddly in his chest.

“You never know what’s going on in people’s heads.” Michael smirked, eyes roving over Alex’s body.

Back in high school, with his bad boy reputation, the almost trademark smirk had been charming and innocently dangerous. Now, the slow smirk was backed with a confidence in his sexuality that was outright devastating.

Or it would have been if Alex didn’t see right through him.

“Are the lines part of the package?”

“Depends, is it working for you?

Alex raised an eyebrow before downing the rest of his drink. Michael seemed to take that as an invitation, moving both their glasses to the coffee table before straddling Alex smoothly.

It was his teenage fantasy come true. Michael was different, the cut of his jaw sharper, a dark beard where there used to be smooth skin, but the warmth of his eyes was still the same. The pull that tugged at Alex’s chest just as strong.

“Do you have rules against kissing?”

Michael shook his head with a laugh. “That’s not a thing.”

The kiss Michael gave Alex was surprisingly soft. A tentative press of lips on lips that belied Michael’s previous confidence. Alex tongue darted out, licking against the seam of Michael’s lips until they opened up for him. He tasted like whisky, like the first burst of summer rain.

It barely lasted a minute before Michael pulled back a little, eyes searching Alex’s as if to make sure he was okay.

Unwilling to examine the sudden knot behind his ribcage at that look, Alex surged against him kissing Michael slow and deep until they were both gasping for air.

“Sure this is a good idea?” Michael asked breathily even as his hands roamed, touching Alex’s chest, his neck, his hair.

“Nothing but a business deal, right?”

“Hmmm,” Michael’s hands moved to the buttons of Alex’s shirt, undoing them one by one. “Preferences? Hard nos?” He leaned in, sucking kisses into Alex’s jaw and down his neck.

Alex groaned when Michael’s mouth latched on to his pulse point, sucking gently. He could feel himself getting harder, Michael’s own erection pressed up again him. The sweet friction was making it hard to concentrate on what Michael was saying.

“You’re not going to make me sign a release are you?” he managed to ask finally. For all he knew there might be paperwork involved. He’d never actually slept with a hooker before.

The laugh that rumbled out of Michael’s chest, drew a smile on Alex’s face. “No, but it’s gonna cost depending on what you want.”’

“Consider me your booking for the night then double it.”

He didn’t even care what that amount was. Michael was worth it. Using his father’s money to pay for him was just a fuck you cherry on top.

Michael smiled, slow and filthy. “Works for me.”

(to be continued....)

#malex #michael guerin #alex manes #alexweek2020 #roswell nm #deej writes #deej writes fic #tv: rnm

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lauwrite1225 · 4 years

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Body and Soul || Finan x OC || Part 1/3

Summary : Finan is finally free from years of slavery. But his body and soul are broken. However he found in Saegyth, a way to recovery. To be a man, again.

A/N : So, this is a really short fic which I had the idea of during my exams. There will only be three parts alterning between Finan and Saegyth point of view. I hope you’ll like it !

Masterlist

Part 2. Part 3.

Warnings: None

A raspy laugh escaped Finan's dry lips. It hurt his throat, but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t tell if it was happiness he was feeling, he hadn’t felt it in years, but he was sure it was close too. His heart was so light and yet it was beating so hard in his chest. It was like the life that was leaving Sverri’s body was now running through his veins.

That was it. He felt alive. Alive and free. The words echoed in his head.

I am alive and I am free. Alive and free.

And suddenly, as he realised the meaning of it, his body felt heavy. He fell on his knees, his legs to weak to keep him standing. He continued to laugh as he laid on the ground, his fingers brushing the grass. He stared at the sky and grabbed the wooden cross hang around his neck. He pressed it against his lips, thanking God for finally having mercy on him.

“Are you alright?”

He let go off the cross and turned his head to the person who just spoke. For a moment, he was amazed by the woman who just crouched next to him. She had golden hair, waving in the wind like wheat in summer. For a moment, he hoped he had the strength to let his fingers ran through her strands. Her eyes were fascinating as well. They were made of a deep blue, but not like the sea he had been surrounding by for three winters. They were calm and reassuring.

Her hand found his shoulder, catching his attention. He blinked several times before finally answering.

“I think so. I’ve just seen an angel.” He said, a smile, at least he hoped it looked like one, forming on his face.

She chuckled and for a moment he sweared it was the most beautiful sound he heard in ages. She removed her hand and grabbed a flask hanged at her belt. Finan pushed himself up with his elbow as she handed him the bottle. He drank all of it, his hand shaking. The water ran down his throat, appeasing the ache of it.

“Thank ya.” He smiled, giving her back the flask.

“What’s your name?” She asked, hanging the flask back on her belt.

He studied her a little more before answering. She was dressed as a warrior, a chest plate covering her upper body. He remembered seeing her fighting with the people who came for Uhtred. She wasn’t as skilled as the other warriors, but she fought with fierce.

“Finan.” He watched her repeat his name silently. “Yours?”

“Saegyth”

…

A whole day passed since they rescued Uhtred from the slave ship. Saegyth spend most of her day to help the last slaves still here. But there was one who didn’t leave. Finan stayed last night near the fire with them.

Unlike most of the slaves she saw that day, the Irishman was more talkative. He spoke a little of what happened on the ship, what cost Halig’s life. Sometimes, his eyes were lost in the fire and darkened. The man saw much. Probably too much for one life. But almost all the time, his face would break in a smile. The smile of a broken man.

Finan was asleep in the grass when Saegyth decided she should see how he was. She put down her bucket of fresh water and the clean clothes Hild brought back from a village near, and kneeled next his body.

"Finan ?" She called him her hand on his shoulder.

He slowly opened his eyes, a little confused. His fingers came to her wrist, barely touching it like to be sure she was real. As his fingertips grazed her soft skin, he smiled. She gave it back to him, studying his face a moment.

His skin was crackled and tanned because of the time he spent on the ship. His lips were in bad condition too, his flesh raw in some part. His face was half covered by his beard and his dark hair was leaving the ponytail he had managed to make. The state of the man was making her heart squeeze. She didn't know much of him, but whatever he had done, it could never be worth for such punishment.

Her hand left his shoulder and she tilted her head. "You slept almost the whole day. I wanted to know how you were."

"I’m fine." He answered, his eyelids half closed.

"I brought you some clothes and water to wash you." She explained, her hands posed on the edge of the bucket.

Finan frowned and sat up. He looked to the bucket, and seemed to hesitate. Slowly, he leaned above the water, his eyes widening as he stared at his reflection. One of his finger came touching the features of his face on the edge of the water, blurring his own reflection. Saegyth noticed the tears sparking in the corner of his eyes.

"I hadn't seen my face in three winters." He declared, his gaze still fixed with his own. After a moment, he looked back to her. "I was still a boy the last time. I didn't had that beard." He chuckled even though Saegyth clearly heard the sob behind.

She knew so little of the man and yet she couldn't help but feel so much for him. She felt this desire to help him deep in her heart. This will to learn who he was. And she knew he was much more than just a slave.

Her hand found his face, her thumb rubbing his cheek to wipe the tears.

"Let me help you to bring a little of that boy." She softly said.

She searched his eyes in order to have some kind of answer. But he simply nodded and her hand dropped back to her side. She took a pair of scissors and started to roughly cut his beard. Finan's fascination about his own face started again. As she worked, Saegyth stared at him, wondering how he looked before.

When she finished, Finan finally looked at her, his fingers lightly brushing what remained of his beard.

"Thank ya." He said.

"It's normal." She smiled at him.

He frowned a little as he thought. "You are not a Dane."

"No, I am not." She laughed, sinking a fabric in the water.

"And you’re not an abbess." He added, amusement in his voice.

"Neither. I am a Lady." She declared as she met his deep brown eyes.

"I've never seen a Lady fought before." There was some admiration in his tone that she appreciated.

"There's a first time for everything." She removed the fabric from the bucket and spinner it. "Can you remove your shirt?"

He did, grabbing the edge of what remained of the shirt and removing it. Saegyth almost gasped when he revealed his body. He was thin despite his muscles, his ribs clear under his skin. His body was a parchment on which paint cans had been accidentally spilled. There was bruised of varied colours, from purple to yellow. Scars were forming straight lines, especially in his back. And she wondered if there was still part of his skin that hadn't been damaged.

"Where did ya learn to fight ?" He asked her, trying to take away her attention from his body.

She swallowed and put the wet fabric on his arm. "Uhtred taught me when we were hiding from Danes in marshes." This was years ago, but yet it felt like yesterday. "I always wish to learn, but being of noble blood made it difficult. So, when my husband died in battle, I asked Uhtred to teach me."

Since the first time she met the Half - Dane in Winchester, she felt some sort of fascination for him. Maybe it was youth, but she didn't regret pushing her curiosity. She discovered a man of honour and with a kindness unexpected for a Dane, after all she had heard of them. When King Alfred freed Ragnar, Uhtred's brother, she didn't hesitate to follow him to save him.

"I am sorry for your husband." He said, as he shivered when the fabric was now running in his back.

"Don't be. He wasn't a man I choose and I was young when I was married to him." She explained, looking side as she winced.

She never loved him, neither respected him. He was a turd, to her, to other peoples and learning his death felt like a relief. She felt free and she didn't wait to experience that freedom.

As she cleaned the most recent wounds, red and still swollen, she noticed the way his jaw clenched. How once more, his eyes were lost. And so, she spoke again, trying to distract him.

"Uhtred is a good man, King Alfred recovered Wessex thanks to him." She told him about the many plans Uhtred came up with. But also his stupid actions that cost him the gratitude of Alfred. "Uhtred is a good strategist in battle, but he still has progress to make in politics." She chuckled, putting down the now dirty fabric.

He smiled a little, maybe he heard a different version of those stories from Uhtred. "But he is a good man." He repeated her words.

"He is." She untied his hair, dark dirty strands falling on his bare shoulders.

Finan plunged his hands in the bucket and leaned his head. He splashed water all over his face and hair, running his fingers through it. His tongue licked droplets on his lips.

"Not salt water." He smiled, like he just discovered the existence of it.

His joy for a such a subtle thing made her heart squeeze again. Her life hadn't always been made of happiness, but never simple things made her eyes spark like Finan's ones. He took water in his hands and poured it on his hair once more. Saegyth untied a ribbon around her wrist. She let her fingers gather his strands before attaching them.

“What will you do, now?” She asked him, handing him a clean shirt.

He grabbed it and brushed the cloth with his thumb a moment. “I thought… That maybe I should stay with Uhtred.”

“You don’t want to go back to… To your home?” She frowned a little.

His gaze darkened and he took a deep breath, his shoulders rising before falling as he loudly exhaled. She bit her lips, regretting her question. She wanted to excuse herself, but he answered before.

“No… There’s nothing for me there.” She nodded silently. “I'm free because of Uhtred. He gave me hope and strength to pass another winter.” He looked up to her, meeting her pupils. “I owe him tha’.”

She couldn’t help but smile. The man lived hell for years and yet, he was ready to fight and serve a man, even if it could cost him his life. The strength he said Uhtred gave him, she was sure it had always been there in him. She put her hand on his and squeezed it lightly.

“He’ll be glad and grateful.”

As she removed her hand to leave, he grabbed it. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his action.

“Thank ya.” Finan said.

“It’s normal.” She repeated.

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. No one has ever been that kind with me. Even… Before.”

“It’s nothing Finan, really.” She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

“Not for me.”

She held her breath a moment. There was so much sincerity in his words. None of the other slaves dared to speak to her. Finan was broken, and yet the man didn’t disappear.

“There’s a first time for everything.” She simply said and he let go of her hand.

Tag: @n0rthumbria @geekandbooknerd @sihtric @othermoony @seaberrycloudberry @amyyreblogss @for-bebbanburg @beowulfsdottir @bird-on-a-wire20 @minimartian

#finan #finan the agile #finanxoc #the last kingdom #tlk #fanfiction

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gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

5. Once Upon a Southern Night

Crescent City

Warnings: Mentions of slavery and Confederacy

New Orleans. Hot and humid as home. Sister city to Mobile. Walking down the steamy streets, it smelled like spicy seasoning and margaritas—sounded like jazz beats and rushing crowds.

This year, Ash Wednesday fell incredibly late; March 10 to be exact. You never thought you would find yourself stumbling through New Orleans in the middle of Fat Tuesday—half-naked dancers screaming at your boyfriend from parade floats and indiscreet tourists flashing themselves as your family walked by. It was the most humiliating experience you ever felt, and all you could do is curse the Lost Cause soldiers who started the damn holiday in your home city in the first place.

The hospital was located smack in the middle of the old French Quarter where colonial buildings towered above the people, decorated in royal colored beads and winding lights. Nobody could drive the car through the crowd, so you had to get there by walking. You held your mom’s hand with your left, Jasper’s hand with your right.

“It’s never like this at home,” you explained to Jasper with a nervous laugh. “Did you know that the New Orleans mayor has to get permission from Mobile’s mayor every year to practice Mardi Gras?”

He looked down at you with his burning eyes. Since becoming aware of your family’s secret, he’d hardened himself to this emotionless being whose only concern was your safety. You were not allowed to leave his side, and when you had to go to the bathroom, he stood right outside the door like some long lost puppy.

“Something tells me they wouldn’t care whether or not they got permission anyway,” Emmett cackled. “New Orleans is wild.”

“Yeah, and you keep your eyes on the ground, sir,” Rosalie said, punching the side of his arm. The reverberating echo sounded like cracking glass.

The hospital was in very good shape on the outside despite being closed indefinitely for the past seventeen years. According to your mom, immediately after you were born, the place had been completely shut down and abandoned.

There were pictures of all kinds of historic events hung in antique gold frames on the walls: naval ships on fire at the Battle of Galveston, slaves picking fresh cotton on a South Carolinian plantation, Jefferson Davis’s inauguration in Montgomery, Alabama.

And in the middle of the lobby were a series of three grand portraits of Texas Majors. And at the end: Jasper Whitlock, Houston native, (1845-1863), died during a surprise Union attack in an evacuation order. There he was in his fine uniform, a cowboy hat over his honey curls. He looked so recognizable. . .so familiar in those white gloves—

He touched your side, and you looked around. The others were gone from sight, but you knew they could still hear everything where you were.

“If I could go back in time, if I could start all over again, I would do so in a heartbeat. I’m not proud of my past, Y/N. Not when I was human, nor when I changed. And I. . .I know I have no right to ask for your forgiveness but I—”

There was venom glistening in his eyes. Vampires couldn’t cry. It was one of the things Rosalie said she missed most about being a human. But looking at Jasper now, he looked like he was on the very verge of doing the possible. He fell to his knees.

“I’m so sorry for it all. I’m so sorry for what I did. I never. . .I never did some of the things my comrades did, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty. I still killed people. I killed people for the wrong reason, Y/N. I was a monster, and I can never wipe that blood off my ledger.”

You cradled his face in your hands. “We all have our past, Jas. You might’ve made mistakes, you might’ve done bad things, but you’re not the same person you used to be. It was a different time and era, and frankly, you growing from what you’ve suffered and experienced makes me love you even more.”

“But I was evil. There was evil in my heart, and I thought I was doing right. I convinced myself I was fighting for my neighbors—for my way of life. But the truth is, that way of life was wrong. Whether it was enslaving African Americans or newborns, I still felt all of their pain. It was so much, so much death and heartache,” he insisted, holding on to your wrists like they were the only thing they could hold him upright. “And I’m not worthy to be your man.”

“You damn right, you aren’t,” a feminine voice snapped behind you.

You turned around to face a black woman, just about her early twenties, menacing at Jasper by your side. She had a thick, kinky head of natural textured hair, and she was very well built—like she could run a marathon and beat everyone in the race. And her eyes were a mesmerizing shade of hazel that stood out against her skin.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, your voice trembling and barely above a whisper. The Cullens appeared from the shadows, surprised and slightly on edge that someone was in the hospital that they did not know about.

“My name used to be Ava Lafayette,” she explained, glancing you up down like you were nothing more than a roach. “We used to be—we are sisters.”

“How do I? I feel like we’ve met before.” Jasper touched his head, his fingernails digging into his skin like he was in severe pain. You hugged his waist, trying to comfort him but there wasn’t much you could do for the ailment of a vampire. Carlisle held him upright with his steady hands.

“That’s because we have, Major. You had a mission to gather all male, able-bodied volunteers from Mobile when you stumbled across the Lafayette plantation. I was a house slave of that household, of Preston Lafayette Sr.’s household. And he is also my father.”

You reeled back in horror. “So. . .does that mean? Preston Lafayette II is my brother???!”

She shook her head. “Nope, not this time. He’s my brother. Your father’s name was James. He was a full-blooded slave who lived on a neighboring plantation about thirty miles north.”

“But how is this possible?” your mother demanded, holding your arm. “She was born right here seventeen years ago. My husband and I adopted her. She was a baby!”

Ava glared at her, her eyes brightening inhumanely blue. “How are you skeletons still standing and breathing? It’s the work of the witches. The rule of supernatural order. Except in this case, Y/N is an exception.”

“. . .What?”

Ava suddenly waved her hand, and the air around you transformed into a place that was not the hospital. You were in the middle of a hot, blazing field, there were little black children running around carrying cracked buckets of water. Horses whinnied at the swarming flies, and poorly abused men and women sang in the fields.

“Massah completely forgot about Mama after I was born. About six years later when she had enough cloth to make her own wedding dress, she and James jumped the broom. You were born a couple of months later, right around the time Preston Jr. himself was born.

The two of you were inseparable. You played in the fields together when you weren’t in the Big House secretly learning lessons with Missus. He taught you how to ride his horse, Midnight, and you showed him how to gather berries by the river where the girls washed the laundry.

The two of you fell in love, and although you’d gotten much too old to be running around, Preston loved you to pieces. He begged Massah to let you in the house with all the fair-skinned servants. So, Massah took it one step further. He gave you to him for his nineteenth birthday.

The night of the party, however, Major Whitlock and some of his men came riding up to the front steps. They invited him in for dinner, and Preston had no choice but to join since his father was much too old to serve and he had no other male siblings.

He had to leave you behind, but not before finding out you were expecting’. It wasn’t uncommon for those kinds of things to happen back then, but it was still big news. Preston was devastated. He never believed in slavery anyhow, but he was afraid Missus would sell you if she knew about the baby. He was supposed to be getting married to Miss Abigail Mae Shepherd, and it would not be good news to hear about a half-negro baby in the plantation.

Unfortunately, Preston was right. While he was gone, Mama was furious. Missus had made arrangements for you to be sold up to a whore house in Charleston the next week. But see the thing about Mama—she was no ordinary slave. She was a witch who’d given up her magic in order to be with a human, James.

She sought help from her friends, but they would not help her. So, with no other choice, she decided to cast the forbidden spell.

She ignored the laws of time, erased your memories, and de-aged you in order to send you to the year (----), when you were ‘born.’ This hospital was never real, just an illusion that came with the spell. She intended for some human to adopt you so you could grow up as a normal child in the 21st century, but instead you were adopted by a white vampire.”

The illusion melted away, and once again you were in the dusty hospital.

“You don’t know the pain and suffering I went through while you were enjoying the amenities of the future. Mama, after breaking the most sacred forbidden spell of the witches, was sentenced to death by all of the North American clans. They allowed Missus to have her hanged, and then she turned her rage onto me.

I eventually ran to New Orleans to escape the Lafayettes and find the truth of our supernatural background. There, the witches accepted me, albeit begrudgingly, and taught me how to use my power. I knew I’d eventually find you, one year or another, but I didn’t expect it would take nearly two centuries to do so.”

Your heart was broken. Your whole life—as tragic as it was—was built with that man who was chasing after you now. He was the father to your unborn child, the child that would never be born. You’d grown up together, known each other inside and out. But you’d completely forgotten him and now he was coming back—and for what reason?

“So. . .witches. . .are they immortal?” Carlisle asked.

“Precisely—if they choose to enable their powers and stay that way. Only a witch can kill a witch. We witches created the first vampires in the world as a part of our Goddess’s order. The werewolves and shapeshifters and La Push were created some time before that as well.”

“But why is Preston trying to come for Y/N? I thought you said he was against slavery? If he really loves her, why didn’t he just tell her the whole truth in the first place?” Your mom demanded.

Ava's eyes turned back hazel, and a chair appeared behind her. “Because he wants to completely ruin Jasper. He blames Jasper for making him leave, and he blames Jasper for all the wars he fought with Maria in the South. And the little devil has allied herself with his cause, for no one wants to see him suffer more than she does.”

You felt Jasper tense beside you. None of this was his fault, he was just doing what he was ordered. But Preston was focusing all his energy on completely destroying your bond with him. Earlier, Jasper explained that you were his mate. Perhaps, this was a revenge plot?

“But why would he think I’d willingly fall into his arms like we’re still in love? It was over a century ago, and I don’t remember any of it!” you shouted.

“That man died in 1863 when he was turned. Since that day, he’s been stuck in the past—eternally bound to the promise to return back to you. No matter what you say, he’s always going to after you. That’s what he told his mother, and the next day she signed your papers.”

Jasper wrapped a protective arm around your middle. “That won’t happen. He won’t take her away from me. And as for Maria, I know her better than anyone else in this world. I’m not scared if it comes to a fight.”

“Why can’t I see anything anymore?” Alice cried. “And why can’t the witches help?”

“Because once a witch is aware of what they are, vampires can no longer turn them or use their gifts on them. Maria and Preston have also probably enlisted the help of witches or wolves to cover their tracks. And as for the witches. . .they have completely shunned Y/N from society. In fact, they’d probably be more willing to kill her than help, but because of me, they’re holding their preference of the law at bay.”

Edward, frustrated at the lack of his telepathic abilities, said, “So we’re going in blind, the witches won’t help—isn’t this a Volturi level threat?”

Ava sighed. “The Volturi is completely submissive to the witches. If they come near a witch family or steps within a mile radius of even the city of New Orleans, the entire vampire race will be completely wiped out. Sorry, but they won’t be much help in this fight.”

You pressed your hand to your chest, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Immediately, Jasper caught you as you wobbled on your feet from the lack of oxygen. His scent comforted you, but you felt the distance between the two of you more than ever. At one point, you were pledged to another man; the same man after his life now.

“So what can we do?” your mother and Esme pleaded. “How can we save her? They’re bringing their newborn armies after us, the seven of us won’t be enough!”

Ava twirled a ball of light in her fingers thoughtfully. You realized that despite the fact she was biracial, she looked so similar to you. You shared the same round nose and shape of lips.

“I really hate you more than anything, if I’m being honest. Your mom favored you and sent you away, leaving me in the dust and without a mother in a time when I didn’t understand a bit of what magic was or that the supernatural even existed,” she admitted. “But you’re still my sister, and you’re the only family I’ve got left. I’m going to try to get some of my friends to come to our side, but that’s no guarantee. Sadly, Helen of Troy is still pinned for being the start of war.”

“And we have some friends of our own,” Carlisle said. “And we’ll try to convince the shapeshifters to help too. If we could lure them back to La Push, that would mean infringing on werewolf territory and it would give them no choice but to defend Y/N.”

Jasper held you tighter, and his eyes darkened. “I don’t care what I have to do. Preston has been sorely mistaken, and now we have an old score to settle. Y/N and I are in love now, and we always will be. What happened in 1863 will stay in 1863, and I will be the one to make sure that happens.”

You snuggled into his chest, closing your eyes. You prayed to God—the Goddess or whoever—that you and your family would end up okay. You prayed for the baby that was never born, the baby that was never loved, and you prayed for your biological mother’s tortured soul. But lastly, and more importantly, you prayed for Jasper.

Don’t you like watching Jasper ride his hOnSe??

Part Three Part Four

#jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale imagines #Twilight #twilight imagines #cullen clan #edward cullen #carlisle cullen #alice cullen #emmett cullen #esme cullen #rosalie hale #i hate doing hastags #i like the honse

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jonathananubian · 4 years

Text

Te Dralyc Kar Ch 2 [Star Wars Fanfic]

Synopsis:

Jango isn’t quite sure how he came to adopt a blonde slave boy after a job on Tatooine went sideways, but he honestly couldn’t complain. The boy is a little genius, brimming with compassion and a willingness to learn. The only hiccup, as far as Jango is concerned, is the fact that his boy is a naturally powerful force user. Someone the jetii would want to get their hands on.

Of course- he’d just like to see them try.

[This story isn’t linear. More like a series of snapshots. At least until later chapters.]

Ch 2: Shu’shu’ika

Trel Mongabe patrolled the hall between the cells. They could hear the crying of the new products but it rang hollow in their ears. After years working with the Thasp slavers they had learned to tune it out. Their heart had hardened and all they could think about was the credits. Stopping in front of the cell with the newest batch of child slaves they looked in on them. Most of the kids were huddled together, crying or whimpering, but one of them stood out amongst the others. It was a boy with messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He sat, cross legged, between the other children and the cell door. Trel cackled.

“Think you’re brave, huh?” The boy glared at them and they grinned.

“My dad is going to kill you. All of you.” Trel felt a small shiver run down their spine. There was something so certain in the boy’s gaze it was unsettling.

“Oh yeah? Him and what army?” The boy smiled, looking smug. Trel wanted to smack the look off the kid’s face.

“He doesn’t need an army. He’s the best bounty hunter in the galaxy!” They let out a bark of laughter.

“That’s a big claim considering the best bounty hunter in the galaxy is Jango… Fett…” Trel’s laughter tapered off when the boy didn’t waver. If anything his expression grew more smug, more triumphant. They paled.

“Y-you can’t be serious?” Before the kid could answer there was a sudden jolt and a loud explosion. The kid got to his feet with a huge grin. “What the fu-” Before they could finish their sentence the boy lifted his cuffed hands and suddenly Trel was knocked back into another cell door, their head slamming against it hard. The boy turned and Trel watched as the cuffs fell, like they hadn’t been locked a moment ago.

“Come on, we’re getting out of here.” The boy said happily to the other children. Trel tried to push themselves away from the cell door but was caught by the hands of some of the older slaves. The blonde boy shoved his cell door and it opened with a shriek of metal. More hands grasped at them, cutting off their oxygen. The last hysteric thought that went through their head as the world turned black was; ‘Jango Fett has a son!’

[Anakin]

Soothing some of the younger kids he told them to hide if they heard the slavers coming and to only come back out if they heard him tell them it was safe. “I’ll say ‘there are no bad guys.’ If you hear that then it’s safe to come out. If I say ‘it’s safe’ then you’ll know the slavers got me and are trying to make me help them catch you again.” The oldest girl nodded in understanding and ushered the others into the shadowy section of the hold. With the kids safe he turned his attention to the other cells.

His dad told him he had to be careful when he used the force. If he did too much he could get sick and there was no one around to take care of him. So instead of ripping all the doors open he went over to the unconscious, maybe dead, hut’uun and rummaged through their pockets until he found a remote. He checked it carefully to make sure it wasn’t connected to any explosives before hitting a button and whooping when all the doors opened.

“It’s alright! You’re all free!” He called out. Those who could see him from their cells were the first to come out into the hall then slowly others started to join them. One woman, a Twi’lek, leaned down to smile at him, gratitude shining in her eyes.

“Arni’soyacho!” She said emphatically.

“Koahiko.” He said in response, his smile growing wider when the woman looked pleasantly surprised.

“Is anyone really good at shooting?” He asked. A couple of hands went up and he handed them the guns from the unconscious slaver. When they were armed they went to guard the door to the cargo bay. There wasn’t a long wait before the two former slaves were shooting down the hall to keep the slavers at bay. Anakin sat down and closed his eyes, breathing in and out slowly. Right away he zeroed in on his father’s presence in the force and relaxed.

Another explosion rocked the ship and the people around him began to panic. “It’s okay!” He said loudly above the murmuring, standing up excitedly. “It’s just my dad, he’s here to help!” Of this Anakin had no doubt. His dad hated slavery even more than he did. He wasn’t lying when he told the slaver that his dad was going to kill them all.

When he felt his dad finally come closer he ran up to the door. “Don’t shoot!” The slaves looked at him a little strangely but they aimed the blasters at the ground rather than down the hallway. His father’s bulky armored frame came running down the hallway, his aura of rage giving way to joy and relief.

“Ad’ika? Me’vaar?” Anakin ran up to him and was pulled into an embrace. A gloved hand ran through his blonde hair as he was lifted into his father’s arms.

“Naas, jahaala.” Jango’s gloved hand brushed against the bruise on his face and Anakin could feel his anger spike.

“Nayc, ne’jahaala.” But his dad let it go for the time being. Setting him down on the floor he let Anakin lead him into the cargo bay and looked around at the sheer number of freed slaves. He cursed under his breath.

“Can anyone here fly?” Anakin grinned and went to open his mouth. “Not you, shu’shu’ika.” The man said with exasperated fondness. He pouted but let his dad work with the slaves while he wandered over to where the kids were hiding.

“There are no bad guys left, you can come out now!” There was no response at first but after a beat of silence the kids came out from their hiding places. Some of them ran to their parents, whom they’d been separated from, while others huddled together near Anakin.

“It’s settled then. I’ll escort you to Alderaan.” Turning away from the small group who appeared to be the new leaders for the freed slaves his dad motioned him over. “K’olar, An’ika. We’re leaving.” Anakin said good-bye to the other children and scampered over to his father.

“You sure you’re alright, ner ad?” He smiled.

“Lek, I knew you’d come.” He could feel his dad’s emotions in the force and leaned against him. His dad had felt so desperate and angry, scared almost. Now he was all calm determination and contentment again, sharp and focused like he always was when doing his job.

“We’re going to help them get home, right buir?” Jango looked down at him and even through his helmet Anakin knew he was smiling fondly.

“That’s right, An’ika.” Anakin beamed. His dad was so wizard!

Mando'a:

Hut’uun- Coward Arni’soyacho!- (Ryl) An expression of extreme gratitude; thank you very much. Koahiko- (Ryl) A polite response to gratitude. Ad’ika? Me’vaar?- Little one, you okay? Naas, jahaala- I’m well. Nayc, ne’jahaala- No, you’re not well. Shu’shu’ika- Little disaster. K’olar- Come here, commanding. Ner ad- My son. Lek- Yep.

#fanfiction #mandalorian culture #adoption #past slavery #slavery #jango fett #parenting #force sensitivity #young anakin skywalker #kidnapping #rescue mission #star wars #found family

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keldae · 4 years

Text

Ships Passing

Reanden had always been trained to keep an ear open to his surroundings. And this visit to Dromund Kaas was no exception. Even while tracking down the dissidents plotting against the Empire (and good for them, he thought, even if he couldn’t actually help them without getting himself killed), he was listening. Darth Baras plotting things that weren’t half as much of a secret from Imperial Intelligence as he thought -- that was par for the course. The Great Hunt over in the Mandalorian enclave was well underway -- so far, there seemed to be a couple of Mandos vying for the top rank. Lord Zash, up to her scheming ways again, and this time with a new apprentice she’d plucked off of Korriban -- one from the first batch of Force Sensitive slaves to be sent for training, reportedly.

About as normal as one could expect for Kaas City, he supposed.

The old spy typically tried to keep clear of Kaas City’s shenanigans, especially where the Sith were concerned -- and yet, still was unlucky enough to somehow attract Darth Jadus’ attention. As he was making his way out of the Dark Lord’s chambers in the Citadel and trying to not obviously limp (one day, he would learn to not snark off to touchy Sith Lords. He’d been telling himself that for years now, eventually one day it would kick in.), he caught sight of a hulking mass lumbering into the Sith sanctum behind Lord Zash and her newest pet apprentice. His first thought was of a Houk… but a Houk didn’t have sharp teeth he could see at twenty paces off, and a Houk didn’t make the typical haughty Sith Lord back away with a horrified expression (well, not often). Honestly, he was kind of impressed that Zash and her apprentice seemed rather nonchalant about it.

“The fuck is that thing?!” Kaliyo hissed, sounding startled for perhaps the first time that Reanden could recall.

“Some sort of ancient Sith monster,” he muttered, wracking his brain for the research he’d done on Sith history over the years. It was a lot harder to focus with his head still pounding in protest at his insistence on snarking off at a member of the Dark Council. “Looks like a Dashade, but I thought those went the way of the Rakata eons ago.”

“... Which means what?”

“Extinct.”

“Yeah, well, guess not.” Kaliyo edged around until she was on Reanden’s other side from the Sith and their pet monster, all but using the agent as a human shield. “Can we get out of here before that thing decides it’s hungry?”

“What, didn’t want to stick around and admire the Sith aesthetic?” Reanden muttered distractedly as he looked back at Zash and her apprentice. The new Sith student was tall and humanoid, but had a hood up that covered their face. Yet something kept drawing his eyes back to the student (a male, if he had to guess by the stance and height, depending on what species they were). Something about that stride hinted at familiarity, nagging at his memory. While he wasn’t a stranger to slave trade circles, he hardly had any familiarity with any slaves -- or former slaves, if the rumours about this Sith apprentice were true.

Your son wound up a slave, whispered a voice in the back of his mind cruelly -- one that made him scowl to hide his despair and grief. He’d failed to rescue Sorand, and now Force only knew where the boy had wound up while his father had floated in a kolto tank after being shot. If the slavers hadn’t killed him outright, they would have unloaded him onto the first prospective buyer, and this time Reanden had no chance of finding a lead as to where his youngest son was now. Sorand was gone, as untraceable now as Korin was, and none of his extensive contacts in Imperial Intelligence, or the SIS, or the criminal underworld, could turn up any sign of two missing teenage boys. Hells, if anything happened to his secret daughter, hidden away with the Jedi, he wasn’t sure what he would do…

“Nine?” He was brought out of his despairing thoughts by Kaliyo nudging his arm, looking confused, and perhaps a bit concerned. “You high on something? You ain’t the type to zone out like that…”

“... It’s nothing,” Reanden quietly said, sharply turning his head away from Zash, and the Sith monstrosity, and the quiet hooded student behind their master. “Let’s get moving -- that insurgent plan isn’t going to foil itself.”

“Damn,” Kaliyo muttered as she followed the spy out of the Citadel, glancing over her shoulder once as if to see what had gotten Cipher Nine’s attention so fully. She finally shrugged, chalked up her boss’s distraction to the creepy monster behind the Sith, and hurried after him. Really better to make sure she was far away when the beast eventually decided it was hungry. If nothing else, Sith could find weirder and creepier pets than any Hutt she’d ever worked for. Right now, she wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

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Something in the Force flickered. With a quick glance to see if Zash was watching him (she wasn’t, her attention given to chatting with another Sith Lord), Sorand slowly turned his head, as though idly surveying his surroundings. Khem Val growled behind him, but seemingly had nothing of value to say right now, letting his master look around.

For any other Sith, the human man walking out of the Citadel with the Rattataki woman beside him wouldn’t have so much as raised an eyebrow, unless perhaps questioning why a Force-blind man was in the Sith sanctum, or cautiously wondering what Cipher Nine’s business here was. Sorand hadn’t been a respectable Imperial citizen long enough to have heard the exploits of the legendary Intelligence asset, but still found his eyes drawn to the older human, completely ignoring the Rattataki woman.

His heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight to not cry out for a second -- he still made a soft little gasp that almost went completely unheard, unconsciously taking a step toward the stranger. In the dim lighting of the sanctum, from several metres away, the man looked like his father, enough that Sorand desperately wanted to call out to him. Dad! If only that man were to turn his head, so Sorand could see more than just the profile of his face --

What good would that do? asked the bitter little voice of reason in the back of his mind, one that shattered Sorand’s hope as much as his heart. Dad’s dead. You saw them shoot him. There’s no way it’s him. If his mother, a fully trained Jedi and strong in the Force, couldn’t keep herself alive in the final duel that had claimed her life, there was no way in the Nine Hells that his Force-blind father could have survived that shot. Force knew he still had nightmares where all he could see was that smoking hole from a blaster in his father’s chest. If only Sorand had been a Sith sooner, perhaps he could have kept both of his parents alive…

But he hadn’t been, and his parents were both dead, and he was pretty sure that at this point, his older brother had to be dead too. The Force wasn’t the benevolent, saving power like his mother had told him. It was cold, and cruel, and wouldn’t cut him a break by miraculously giving him one of his parents back. Would you even have been able to save them?

“Apprentice?” Zash had wrapped up her conversation and was frowning at him. “What is it?”

“... It’s nothing, my lord,” Sorand quietly said, turning away as the man who couldn’t be his father vanished into the shadows. He’d learned over the years in the slave pens how to keep his face still and emotions hidden, and he was pretty sure this was his greatest test, to keep his freshly-renewed grief for his father pushed down to where it couldn’t be felt. Sith didn’t cry. Sith absolutely did not cry, not for their murdered parents and siblings, and certainly not in front of their masters. “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Hmm. A former associate from Korriban, or your life before, perhaps? This won’t be a distraction, I trust?” Zash’s dark eyes glinted in the dim light -- calculating, analyzing, seeking a weakness.

“No, my lord.”

“Good.” Seemingly satisfied with her apprentice’s answer, Zash nodded and turned back around, resuming her stroll to her chambers. “Come along -- we still have to discuss your strategy for dealing with Skotia.”

Swallowing down the knot in his throat, Sorand fell into step behind his latest master, trying to forget the man he’d seen, and the wild, desperate hope that made the grief hurt all the worse. If he threw himself into Zash’s scheme to kill Darth Skotia, perhaps he could keep himself distracted enough to get through the pain.

He still found himself looking at every older human man who even vaguely resembled Reanden Taerich for the remainder of his time on Dromund Kaas, searching for the one who looked too much like his father.

#Kel writes #SWTOR #Reanden #Sorand #father-son #ANGSTFEST!#Imperial Agent #Sith Inquisitor #Dromund Kaas #THESE ASSHOLES MADE ME CRY #when Reanden doesn't know Sorand got hauled off to Korriban for training #and Sorand's so sure his dad's dead #you know Reanden would have barged onto Korriban himself if he'd had so much as a hunch that Sorand was there #oh the heartbreak #and you know Airna's watching them from the Force #and probably wanting to shake one or both of them #because the other one is RIGHT THERE DAMMIT #honestly I don't know HOW they didn't find each other again until the end of vanilla

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witchyclispe · 5 years

Text

Master of Balance

Posted on ao3 too! Check it out there!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22412821/chapters/55004956

BLOOD AND MURDER WARNING! Please be cautious if those themes bother you!

Chapter Two

Life is Short

The next few years would grow to be increasingly chaotic for the poor old mechanic . He had certainly not expected it would be so hard to raise another human being but damn had he been wrong. Although Ziorah was a fairly easy girl to raise , she was a very odd child. Always so curious and rambunctious. Percival loved her more than absolutely anything and would give anything to see that adorable little girl smile or hear her giggling.

Percival smiled looking into his living room to see his now 7 year old daughter playing with her "auntie 'thala" as she liked to call her. Arthala had helped him quite a bit with raising the small girl, often times watching her as he went to work out in the garage . Thought the sneaky thing would somehow get past the 7 foot beast of a woman to watch her father working on the old and brand new ships .

The old man was always happy to have Ziorah help him with his work and could see a great deal of mechanical potential in her , which filled him with so much pride you'd think the man might explode when she first completely repaired a set of blasters he kept lying around. The little girl was only 7 for God's sake!

When the little girl noticed her father in the room she jumped off of her aunties shoulders and ran over to him laughing and smiling " Daddy!!! Auntie 'thala brought me a gift!!" Bending down, he picked up Ziorah and let her settle in his arms. " Oh a gift? What was it my little moon?" , Percival asked with mild curiosity. "She brought me old parts! I can add them to my collection Dad!!", Ziorah said with the purest smile .

"Very cool my love. Did you thank your auntie?", " Uhuh! Then me and auntie started playing! She let me ride her shoulders! " she said pointing towards the woman who stood back in their living room. " Zio is getting' fasta old man. We might need to start tyin' her down!", Arthala said with a loud laugh , placing her hands on her hips . "No! You'll never catch me auntie!" , the girl said climbing out of her adoptive fathers arms. "Alright alright you two, lets not start a race while we're inside , ok?" , Percival said with a chuckle.

" oh wait! Daddy, auntie! I want to show you a magic trick!" , Ziorah shouted tugging on the bottom of her father's shirt and pulling him into the living room. "Since when can you do magic little moon?" , the old man asked quizzically, sitting on his sofa as Arthala say next to him. "Since a few days ago! It happened when I was sleeping and I want to show you guys!", the 7 year old girl said very excitedly . "Well then show us Zio!" , Arthala exclaimed just as excitedly. Ziorah quickly nodded and stood in the middle of the room and shut her eyes tightly , raising her hands in front of her .

Slowly but surely the table that sat beside the couch started to rise into the air. The light and pens that had sat on top of it now floating with the small table. Percival's mouth opened to say something but he was too shocked to even speak . Arthala's mouth hung open in the same gesture of pure shock and bewilderment. Carefully Zio's eyes opened and she looked directly at the table as she brought it back to the ground .

Once everything had been placed back exactly where it had been , Ziorah dropped her arms and looked at the shocked expressions of her father and aunt. "See! I can do magic!", she said whilst her father found his voice again " Ziorah that… that was-" , "Amazin'! Fantastic!! Ya did great dear!" , Arthalas loud voice cut him off as she stood up to hug her niece, all the while Percival just looked at his daughter in awe .

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"Alright my little magician , time for bed .", Percival spoke picking up his half awake and yawning daughter. " Ok daddy. Night night auntie!" , Zio said waving to her aunt. Arthala smiled waving back to the sleepy little girl telling her to sleep well as Percival walked towards the small bedroom he had made for Ziorah just after he first took her in. Placing her down on the small bed , Percival helped to tuck her under the covers. "Daddy I heard the boy again today. " Ziorah spoke out as she sat back into her pillows . " oh? And what did he say today little moon?" , the old man asked as he sat on the side of his daughter's bed.

He had known about the voice Ziorah had been hearing since she could first understand what it was. He often would hear her talking to no one in the middle of the night though it often seemed only like a one sided conversation . She liked to call the voice "the boy " due to never knowing its real name and hating to just call it a voice. "It's a real person daddy i know it is. " she had once told him . To say Percival wanted to believe her would be a stretch . No one sane was known to hear voices and it worried him that she could , that was until today though.

"She's force sensitive Arthala! That's how she was able to move the table! I can't believe I never saw it until now! " , the old man said to his friend as he stood in the kitchen making dinner for the three of them. "Force sensitives are a rare thing now aren't they ,old man? I know ya believe in that mumbo jumbo but ya can't really think its real Perc." , Arthala said leaning on the counter top . "I was brought up believing in it . So was my father and his father before him! Force sensitives are known throughout the galaxy , 'Thala . Only certain people can even pick up on the force , and even fewer can control it! Don't you remember the stories of the Jedi Order? Luke Skywalker?!", Percival stated. He was excited yet scared for his adoptive daughter. Rysheladon wasn't exactly the best place for force users . If you were found to be connected to it they would either kill you, or use you as a slave to the royal family . It usually ended up being the first option due to how much the royal family hated force users of any kind.

Percival suddenly stopped what he was doing and turned towards his large friend and in a quiet yet stern tone he spoke to her. " We can't let anyone know of this Arthala. It could get her killed , I'd never be able to handle that. If anyone ever finds out she- she could be taken away and put into slavery…. 'Thala that little girl means more to me than anything in the entire galaxy i-i cant let that happen." , the old man stuttered out . " I promise you Percival . That will never, never , happen to her. We will teach her to control it and not to suppress it so she will never accidentally hurt herself or someone else. " , at that Percival nodded . That evening a silent bond had been formed between them. No one would ever know of Ziorah's connection to the force except for them.

They would make damn sure of that .

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"The boy is always so nice daddy… I wish he could hear me like i hear him " , Ziorah said with a yawn as she laid down into her fluffy pillows . " I know my love. Maybe one day he'll hear you and you can both talk to each other. Maybe even face to face. " , Percival said kissing his daughters forehead and standing up from his spot beside her bed . "I hope he likes me…like i like him ." , he heard her say as he walked to the doorway . "I'm willing to bet he'll love you more than anything little moon. Now go to sleep so you can help me tomorrow in the shop . " , he said with a smile as he quietly turning off her small lamp light . " Alright daddy, i love you . " , " I love you too my little moon , sleep well. "

As he shut the door to his daughters room, Percival sighed . As if it were a silent prayer, he whispered into the dark hallway , " oh force, please protect my daughter. Let her grow to be a beautiful young woman, she's already far smarter than I could ever be, strong too . Let her always be strong ."

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Today would be a day of celebration, it would be the 11th birthday of a lovely little girl . Ziorah Casamorsa , adoptive daughter of the legendary mechanic Percival Casamorsa .

Percival was quickly preparing his home for the arrival of his daughter coming home from school and 'spiritual training' at her aunties. Even though in his old age he should definitely not be hanging streamers of stars around his living room, Percival didn't care one bit. Just because he's 72 doesn't mean he can't decorate for his baby girls birthday . Ziorah would be home soon with her aunt and he would wait to surprise her with the slightly deformed birthday cake he had made .

There was a loud knocking at his front door which almost startled him enough to make him fall off the small ladder he was standing on . " Guess they're really early today. " , he said to himself as he carefully stepped off of the ladder and walked over to the front door of his home . As he unlatched the lock and opened it his smile quickly fell from his face.

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" I'm so excited to see dad 'thala! He said he got a really cool new jet turbine that i could help him work on tonight!" , the 11 year old Ziorah said looking up to her aunt as she held her vastly larger hand . " I see little one , ya always like helpin' with those old ships. Ya got quite the talent for mechanic work Zio." , Athala smiled towards the little girl. " They aren't old! Just rustic Thala." , Ziorah said as they walked arrived to Percival's home .

The house , though very old looking, was nice . It was fairly small on the outside and all you could see was the large garage that could only hold about 10-20 small ships at a time. Some of them stationed outside and around the plot of land near the home. The house was colored in different shades of brown and blue . The door was made of metal to keep out what seemed like the never ending cold weather that Rysheladon experienced . Though today something seemed very off at the house she grew up in, or at least it did to Ziorah.

Ziorah came to a complete stop and let go of her aunts hand, "Auntie, something is wrong. " , the little girl spoke out almost in a monotone voice . "What'dya mean dear? Nothin' looks wrong" , the beast of a woman said coming to a stop with her niece . Arthala crouched down beside Ziorah as the girl looked towards the house with an unreadable expression. Suddenly Ziorah ran towards the house, much faster than even Arthala could keep up with . Ziorah has only gotten faster as shes grown so suprisingly outrunning her beast of an aunt was nothing to her .

The moment Ziorah came to stand at her front door and as she opened it she could almost feel the force leave her small body.

Blood.

So much blood.

Ziorahs eyes widen as she followed the path with her eyes to three figures standing over something. "Shit, we cut him too much now he's just going to bleed out.", one of the men said loud enough that Ziorah could hear it.

Arthala finally caught up to Ziorah and saw the horror of the 3 strangers standing over Percivals limp and bloody body. "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE!?" , Arthala all but roared to the three men now grabbing their attention. Arthala started to walk through the door when very suddenly everything inside the house and even outside the house started floating. Arthala could feel power radiating behind her .

As she looked back , she saw Ziorah with a stone cold expression upon her young face. Tear tracks down her cheeks that were red from the cold outside. Suddenly Arthala could hear gasps coming from the three strangers as she saw them being choked from some invisible hand .

"You hurt my daddy. " , Ziorahs almost dead voice said as she walked into the room looking at the men as they all were gasping for breath . " Zio no! Your powers! " , Arthala called out to her . " Little one let me handle them, please! Take care of your father!" , Arthala all but yelled to her niece .

The men all fell down as Ziorah heard her aunt call to her. Arthala , with quick movements, grabbed all three of the men and started to hold them down and cut off their breathing supply again . Zio hurried to her father's side , taking off her jackets to apply some sort of pressure to the wounds that littered his abdomen.

In a choked whisper, Percival spoke to his daughter ,"lit-little… m-moon… I-I am sorry…. To-t-to leave you… " . "Daddy please don't say that! Y-you'll be ok! I'll fix you! P-please dad!" , ziorah yelled to him, even more tears running down her cheeks . "M-my strong girl… m-my little g-girl… a-always be ...s-str-strong…." , the old man said as he laid his blood covered hand over top his daughters . With his last breath he said he loved her as the light was leaving his eyes. Ziorah broke down crying harder into her father's chest .

Arthala felt the pain and change in the force around them as Percival died. It had stopped her from choking one of the men for one a few seconds , but a few seconds was all he needed to pull the knife out of one of his pockets and stab Arthala in the chest. She roared in pain as he got the jump on her and turned to stab her many more times in the chest , nicking multiple organs until he was again being held up by his throat in the air .

" YOU KEEP HURTING MY FAMILY SO NOW YOU DIE." , Ziorah screamed. There was a very loud crunching sound of bones being crushed as a strangled yell of pain came from the man who had just been stabbing her aunt. Once she had felt his force leave his body she knew he was dead and dropped his lifeless body to the blood soaked ground .

Next she moved her hand and bent the other 2 men's neck in a funny way. She felt their force leave them as she ran over to her aunt who was now bleeding out like her father. " Auntie you can't leave me too! Y-you can't!" , the little girl yelled to her aunt as she held her hands over the two major wounds that was on Arthala's stomach. "Z-Zio.. Ya w-will be fi-fine without me… l-like ya fa-father said.. y-ya are strong. B-but ya n-need to watch y-ya po-powers . Bad people.. Bad people could hurt ya i-if they k-knew…. " Arthala told the girl as she gasped for breath. "P-promise t-to keep t-them a s-secret little o-one…" , the beastly woman asked the shaking girl whose hands were now covered in a dark blue, almost purple blood. "I-i promise aunt 'thala… I p-promise.." , Ziorah stuttering slightly .

With that, Arthala smiled and closed her eyes as she gave out one last breath. Ziorah felt uncontrollable emotions seep through her . Everything that had just been suspended into the air now flew and hit any surface . Thinks shattering , lights flickering , and Windows exploding with the pain that Zio was feeling . The only family she had ever known was now dead . Crying until she couldn't cry anymore over the dead body of her aunt she realized something .

She was now alone and there was no one in the galaxy who could help her .

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The small girl sat had prepared a burial ritual that her aunt taught her. "Its meant to honor the ones who've passed , little one. " her auntie had told her.

The ritual was used for force users of old , those who lived to protect others in selflessness. The tribe had been taught these rituals and passed them down through generations, even though the ways of the force was extremely illegal on Rysheladon. Kathelenites were rumored to have been very spiritually strong and that the universe had granted them stronger force abilities than most normal force users. Thats why Ziorahs father wanted her to train with them, to help control the powers that grew so strong after such a short period of time.

The tribe which was called 'Sehashka' was all of Arthala's family, and they all treated Ziorah as one of their own . That included her father of course since he knew them all very well after years of friendship with Arthala. Percival often made tech to help conceal their homes that resided up high in Rysheladons famously tall trees. The tribe had created a village hidden from most of the civilians, they had built homes up as high as they could using rope bridges and other more technical methods with the help of Ziorahs fathers mechanical abilities.

Ziorah enjoyed climbing up the trees to train with the Kathelenites, she felt at home with them just like she did with her own father. They taught her about everything. Knowledge of the universe, and more importantly knowledge of her force abilities. She hoped that after the loss of one of their own, maybe there was a possibility she could hide with them since the officers would surely be looking for the culprit of those mens murder as well as her own family.

Ziorah would think more about that later though. A more important task was at hand.

She quietly trudged through the woods, picking up broken branches from around her home. In a large pile of twigs and branches laid the two wrapped up bodies of the two people Ziorah cared for most . One she had a good enough pile of wood, she walked towards a small patch of not yet bloomed flowers.

Focusing her energy solely on the small light purple and pale blue flowers , she out stretched her hand to lay just above them. Slowly the flowers bloomed and grew to be taller than where her hand hovered above the ground. She opened her emerald eyes and picked the flowers making her way back towards the pile of wood. Placing an equal amount of flowers over her father's and aunts heart before she backed away. She quickly lit a match and dropped it onto the pile of wood .

She sat for a while, just watching the fire grow and engulf the bodies of her loved ones. Tears falling down her now rosy cheeks from the cold elements. Ziorah just sat with her eyes closed in a sitting position , meditating. Arthala and her tribe of other kathelenites had taught her to meditate. It soothes the heart and brings peace to even the uneasiest of souls.

Ziorahs soul was definitely uneasy right now.

She just wanted to think of something happy . Anything that might make her saddened heart feel like it wasn't constricting with every breath. To take her mind off of all the pain she felt. Taking a deep breath she tried again to focus on meditating and not the events that had happened a few hours earlier. She was about to just give up and stop meditating when she heard someone. She heard the voice of someone she knew very well .

"Why are you crying?", a boy with shoulder length, almost pitch black hair . He was 11, the same age as Zio. His birthday even the same as hers.

Ziorah opened her tear filled eyes and looked to the young boy. He wasn't wearing any of the proper clothes to keep out the cold weather, in fact he was wearing a long sleeved , slightly baggy tunic. She tilted her head at the boy and wiped some of the tears off her cheeks when the boy continued to speak.

"I'm Ben.. Who are you?" , Ben stepped closer to Ziorah, only being a few feet away now. Ziorah looked towards Ben with a small smile, "I'm… I-I'm Ziorah...you're the boy I hear at night, aren't you?", she said, her voice slightly somber. She heard Ben gasp to himself as he sat down across from her, mimicking her cross-legged sitting position. "You're the girl… the girl I always hear…" , the look of shock on Ben's face soon grew to a smile . One so blinding that Ziorah felt her cheeks heat up .

"I've been hoping that the force would connect us for so long. I always listened to you when I trained with Master Luke. He thought I was just hearing things… I knew you weren't just a voice!", Ben sounded so happy that it was practically radiating off of him. This made Ziorah smile, tears that were still in her eyes falling over her cheeks. She was relieved that the boy was in fact real and not a figment of her childlike imagination.

Her tears caught Ben's attention, his happy smile changed into a look of concern. "Ziorah...Why are you so sad? You look like you've been crying for a while." , the boy said . Ziorah only gave a small smile and looked down to her shaking hands that she held in her lap. "Something happened… some...s-something bad. ", she whispered, almost too quietly for Ben to hear . "I.. I can feel your heartache… what happened? You can tell me… we're friends after-all, aren't we?" , Ben said moving his head so he could look up at Ziorah.

When their eyes connected it was as if the entire universe was blocked out. That sense of peace Ziorah was looking for earlier finally came. She could not only feel her heart and her emotions, but she could feel Ben's, and Ben could feel hers. As Ziorah looked up to see him better she noticed how close together they were, Ben must've noticed too since he slowly reached his right hand up to wipe away a few tears that she had shed.

As his hand touched her cheek it felt as if the nerves in his hand were tingling . Ziorah could feel it too, it was comforting. "You… you promise you won't be scared?", she said in a shaky voice , leaning into the feeling of his hand . "Promise.", Ben nodded with a small smile towards her.

"Today… 3 men came to my home… and they killed my family. And I… I-I got so angry… that I… choked them… killed them… I couldn't control my powers it was like something took control of me. " , she said not making eye contact with Ben , she was too afraid to see his reaction . She had known Ben her entire life but never seen or talked to him until today and what a day today was….

Ben ,with the same smile that he had before started to speak to her in a kind tone."They weren't good people Ziorah… and you couldn't control yourself. Sometimes I can't control the force and it'll make me do things I never meant to do. It takes time... and practice to control it. That's why I'm training to become a Jedi! To help protect people." Ziorah nodded and sniffled a little as she wiped away the remaining tears from her eyes. "Thank you , Ben. That makes me feel so much better..", she said. "Good. A smile suits you much better than tears.", he said laughing a little.

That night she sat and smiled. Laughed her heart out until she forgot about the days events. T hough she would never truly forget, it was good to have a distraction.

The boy who could make her smile, and the girl who felt joy return to her soul.

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freedomfighterposts · 5 years

Text

Pidge x Reader. An Interstellar relationship.

Aboard the Galra battle cruiser was a multitude of prisoners. Almost none of them shared the same home worlds. All of them were slaves, gladiators to the Galra empire. They dressed in rags and wallowed in self-pity. Except one. One was too proud to simply submit to the Galra. And after slaughtering three of them in the gladiator’s ring, she was allowed the simple comfort of wearing the clothes she was capture in. Which still was not much. White bands similar to bandages wrapped and bound (Y/n)’s chest loosely so that she could still retain some comfort. A short, sleeveless black vest covered her shoulders and the sides of her bandages but left her sides and stomach exposed. Two gilded, gold leaf cloth rings circulated the end of (Y/n)’s shoulders, giving off a very royal vibe. Her pants were made for fighting, a simple style of lightweight and comfy white pants with a slight bag covered her lower half. Around her waist, a long double ended blue ribbon covered most of her midsection. One thing that made her pants comfortable was the hole in the back that allowed (Y/n) red monkey tail to swish about freely, without restraint. Her hair, although smudged and dirtied, still shone a pale yellow in the dark lights of the Galra ship.

Sitting in silence was boring. (Y/n) didn’t care what the old prisoners thought, silence was boring, boring wasn’t fun… Beating someone to death was fun. (Y/n) allowed herself a small, menacing smile as she thought about the arena. While she was a prisoner, her body was free. Her inherited want for a fight was satiated, so that was good. However, these fights didn’t last long and they were always boring. And if there was one thing (Y/n) hated… it was boredom. That’s why, when the Galra commanding her ship rushed past spurting something about attackers, (Y/n) leapt into action. With ease (Y/n) simply kicked her cage door open, pinning several Galra soldiers to the wall. The remaining Galra looked at (Y/n) and shakily raised their weapons. (Y/n) simply smiled as she stalked towards them, her hands glowing with power. Meanwhile, not too far from the escapee, a duo of heroes raced down the halls of the Galra ship. Their intent was noble and pure, to rescue those wrongly imprisoned by the Galra Empire. These were Paladins of Voltron, the legendary defender. Their minds and bodies radically different, but their hearts the same. Running down the halls, the Green Paladin looked to the leader of Voltron’s Paladins. “Shiro, we have to hurry. Lance and Hunk could be in serious trouble.” The short and lean Paladin was rushing, for these prisoners could also aid in the quest for two very important missing people. Shiro looked down at his friend with confidence. “Don’t worry Pidge, we’re almost there.” Suddenly and rather abruptly, a Galra surveillance drone flew around the corner. Its red lights started to flash in alarm, however, Pidge thought quicker and managed to send a short blast of energy to the drone, knocking it to the ground. “That thing saw us, we should get out of here.” Shiro said, concern hidden in his voice, but Pidge had other ideas. Crossing a few wires Pidge smiled. “Wait, I think this might come in handy.” Suddenly, the lights flashed blue and the drone was now working for Voltron. “Awesome, I’m going to call you rover.” Shiro rushed to the end of the hall where a giant solid metal gate enclosed a few shadows of darkness. Shiro tapped on the door making a loud thudding sound. “Anyone in there? We’re here to help you escape.” He asked, a few murmurs answered back at first but then Shiro saw the shadows form into the bodies of real aliens as they stepped out of the darkness. “Champion. You have come to save us!” One said. All the others were now happily murmuring to themselves. As Shiro conversed with the prisoners and tried to calm them down, Pidge worked on the lock for the door. However, it was proving to be some challenge to the new Paladin. “Argh. This tech in insane. It’s nothing like what Earth has.” Pidge cried in dismay. But suddenly, a new voice cut through the artificial air. “Perhaps I can help?” Shiro and Pidge looked back the way they came to see a woman in her mid-twenties standing behind them. Pidge had to look up at the woman who was easily six feet tall. “Who are you? You don’t look Galra.” Shiro asked in suspicion. The woman smiled, her slightly yellow teeth akin to a shark’s. “Until about twenty ticks ago, I was a prisoner on board this ship. Now, I’m an escapee.” “How?” Pidge asked, also suspicious but enamored by the tall Amazonian woman before her. “I’ll show you.” Walking towards the cage door, the woman simply dug her fingers into the metal as if it were soft butter, and tore the gate from its mechanism. Shiro and Pidge were stunned at the sudden display of power. The prisoners rushed from their cell and the mysterious savior simply dropped the gate back into the cell. As the woman turned back to face the Paladins, Shiro gazed carefully at her. “Who are you?” The woman smirked evilly at the Paladin’s question. “I am (Y/n). Now, I would like to get out of this ship.” Turning to Pidge, Shiro shrugged. One of the prisoners stepped forward. “I must agree with the powerful one. The Galra will be here soon. We must get to the escape pods.” He said, nodding Shiro turned to Pidge. “You and (Y/n) cover the rear. Everyone follow me” Everyone gathered in a group, but it seemed that (Y/n) wasn’t happy with the situation. “Me, in the back like a commoner? I shall not be treated as some low life!” (Y/n) demanded, but Shiro and the other prisoners were already rushing through the halls. (Y/n)’s demands fell on the ears of Pidge who wasn’t pleased by her new company. “You know, you could try to be nice to the people who are rescuing you.” Pidge scoffed as she and (Y/n) chased after Shiro at a jogging pace. Pidge couldn’t quite understand it, but (Y/n) radiated this confidence that was infectious. The green Paladin hadn’t felt this sure and confident in many years. (Y/n) scoffed as her feet slowly lifted off the ground, as if she had deemed the very Galra ship to be unworthy of her touch. “If I could breathe in space I would have escaped many years ago.” As (Y/n) flew ahead, Pidge struggled to keep up. After all, Pidge was more useful at a computer than the training field. However, it was as (Y/n) turned a corner that Pidge finally noticed a striking difference between the woman she was following and herself. A fuzzy, red tail, protruding from the back of (Y/n)’s hips, swished through air. Pidge blinked rapidly for a moment and pondered if asking what race (Y/n) was would be appropriate. However, all thoughts of asking the powerful woman left Pidge when (Y/n) stopped moving. After nearly crashing into her, Pidge stepped to the side to see what was happening. Shiro was battling a few sentry bots as the prisoners cowered in fear in the only escape pod. Pidge noticed as Shiro finished the last of the robotic Galra that his hand was glowing a light purple and made mental note to ask him later. As he cut down the last robot, Shiro dropped to his knees in exhaustion. But more Galra were approaching fast. Pidge activated the green Paladin’s bayard, ready to defend Shiro. But (Y/n) smirked again. Her voice sounding pleased as she spoke and Pidge noticed that the woman’s tail was swaying more rapidly now. “Perfect target practice.” As the sentries closed in on Shiro (Y/n) raised her hand, aiming at the robots and Galra. Pidge was fascinated as an orb of pale green light started to emit and pulse within (Y/n)’s hand. Then, without warning, (Y/n) launched her attack and the orb sped faster than anything Pidge had seen before and the next thing the Paladin knew was that the Galra were lying dead on the ground, the orb had returned to its owner’s hand before promptly vanishing. Sighing with relief, Shiro finally managed to stand. The glow from his hand was slowly fading. Meanwhile the doors to the escape pod were closing as it began its departure. One of the aliens thanked Shiro who tried to ask him a question. Pidge ran to Shiro and eagerly tapped the previously glowing arm. “That was awesome Shiro! Where did you learn to fight like that?” Then the Green Paladin turned to the mysterious (Y/n) who was floating beside them. “And how did you do the thing with that disco ball?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow in question. “Disco ball?” she questioned. “None of that matters now. We gotta get the Green lion and head back to the castle.” Shiro stated, urgency clear in his voice. The road back to the Green Lion was simple and easy, only one patrol managed to find them and they were quickly dispatched by (Y/n) who conjured another green ball of light. Shiro and (Y/n) quickly followed Pidge onto the Green lion where the Green Paladin quickly detached from the Galra ship and followed the Red, Blue and Yellow lions down to the planet below. Altaia. After a few rushed introductions, and a very hurried ceremony. (Y/n) watched as the gates to the sanctuary of the Black lion slowly shuddered upwards. Shiro, Pidge and the other Paladins gasped in awe as the large mechanical beast roared in approval of its revival. The mechanical leader of Voltron dipped its head to allow Shiro to enter. Suddenly alarms started to blear from all around the castle. (Y/n) and the princess of Altaia, a woman around her own age rushed to the control center of the Castle of Lions. “A Galra ship is entering our atmosphere. We need Voltron now!” Allura demanded. (Y/n) scowled as the ship launched its many fleets of fighters. Allura, the Altaian princess, managed to shield the castle just in time as the fighters started to launch blasts at the dome shield. Coran, Allura’s servant, gasped in relief as the five lions of Voltron landed in front of the castle. The lions burst forth, tearing and blasting the drones that threatened the castle. Meanwhile, (Y/n) watched as the main battle ship started to shine. Looking closely, (Y/n) saw that it was charging its ion cannon. “That doesn’t look nice” (Y/n) mentioned, Allura barely had time to look up before the dangerous ray of concentrated energy, burst from the ship towards the castle. (Y/n) was vaguely aware of the cries of worry from the Paladins as they watched the attack. The attack exploded against the castle’s shield, covering (Y/n)’s view with fire and smoke. Miraculously the shield managed to hold, but it wouldn’t shield them for long. “Hurry Paladins. The castle can’t hold much longer.” Shiro led the charge as he and the other Paladins fought against the Galra. Meanwhile the ship was charging its cannon again. “Come on guys, we have to hurry!” Shiro’s voice was heard on the console in front of (Y/n). The mysterious warrior raised a brow at Shiro’s words, but kept her eyes on the battle of Lions. The Green lion leapt into the air and tore a Galra fighter jet into bits with its powerful jaws. Pidge yelled excitedly from inside the beast before falling back in line with Shiro. Lance had turned his lion around and had begun using the laser on his lion’s tail to precisely explode individual fighters. Shiro, Hunk, Pidge and Keith flew their lions into the air in an attempt to disrupt the Ion cannon firing process. But they were too late. The purple ray of destruction once again sped its way to the castle. This time, its power was too much and the shield barely held off the attack before disengaging itself with the loss of power. “Castle shields are down! Now Paladins form Voltron! You must!” Allura said, worry clear in her voice. “We don’t know how!” Keith reminded them, “We barely got these lions in the first place” “Yeah, no offence princess. But a little tutorial could have gone a long way.” Lance actually agreed with the Red Paladin. “There are too many of them!” Hunk yelled as his Yellow Lion was bombarded with fighters. “It’s been an honour serving with you four.” Shiro said, his voice calm and defeated. “I’m sorry princess. We failed” Shiro’s concerns were well placed, as he and the other Paladins began to float defenselessly towards the Galra, entrapped in their tractor beam. However, the Galra weren’t finished. The ion cannon began its firing sequence once more. Much to the dismay of the Paladins. Coran turned to his princess, defeat and sorrow in his eyes. The princess, now crying was stunned. Hunk was whimpering in his seat, Keith was trying to regain control of his Lion. Pidge and Lance both looked defeatedly at their controls. His mind racing, Shiro grabbed his controls once more. “You better not be giving up” came a new voice to the battle, Allura looked back to see (Y/n) staring up at the lions. “What sort of Paladins give up at the first sign of challenge?” “She’s right.” Shiro said “We can do this. We have to believe in ourselves” The other four Paladins looked to the Black Lion, their hope returning. “We are the universe’s only hope. Everyone is counting on us. We can’t fail. We won’t fail. If we work together we can form Voltron!” Hunk and Lance shouted their agreement. Pidge and Keith smiled at their leader’s face via the onboard screen and together they formed Voltron. But it was too late. By the time Voltron was formed for the first time in 10,000 years the ion canon had already been fired. Coran and Allura watched on in fear as the ray of death descended upon them. Suddenly however, something materialized outside the castle, right in the path of the canon. Allura recognized the waving blue ribbon and red monkey tail. She didn’t know how she had done it, but (Y/n) was now outside the castle, staring down a death ray. “(Y/N) GET OUT OF THERE!” Allura shouted in alarm. The warrior simply smirked once more. “This is just a warm up” (Y/n) said as she held up her well-muscled arm, the ion strike slammed into her hand yet (Y/n) showed no signs of discomfort. Allura watched on in awe as Voltron tore apart the Galra ship and this new comer blocked a full power ion blast from a battle class Galra ship with her mere hand. With a laugh (Y/n) sent the ion energy hurtling back to the Galra ship, finishing the job, Voltron had started. With an explosion that shook the castle, (Y/n) watched as Voltron disassembled into its separate lions. Her hair and tail feeling the warm breeze of the aftermath. Allura and Coran hurriedly rushed to congratulate the Paladins, while (Y/n) leisurely floated down to them. Allura stopped before her Paladins, clasping her hands together in celebration. “Great work Paladins, you’ve done it!” She congratulated, Lance smirked playfully as he tucked his blue stripped helm under his arm. “Thanks pretty lady.” He said. Shiro smiled joyfully at the truth. “We did it! How did we do it?” He asked not really caring, too happy to care. “You got that right” Said Keith. Hunk yanked his helmet from his head with some degree of difficulty. “I was kinda just screaming the whole time. Maybe that’s what did it.” He said. By now, (Y/n) had joined her rescuers, but a smile did not adjourn her face. A shame as Pidge thought the woman looked beautiful with one. Allura noticed the arrival of the woman. “You, you must be a Saiyan! No one else could have stopped a direct ion cannon strike!” The princess said in awe. (Y/n) was indifferent. “Tch, a toddler could have done that.” She said avoiding the gaze of the princess. What was presented to her when (Y/n) moved her gaze was Shiro comforting Pidge. “We’ll find your brother and father Pidge. I swear.” Shiro said, Pidge nodded but didn’t smile. (Y/n) took mental note of this and showed Pidge a rare, non-scary and genuine smile. Although Pidge was almost certain it never existed as it was gone as soon as it appeared. Allura however, started rambling more bad news. “We’ve won the battle, but the war is just beginning” She said, Coran nodded his agreement. “I’ll say. And it’s good you know what you’re all doing, cause you’ll need to form Voltron again and again.” The butler stated. “Say what now?” Hunk muttered in disbelief. “We barely survived forming Voltron this one time!” Lance stated. “Ho, and you only had to verse one ship. Imagine the next time against a whole fleet! It’s not going to be easy being the defenders of the universe.” Coran stroked his mustache in thought. The eyes of all the Paladins widened at the realization of the gravity of their situation. “Defenders of the Universe, huh.” Shiro said, the others looking to him “Has a nice ring to it.”

#pidge gunderson #pidge x reader #voltron #romance #space #robot #shiro #lance #keith (voltron)#smug #dragonball #dragonballz

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ryder-s-block · 5 years

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 23)

Jaig Eyes (23/?)

Read Here!

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Chapter Twenty-Three: The Duchess

Mandalore. I'd never actually been to the planet, but Jango had mentioned it on and off. He wasn't welcome there anymore, since it went pacifist. He always scoffed at that, but didn't have enough ties to what remained of his clan to care enough to do something.

I'd ever imagined that I'd be helping the very woman he scoffed at-Duchess Satine. Still, it wasn't my choice. My newly detailed armor attested to that, all shimmering with its relatively fresh coat of 501st blue. Even my kyr'bes was the deep blue of Anakin's legion. Though, I didn't run missions exclusively with them.

The Jedi Council, hesitant on Obi-wan's offer to me, had put me under Kenobi's watch. Thus, he often off-loaded me to Skywalker. I certainly didn't mind. I loved the 212th Battalion, but the 501st was much more my speed. Daring. A bit of crudeness and light-heartedness. They matched their general well.

The massive gray doors opened before where I stood, waiting patiently for Obi-wan to return from his mission. He'd been sent to Mandalore to investigate claims that the Duchess was raising an army of her own, despite declaring neutrality. Realistically, I didn't understand why she couldn't amass an army to protect herself. Still, it's not like she was. She was a pacifist for Ka'ra's sake.

When the Jedi Council had shown the video to our group, I had immediately recognised the armor as Mandalorian. More specifically, Death Watch.

Of course, my opinion hadn't gained much traction, despite how I was likely right.

"General Kenobi," I greeted the jedi as he emerged, surrounded by Mandalorian guards and individuals who seemed to hold high status. One was a woman cloaked in green and blue garments, her blonde hair piled high above her head. The Duchess.

I bobbed my head to her as Obi-wan introduced me. "This is Kida," he said, gesturing to me. "She's been a great help on many missions. She even protected Senator Amidala for some time."

"Ah," Satine said, a fake smile on her face. "A bounty hunter, yes?" Her eyes danced over my armor, pausing on the kyr'bes. "Mandalorian armor, as well, with a Mythosaur skull."

I returned the fake smile. "Gifted to me by my father, Duchess. Now," I said, leaving her in confusion while I fell in step with Obi-wan. "Was I right, or was I right?"

Obi-wan sighed. "You were right. Death Watch was who we were looking for. Governor Vizsla was hiding them on Concordia."

I nearly tripped over my own feet. Memories flooded back, scattered, but clear. His blond hair swept elegantly atop his head. My haggard face reflecting in his vizor. The burn of his blade as it kissed my skin, the black energy hissing with sadistic pleasure.

"You call this man a coward, yet hide in the shadows."

Now who's talking?

"Are you alright?" Obi-wan asked, his eyebrow lifted as we walked.

"Fine. But you could have just asked about Vizsla."

"You knew about him?" one of Satine's advisors asked, his tone accusatory.

I lifted my hands in mock offense. "Woah there. Yes, I knew. Vizsla ran the Death Watch camp when I was there."

"You were at a Death Watch camp?" The duchess herself was turned on me now, her eyes wide.

I crossed my arms at all the suspicious glares. "I was a slave, your highness," I explained, my tone cold. "So yes. I was."

She seemed shocked, stuttering into the start of an apology when her advisor spoke again. "But as Pre Vizsla fled, we have no way of learning how widespread Death Watch really is." His voice annoyed me.

Obi-wan glanced at me, but I just shook my head. "I can't say. They weren't anything too massive when I was with them, but that was years ago. Still, I don't know if they'd have enough traction to be considered an army."

The jedi hummed. "It's obvious the Separatists are supporting the Death Watch." I raised my eyebrows, but didn't disagree. I sensed a darkness involved, too.

"I disagree," Duchess Satine said, her voice high as she turned to regard us. I took a subconscious step back under her icy gaze. "I told you, I wanted to stay out of this conflict."

"Given the current situation," Kenobi started, choosing his words carefully. "I'm afraid that may no longer be possible."

"I thought you of all people would understand my position on this matter. I will never be a part of this war!" She turned curtly, followed closely by her advisor, the both of them moving to board the Mandalorian royal cruiser.

"She may be shocked when the war comes to her anyways," I muttered, arms crossed behind Obi-wan. The jedi sighed, a small flare of a connection between the two peeking out in the force. I barely caught it before he shoved it away.

Anakin approached us, flanked by both Rex and Cody. "Reporting for escort duty, General."

"Anakin," Kenobi greeted with a sigh. "Am I glad to see you."

The former padawan huffed a laugh. "You sound tired."

"The peaceful way of the locals...wore me out."

I chuckled lowly as Kenobi joined Anakin to follow the Duchess aboard her ship. I nodded at the clones in greeting, falling into step with Rex as we joined them.

"So," a clone I recognized as Redeye started as he boarded the ship beside us. "An escort mission, eh?"

I chuckled. "All for the Duchess and her council of the neutral systems."

"Are they really in that much danger?" another clone-Mixer-asked.

"Not from us," Cody explained from the front. "From the Separatists."

I sighed lowly to myself. "Not really." The guys gave me questioning looks as we stepped into the elevator. I shrugged. "Even if Death Watch is backed by the Separatists, they wouldn't reveal that yet. Not before they actually need to."

"Why do you say that?" Rex asked, finally speaking aloud.

I tilted my head in thought. "If they didn't plan to use their reveal later, wouldn't they have already openly pledged allegiance?"

The clones hummed and nodded in agreement, stepping off the lift into the cargo bay where Skywalker and Kenobi were gathering the clones aboard. The room fell silent as Kenobi stepped forward, hands behind his back.

"You know your marching orders," he called, having debriefed with Anakin. "The safety of the Duchess Satine is of the utmost importance. The Death Watch will stop at nothing to assassinate her before she pleads her case to the Senate."

"The Death Watch may be backed by the Separatists," Anakin jumped in. "So stay sharp." The jedi glanced at his astromech. "R2, use your scanner to probe for any suspicious droid activity."

"Anything else, sir?" Rex asked from beside me. I hid my smile at his forwardness.

"No," Kenobi replied. "That'll be all."

Cody signaled to his men, the group fanning out as Rex and I stayed beside him. They mumbled gently about watches and patterns while I turned at the sound of Kenobi's wrist comm beeping.

"Yes?" he said, tapping the comm.

A voice spoke through firmly. "The Duchess and her retinue request your presence."

"Very well." Obi-wan and Anakin immediately turned to walk back onto the elevator. I half thought I was going to stay in the cargo hold until Rex's hand gently grazed my lower back, tapping me towards the direction of the jedi. He turned his helmet to look at me before nodding with his head as he walked by.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I joined him, Cody, and the jedi in the elevator, letting it lift us up the levels. I'd have preferred to run the watches below. Hunting. Work. Fighting. Those were what I was good at. Not politics.

"I sense some anxiety from you about the duchess," Anakin said as we all stood waiting for the doors to open again. I glanced over to see Obi-wan stroking his beard thoughtfully. "She couldn't be in safer hands."

"Yes, I know."

"Then why-"

"Nevermind," Obi-wan cut him off, making everyone's eyebrows lift. "It's...all in the past."

"Oh, so you're close to her," Anakin surmised.

"I knew her." I smirked at Kenobi's defensiveness, giving Anakin a teasing look. "A long time ago," the older jedi added in a more glum tone. I saw Anakin smile gently as the doors finally hissed open.

We were quiet as we walked down the hall towards the banquet hall, the duchess' voice ringing adamantly off the walls.

"War is intolerable," she declared. "We have been deceived into thinking that we must be a part of it." For a moment, I understood what she meant. I felt obligated to fight now, but there were various reasons. Keeping planets out of the war was a way to keep down the death toll, anyways. But then, "I say the moment we committed to fighting, we already lost."

I understood what she thought of me now. The look of contempt when she recognized me as a bounty hunter. I was a fighter. Evil.

I slowed, seeing Rex and Cody stop as we neared the end of the hall. Kenobi looked over his shoulder at me, "No, come on," he urged, making me pout at the clones. "This is a good learning experience for you, should you ever have to go in my place for something. Besides, I'm curious to know what you think of all this."

"I know how political talks go, Kenobi," I whispered as we neared the Mandalorian guards. "I spent months with Senator Amidala, remember?"

The jedi merely hummed at me with a smile before turning to listen while the guards let us pass.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," her advisor cut in, his voice grating on my ears. "Are you suggesting we oppose the war on humanitarian grounds?"

"I'm going to oppose it as an affront to life itself!" The Duchess was sitting atop her pile of cushions, holding wine. She was surrounded by her team of advisors, all looking up at her like they were looking at a goddess. I lifted my brow at the scene. It all felt dramatic for some reason. "As the designated regent of fifteen-hundred systems, I speak for thousands of worlds that have urged me to allow them to stay neutral in this war."

"And yet some might argue," Obi-wan butt in from where we stood in the doorway. "That the strongest defensive is a swift and decisive offense."

I stayed a few steps behind the jedi master to walk with Anakin as we entered the room. The doorway closed behind us as Obi-wan bobbed his head at a frowning duchess.

"You are quite the general now, aren't you, Master Kenobi?" she said with a mocking breathlessness.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness," Obi-wan said easily. "I meant no disrespect."

"Really?" the duchess asked, clearly not believing him. "Senators, I presume you're acquainted with the collection of half-truths and hyperbole known as Obi-wan Kenobi." I scowled behind the jedi. She wasn't entirely wrong, but I didn't appreciate her trying to humiliate him like that. After all, he was the one who was giving me a chance, despite the Council's suspicions.

"Your Highness is too kind," Obi-wan said lowly.

"You're right," Satine whispered. "I am.

I glanced at Anakin, seeing the same look of amused confusion on his face that I displayed.

"Allow me to introduce my fellow jedi, Anakin Skywalker. Your Highness has already met Kida Fett." I winced slightly as Kenobi used my full name, raising eyebrows around the room. Thankfully, Anakin stepped forward and bowed to the duchess.

"Your servant, My Lady," he said smoothly. I hummed lowly in the back of my throat. He was an independent soul. Wild. But sometimes, you could still see his beginnings as a slave in him.

For now, the duchess ignored me and focused on my two companions. As she switched out her glass for a full one, she said, "I remember a time when jedi were not generals, but peacekeepers."

"We are protectors, Highness," Anakin argued respectfully. "Yours, at the moment. We fight for peace."

Satine laughed mockingly. "What an amusing contradiction."

"What Master Skywalker means," Obi-wan cut in. "Is that we are acting at the behest of Your Highness. To protect you from the Death Watch and the Separatists who don't share your neutral point of view."

"I asked for no such thing," Satine declared, making my nose crinkle in a scowl.

Thankfully, Obi-wan remained calm and gentle. "That may be so, but a majority of your court did." I glanced around, seeing representatives that I recognized from my time employed by Padme. Orn Fee Taa of Ryloth. Onaconda Farr of Rodia. The advisory court all averted their gazes under the inspecting stare of the duchess.

"I do not remember you as one to hide behind excuses," Satine accused Obi-wan.

"I do not remember you as one to shrink from responsibilities."

Orn Fee Taa moved between them, his blue rolls of chins wiggling as he forced a smile. "I am certain we all agree, Duchess Satine and General Kenobi have proven there are two sides to every dilemma."

I hummed from behind the jedi, earning a look from Skywalker.

"Indeed," Satine's advisor spoke.

"Now," Fee Taa continued. "In regards to the Senate vote, we think-"

The duchess cut him off. "I think a multitude makes discord, not good council."

"Right again, My Lady," Fee Taa allowed, bowing to her.

Beside me, Obi-wan spoke softly to Anakin. "There may be two sides to every dilemma, but the duchess only favors hers."

I lifted my brows at them, cracking a smile. "In her defense, so do you." Both jedi cut me a look, but I merely shrugged, watching as Satine's gaze finally settled on me.

"It's nice to see you again, Kida," Senator Farr said as he approached, taking my hand warmly. I'd seen him many times while I protected Padme. She called him 'uncle.'

"And you, Senator. I didn't realize you'd be on this trip."

"Nor did I realize you'd joined the Republic cause."

I smiled at him, nodding around the room. "As a representative of neutral systems, do you disapprove?"

Onaconda chuckled. "My opinion shouldn't influence your choices."

"I never said it would."

. "Does Padme know?" I stopped myself before looking over to Skywalker.

I swallowed, thinking about how she definitely knew, since she talked to Anakin whenever she could. "Probably."

"She's probably glad to have you back around."

"Senator Farr," Satine cut in from her plush seating. "Do you know this bounty hunter?"

"She's a member of the Grand Army of the Republic now," Obi-wan jumped back into the conversation.

"Pressing criminals into service now, are you?"

"I didn't say-"

"Hi," I cut them both off, tired of them bickering. "I'm right here." I gave Kenobi a look to make him back off before nodding slightly to the duchess. "I was a bounty hunter, yes, but I'm currently part of the GAR."

"And what rank do you hold?" Huh. I didn't actually know. It wasn't something we'd really talked about. Nor did I really care at that point.

"As a pacifist, what good is that information to you?" I replied smoothly, folding my hands behind my back. "You don't want a part in this war, I thought."

The duchess scowled at me before taking a long sip of her drink. "Master Kenobi introduced you as Kida Fett. Why did you not say this sooner?"

"Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la," I said smoothly, catching her by surprise.

"You speak the dialect they speak on Concordia," she observed suspiciously.

"That's where I learned Mando'a," I admitted, still frowning at her. "And as per your accusation earlier, I wasn't pressed into this war. Nor was I a criminal...to the Republic. I think." I glanced at Obi-wan and Skywalker, the latter giving me a smirk. "Okay, I stole a jedi starfighter once, but I gave it back, so I don't know if that counts me as a criminal."

I earned a few chuckles from the room, but Satine only scowled. "And how would your father feel about your involvement in this war?"

"I can't say for sure," I growled. "He's dead. Killed by this war."

"I heard. And you feel that following his footsteps is the right path?"

"I'm not following his footsteps exactly, Your Highness." I was struggling to keep the frustration out of my voice. "And I'm in this fight to keep more kids from losing their fathers to this war."

The duchess pursed her lips, thinking. "You think more war will bring peace?"

"I think that abstaining from joining any fight is choosing a side already."

"Which is?"

"Death." The room fell silent at my words, even the jedi listening intently. "When you're not working to help those who are suffering from war, you're letting their torturers go unchecked."

Satine quirked an eyebrow. "So you think I should join this war? That my planet, that is dedicated to pacifism and has recently started to pull itself up from its civil wars, should join yet another, far greater, war?"

"I don't know anything about Mandalore, Your Highness," I allowed, sighing. "I don't know about your economy or your beliefs. Nor do I really care. But I know that if you choose to not help others now, that when the war inevitably finds its way to your door, no one will be there to help you in return."

"And you're so certain this war will come to Mandalore, why?" her advisor cut in.

I looked at him. "What's your name?"

"Merrik."

"Well, Merrik, have you always lived on Mandalore?"

"Yes," he replied, unsure of where my questions were going.

"So you'd say you're rather knowledgeable about your world, considering you've been immersed in it?"

"Well of course."

I stepped closer to him, cocking my head. "Then understand that my life has been surrounded by fighting and death from my first breaths." I glanced at Satine. "I know tactics. And I know groups of abusers, whether they be the Death Watch, slavers, gangs, or the Seperatist armies. They all have one thing in common." The room watched me. "No matter what you do, the war will always find you."

"Which is why," Obi-wan jumped back in. "A Republic military presence is the only sure defense against the Separatists." I turned and looked at him in shock, not sure if I agreed. I understood his concern and duty to expand the Republic loyalties, but it felt like he was pushing rather hard on her free will. Not to mention the swirls of emotion he was failing to tie down.

"Even extremists can be reasoned with," Satine argued, rising to her feet.

"Perhaps," Obi-wan allowed. "If one can be heard over the clanking of their battle droids.

Satine scoffed. "The sarcasm of a soldier."

"The delusion of a dreamer," he shot back. The two were close together now, glaring into each other's eyes.

"Duchess," Merrik cut in. "Master Jedi, it's been a long few days. I think we could all use a little rest and refreshment."

"Here here!" the Twi'lek senator cheered. I glanced at anakin, seeing the jedi had scooped up his own fancy glass of liquor, smirk clear on his face. "Now, let us put politics aside until after dinner."

"Thank the stars," I mumbled, moving to stand beside Anakin.

"Fine," both Obi-wan and Satine said harshly before the latter pushed past the jedi and left the room in a huff.

Obi-wan joined us as the group began to filter out to prepare for dinner. "You seemed rather comfortable," he said to me, watching the counselors follow their Duchess out. "You've certainly fallen into your role in the Republic easily."

"My role is something we need to figure out actually," I said before changing the subject. That was a topic for later. "But while I was calling for action, I wasn't doing it to try and coerce her to join the Republic." My tone, while controlled, was somewhat accusatory towards Kenobi.

He sighed as we finally left the room, the three of us walking down the grand, curving halls. "I understand. But Mandalore has no army, all of their warriors having been banished to their moons. If the Separatists attack them, they have no means of defending themselves."

"So they either fall to the Separatists, or groups like Death Watch fight them off," Anakin led my thinking.

I sighed. "And the people turn to Death Watch, since they saved them." Something occurred to me. "Though, that could be used in multiple ways."

"How do you mean?" Anakin asked.

"Death Watch would wait for military occupation or a full-fledged assault to intervene. Otherwise, they wouldn't be painted as heroes, right?" I asked openly. "The people need to be oppressed in order to need saviors."

"Yes," Obi-wan allowed.

"So if Duchess Satine allows the GAR to occupy her planet, Death Watch could still win, this time using the backing of the Separatists as a heroic effort to free Mandalore."

Anakin hummed. "She has a point, Master." He turned to me. "But, I have to disagree. Like you said, inaction is a choice in itself. If the Republic can repel a Seperatist attack, we'll be the heroes and Death Watch will have nothing."

My lips pressed into a line, but I let it drop. "If you say so."

"So," Anakin said after a moment, clearing his throat. "You and Satine have a history. I understood why he was a bit dismissive of our last topic. It was nothing we could influence more on this trip anyways. But the topic of Obi-wan's apparent heart palpitations for Duchess Satine? That was interesting.

"An extended mission when I was younger," Obi-wan explained. "Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore."

I didn't lose my vision, but instead, saw...more. Apparently this was something that happened now, like it had with Cut. As Obi-wan spoke, I saw my first glimpse of who I assumed was Qui-Gon. He was tall with long brown hair and a full beard. His eyes were a vibrant blue and filled with knowledge, but incredibly gentle.

"We were protecting the duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world."

I saw glimpses of a younger Obi-wan. I nearly laughed aloud at his padawan braid and rat tail in the back. What a dweeb. Beside him was a younger Satine. She was filled with fire and passion for life. Not to mention the obvious connection their younger selves seemed to have.

We entered the elevator as Obi-wan continued. "They sent bounty hunters after us. We were always on the run."

I saw a series of hunters, none of their faces very clear. I couldn't tell if I knew any of them. If any, it would have been maybe Jango or Bane. Most of the hunters weren't old enough, nor ballsy enough, to take a job like that.

"Living hand to mouth… never sure what the next day would bring."

Emotion rippled off of him, sending with it a wave of images. He and Satine in a cave, both of them lit only by the flickering firelight. Running through the desolated wastes of Mandalore's surface, avoiding the fire of an assassin. The two holding hands in a moment of tension. A kiss.

"Sounds romantic," Anakin joked, pulling me from my vision with a snort of my own laughter.

Kenobi, in turn, gave us both a disgruntled look in an attempt at throwing us off his trail. Anakin and I weren't stupid, though. Also, we both felt that wave of emotions come off of the jedi master anyways.

As the lift doors opened with a hiss, something panged in the force. Confusion. Worry. It was coming from Rex somewhere below us in the cargo bay.

...since when did I get so attuned to Rex's force signature?

"A civil war killed most of Satine's people," Obi-wan explained as we exited the lift. "Hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took on the difficult task of rebuilding her world alone."

"You didn't stay to help her?" Anakin asked, my visions showing a brief flash of Satine taking her thrown, watching Obi-wan's back exiting the room. She looked sad. Demolished, even.

"That would have been problematic." We entered a room-likely Kenobi's-and I watched as he moved a chair with the force casually. I was split between amusement at his mild abuse of the force and jealousy over how effortlessly he did it. "My duty as a jedi demanded I be elsewhere."

I took the liberty of sitting on Obi-wan's desk, while Anakin leaned on the doorframe. "Demanded," Anakin mused. "But it's obvious you had feelings for her. Surely that would affect your decision."

Man, it was a full-fledged blessing from the force that this boy's secret wasn't Galactic News. He was worse at hiding his obvious marriage to Padme than I was at my mild force-sensitivity.

"Oh, it did," Obi-wan said sadly, making me turn in shock. I certainly wasn't expecting him to admit attachment. "I live by the Jedi Code."

"Of course," Anakin said, making my eyebrow lift discreetly. "As Master Yoda says, a jedi must not form attachments." While I knew that, it occured to me that I actually had no idea what the Jedi Code actually said. I only knew what I'd learned from others, none of which were jedi.

"Yes," Obi-wan agreed. "But he usually leaves out the undercurrent of remorse." Sadness rippled off of the master, making Anakin and I both aware that the attachment had not gone away. Perhaps it had lessened...hidden in some part of his mind to the point that he forgot it was there. And then seeing her again made it resurface with a vengeance.

His wrist comm beeped. Kenobi seemed glad for a change of topic. "Yes, Captain?"

"General," Rex's voice came through. "Something's wrong with Skywalker's astromech. Scared him real good, sir. We've also lost contact with two of my men."

"I'm on my way down to assist you," Kenobi said, standing.

"I'll go, Master," Skywalker butt in. "If there's something dangerous down there, the clones and I can handle it. Kida?" he stopped at the door, giving me a smile. "Care to avoid further political discussions?"

"And miss the chance of Duchess Satine hating me more?" I joked, already following him. "That's a high price."

Obi-wan watched us leave with a roll of his eyes, Skywalker and I jumping into the elevator.

"So...Obi-wan has a girlfriend," I teased, looking forward at the door.

Anakin smirked. "They don't seem to like each other that much."

"Like you and Padme never bicker." I felt his shock and panic, but it melted away slowly, making me look. "I didn't mean to freak you out."

"I knew you knew," he dismissed. "It's just...weird."

I chuckled. "It must be nice though," I glanced at him. "To not be a total secret anymore."

Anakin hummed, opening his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the opening hiss of the doors. Instead of responding to me, he walked out, saying, "Alright men, what's the problem? I'm missing dinner."

Cody, R2, and Rex stood waiting for us under the bright florescent light. "We're not sure yet, sir," Cody replied. "There's still no sign of Mixer and Redeye."

I watched Rex gesture to his men, sending them searching for the missing clones, while R2 rolled forward, beeping anxiously.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Anakin asked, arms crossed. R2 beeped and whistled in response. "I know, I know. But I'm here now. Use your scanner. See if something's out of place." R2 obeyed, nearly knocking over Cody while the droid spun and rolled off into the dim hangar.

As I followed, I could feel that something was amidst. I did my best to remember how Redeye and Mixer had felt in the force, searching for them, but nothing came up. It wasn't long until R2 led us to a container that had toppled to its side, empty.

"Well," Rex grumbled. "What have we here? Looks like the contents of this box are missing."

I hummed, Skywalker replying lowly. "Or it got up and walked away." He turned to us. "Alright. Fan out. Separate squads. I'll contact Obi-wan." The clones parted ways, all of them searching for both their brothers and whatever had come out of that box.

As Skywalker and I walked after his astromech, he contacted Obi-wan. "Anakin," the jedi master's hushed voice came through. "What have you found?"

"There's a large open container and the contents are missing," Skywalker responded. "And I still have two men unaccounted for."

"That's not good." Kenobi's voice was quiet, trying not to worry the delegates that were likely in the same room as him. "Keep things quiet. I'll stay with the senators."

"Got it." As Anakin signed off with his former master, I followed the beeping astromech, the light from his head scanning nervously.

"Your droid," I said lowly, seeing it turn abruptly.

Anakin joined me in following it. "What's up? Did you find something?"

We followed R2 down a long hall of stacked crates, approaching one of the sparse fluorescent lights. My hand touched Anakin's arm as two white boots appeared at the edge of the circle of light.

"There you are," Anakin exclaimed, relieved. "Redeye, where have you been? You've had us all…" he trailed off for a moment, feeling my anxiety upon seeing the clone's strange movements. "...worried."

"What the hell?" I mumbled, drawing my blaster from my hip slowly. Something was wrong. Anakin wasn't looking with the force, too confident in his own abilities. But I could feel that there was nothing in the body that once held Redeye. He was dead.

"Redeye?" Anakin paused for a moment, seeing the body turn slowly at us. He ignited his lightsaber. Red dots lit up behind the clone, revealing long appendages that held Redeye in the air.

"That's not Redeye," I declared, aiming my pistol at the droid.

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MANDO'A

Ka'ra - stars (ancient Mandalorian myth), ruling council of fallen kings

Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la- no one cares who your father was; only the father you'll be (bloodline is not important compared to one's own actions in life)

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AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Sorry for the super delayed update. I've been rather busy of late. I'll try to post more often!

As always, shares, likes, and reviews/comments are welcome!

-Ryder

#clone wars #star wars #star wars oc #star wars the clone wars #captain rex #captain rex x oc #rex x oc #fanfiction #fanfic

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