Archive: OOD page (Everyone else can if they want to, but it's not really
slash this time, so there's not much point)
Archive Date: September 27, 2000
Author's Webpage: (OOD) http://digitalmidnight.simplenet.com/garden/ood.html
Category: Angst, Drama, AU
Disclaimer: George Lucas is god - I'm just messing around.
Pairing: N/A
Rating: PG
Series: Out of Darkness
Summary: An AU series based upon a Sith Empire and the Jedi in
hiding
The thick, sweet smoke of a haze brazier clung to his hair and clothes, swirling gently with every motion of his hands. Long fingers, nimble for all their thickness, easily shuffled the card chips, flicking them out upon the scarred surface of the table with a deft gesture. He listened to the clink as they fell with half an ear; listened, eyes closed, as the others around the table scooped their cards up.
He fumbled in the folds of his cloak with one hand, fingertips closing over the crinkling parchment wrap of a spice stick. Breaking off the end, he rolled it neatly into a ball between thumb and forefinger before tucking it into his cheek. The sharp burst of the flavor burned across his tongue for a moment before dying into a smooth tingle. Sighing softly, a small sound of pleasure, he opened his eyes once more and reached to take up his own card chips as the betting began.
The spaceport cantina was small and crowded, thick with the scent of liquor and drugs and flesh. Handfuls of languages flickered through the air, snatches of conversation beneath the raucus sound of the music. His ears took them in, filed and stored those bits worth remembering later by habit even as he turned the greater portion of his attention to the card chips and the stack of credit vouchers that he pushed towards the center of the table.
They had been playing for hours. The occupants of the table changed, shifting, one leaving, another taking the vacated place. Different races, different variations of the game, but it was all the same to him. He made sure to balance it carefully, loosing enough to make it believable while still, slowly but surely, increasing the credits at his elbow. The glass at his hand was merely water, though it hardly mattered with the haze smoke thick in the air and the spice burning a slow warmth through his cheek. Endless rounds, the card chips clattering on the table, a counterpoint melody to the soft sure clink of credits. It spun out around him like a web of rhythm; a sparkling pattern that, if he closed his eyes, was dizzying in its complexity and beautiful in its stark simplicity.
He opted, after a moments thought, to win the lesser pot for the round. The randomizer had long ago fell beneath the gentle touch of his will; only a thought was needed to trigger it, and to guide which card became what denomination around the whole of the table. He let it be a close match, a point of difference, and as they all, with various expressions, displayed their hands he professed some relieved astonishment at his luck. The minor pot came to him, adding to his stack of credits, even as the card deck went to the Tlidian at his left and the game began again.
He knew when she entered the cantina - it was an anomaly and he made a point of tracking all such. Dark haired and somber faced, she wore the sedate earth tones of the locals, the thick bulk of the wrap bundled around her reducing her to near shapelessness. Not one of the prostitutes who frequented the cantina, nor, despite her age, one of the local youth looking for a night thrill. She hesitated at the steps of the entrance, her gaze searching out over the crowded interior.
Sister or mate of one of the occupants of the cantina, he classified her, there to retrieve her wayward man. The card chips were once more being dealt and he turned his thought away from her and towards the game.
Until, determination and fear mingled in her dark eyes, she descended the steps and began to force her way through the crowd to the table where he sat.
It was not foresight that sent a shiver down his back, only the simple knowledge of a sure thing. He kept his countenance relaxed as she crossed the room, going through the motions of the game without thinking about it. Only as she drew near did he look up, meeting her unwavering gaze.
Arriving at his side, she seemed at a loss for what to do next. Smoothly, he took the decision from her. Laughing, he tossed his card chips down, forfeiting the bet he had already made even as he scooped up his winnings and pushed back his chair. She stiffened as he slipped his arm about her shoulder, dark brows drawing down over eyes that flashed, which only made the scene all the more authentic. He stooped to brush a kiss against the corner of her mouth, feeling her draw a startled breath, but his lips had already descended to lightly touch the curve of her ear. "Play along," he hissed, tone firm.
Blessedly, she could make good use of the intelligence he could see in her eyes. She pulled back from him, every line in her slim frame radiating a tension that could be mistaken for anger. "I want to talk to you," she demanded firmly. Her gaze swept the table with evident distaste. "Outside."
He put on an appropriately repentful expression, to the laughter of those he had been gaming against. "Of course," he soothed, even as the shrug of his broad shoulders indicated the helplessness of a man against his mate. More laughter followed in their wake, she with her head held high, back rigid, he with a ruefully embarrassed air.
Outside the heavy doors of the cantina the almost biting cold of the night had fallen in the wake of the sweltering day. He released her, drawing his cloak tighter around himself. Wordless, he gestured her to proceed him across the darkened dusty roadway.
She shook her head, lips pressed thin in her too sober face. Her voice was low, with a soft throatiness to it, wary and yet hopeful. "Are you...?"
"Yes," he replied abruptly, cutting her off. Reaching out to catch her elbow, he steered them determinedly away from the cantina. "Not here." When he felt her stiffen he sighed. "As you value life, don't argue." He jerked his head back towards the door of the cantina, from which the thin sound of music trickled. "If they suspect..."
That made her move. Gathering her wrap even tighter about her, she lead the way towards a darker cleft between two adjoining buildings.
He watched her straight backed stride as he followed her, noting the pride in the line of her shoulders even as his eyes and mind had already noted other things - the strictly utilitarian cloth of her wrap, the smudges of dirt against her cheeks and the hem of her skirt. She was as so many were who came to him - little or no money to her name, surviving with hard work, desperate yet strong.
Unseen, his expression softened. He already knew what answer he would have to give her, had known it the moment he touched her arm and the burden she carried there, hidden away. He hoped her strength would last. So few who came to him for the answer of their question were truly prepared to hear it.
She lead him into the velvet darkness of the shadow between the buildings, her face a pale sliver caught by the light of a distant doorway as she turned to him. He held up a hand to forestall her words, his own question slipping quickly between them. "Where did you hear of me?"
She hesitated, but it was the tension of what she did, no falsehood that he could detect. "A friend," she replied softly. "Her man's sister - you told her, two days ago."
A pale faced slip of a girl, body heavy and swollen with child as she determinedly trailed him through the marketplace. And her answer had been the same, the word of a friend, a relative, an acquaintance. The word of mouth was passing more quickly then he would have liked and he frowned, scratching absently at the coarseness of his beard. "Let them know this is the last," he said finally, reluctant to steal their hope but far more reluctant to draw attention to himself. "I leave planet tomorrow." He had enough for the passage, if just barely. It would have to do.
She nodded tersely, chin jerking slightly. He sighed. Better to have it done with. Reaching out, he gestured her to step forward. She hesitated again, then did so, letting the wrap fall away.
Nestled in the crook of her arm, tiny form swathed in cloth, was a babe so young its face still bore the marks of its birth. The barest dusting of hair clung to its tiny head, its eyes closed and mouth open as it slept. The woman gently stroked one fingertip along the rounded cheek, a soft smile touching her lips as the babe turned towards the gesture. "My son," she said quietly.
He did not need to, but for appearances sake he reached out, passing one hand across the babe's exposed head. It was such a warm feeling within the web of life, the bright spark of a newborn, and he let his hand linger for a moment. Bright enough to burn, for all that the babe could have fit within his cupped palms.
When he drew back she was watching him intently, face grimly set. "Well?"
He had found, over the years, that there was no easy way of telling them. The answer each of them wanted brought smiles and relieved tears, while the one they did not brought tears of rage. They took it quietly or with outbursts, but the feeling remained and he hated to be the one to bring it upon them. He kept his eyes upon the babe, not wishing to see her face. "He has it."
Silence for long heartbeats, and then she stepped back, leaning one shoulder heavily against the wall. He could hear the soft hitch of her breath as she rigidly suppressed her tears, and he turned away, allowing her such privacy as he could to regain her composure.
Her whisper threaded through the darkness, directed not to him but to the babe who slept, oblivious, in her arms. "Oh my son... oh my little one..." She raised tear-bright eyes to him, but the tears went unshed, only her hoarse voice betraying her. "I knew. I knew when I carried him." Her eyes closed, her arms tightening around the child, unthinkingly rocking the both of them.
He watched them, feeling his own throat tighten. "The choice is yours," he said softly.
She paused for a long moment, even her breath falling silent. "What choice is there?" she asked at last, bitterness lacing her voice. Her trembling hand went to stroke the child's head. "I've seen them take others. I've seen the Enforcers, with their faces like death. They were someone's children, once! How can I..." She broke off, a sob catching her. "If they take him... how..."
He closed his eyes. "They will take him," he said flatly, the words brutally harsh. "He's strong in the Force. They'll take him before the season is out." He hesitated, shaking his head softly. "He won't be an Enforcer. He's too strong for that."
She bowed her head, her body curling around the tiny form in her arms. "My son, the Sith Lord," she hissed.
Straightening abruptly, she thrust the babe out towards him, eliciting the start of a cry from the infant as it was roughly woken. "Take him," she ordered, voice ragged. "Do it. Whatever it is you do - do it. Don't let them take him."
He took the swaddled babe before the cries could grow in strength, shifting the tiny form to nestle in the crook of his arm. It was a feeling that brought a small pang to his throat, the weight of that tiny form settled so easily against his chest. The babe quieted at his touch, pale eyes large in its tiny face.
"You're sure?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed, clutching her wrap back around her. "Will... will you take his life?"
"No." The word held no reassurance for her, only flat fact. His fingertips touched the babe's tiny face, stroking across the soft skin. "I can make him useless to them. He will live, but the cost..." He raised his eyes, meeting hers. "The cost is his mind."
Another soft sob escaped her. She looked away, but the line of her jaw in profile remained firm. "Do it," she whispered. "I'll kill him myself before I let them take him."
She had the strength, held in brittle check. The Force she had bred into her son lay dormant in her, but its strength was there, strong and sure. He reached out, touched her arm gently, but she would not turn. Letting her go, he turned away himself, his head bowed across the tiny babe. The thin braids of his hair fell down, prey to the tiny awkward grasp of a fist worked free of the blankets.
Holding the child, for the briefest flicker of a moment, he could see the burst of a hundred different futures. A fair haired young man, strong at his side, raised as he had been at his Master's hands. The black and red mask of an Enforcer, blue eyes blood shot and wild. The deadly red of a Sith lightsaber, wielded by a ruthless black clad Lord. For one heartbeat, he felt the searing pain and despair as that blade cut through him, ending his own life and the legacy he carried.
Darkness, down every path. Even the ones where he took the babe to his own heart and teachings became shadowed, the darkness overwhelming them. This was not the one.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and opened himself to the Force, reaching out to the gentle disjointed touch of the babe's mind.
It was a heartbeat of the purest, rawest power that he could muster, flooding through his veins like fire and searing into the untrained newborn Force sense of the babe in his arms. A cry burst from them both, man and infant, ringing into the night. He sustained the flood for another heartbeat, feeling the moment that the child's struggling mind burst beneath the onslaught like a physical blow.
It took him long moments to release the Force, letting the warm burn of the power fade away slowly. The night was filled with the soft hiccuping wail of a frightened babe and the muffled sobs of its mother. Straightening, feeling the world slowly right itself, he held the babe out to the woman.
She took her son back with trembling hands, clutching him close to her breast, her hands running almost feverishly across his swathed body as though she might feel the difference in him. "Is it.... did you...."
"Take him home," he told her tiredly. "Raise him well. He will grow as any other boy, a strong hand to your household." He sighed, fumbling in his cloak for another fragment of spice stick, desperately in need of the smooth serenity it brought. "In his mind, he will never grow beyond your young boy. He will remain a child. Forever."
She cradled the infant, pressing tiny kisses to the tear reddened cheeks. "He will be mine," she whispered, fiercely. "Mine, my son, not theirs." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Thank you... Jedi."
He reached out, touching the dark mass of her hair, quieting the babe in her arms with a fingertip. The strength there humbled him, left him wordless before the vibrant defiance of her will. "He would have been a great Knight," he whispered, the words hoarse. "Force be with you. Both of you."
The words alone were a death sentence, relics of a time long gone in the mists of history. She raised her chin, proud and strong to the last. "And with you," she whispered. He bent, pressing the ghost of a kiss to her forehead, breathing the last of the Force that clung to him into her chilled skin.
"Fare well, little one," he whispered, brushing the babe's cheek one last time. As he turned to leave he heard the soft melody of a lullaby, hummed in a throaty whisper, a gentle sound of love. Closing his eyes against the burn within them, he forced a rigidly cheerless smile and turned his steps back towards the lit door of the cantina. The liquor and haze smoke called to him, promising a relief it could never deliver.
[...to next stage]
BlackRose cackles loudly and officially declares this AU universe to be Anakin free! *EG*