Mara Jade ; the Emperor's Hand

How wonderful. Ben considers the information, wondering just how much of a "legend" this seems to be. Apparently not a large one; otherwise, he would most likely know about it. Unless it's one whispered through cautionary tones. Or maybe he is simply that far removed from cantinas and outer rim gossip. As far as he's considered, the fate of the galaxy is out of his hands and better that way. Ben will simply do his best to work more as a shadow, ridding the galaxy of evil, until either old age or an enemy catches up to him. And he's content with that.

Shoulders shake slightly in a chuckle, the vocoder on his helmet barely picking up the sound. The woman speaks in a tone that shows her experience with the man. Simultaneously exasperated and fond. Yes, he must be a Skywalker then, as Ben knows the feeling all too well.

At least working for the Empire isn't new; there are thousands of individuals who were employed by the Empire during their reign - individuals merely trying to stay alive and stick to the status quo. With a lightsaber by her side, he can guess that she worked for the Empire in different ways. And now, apparently working closely enough to do favors for Luke Skywalker, one responsible for taking the Empire down, and having Anakin Skywalker's lightsaber.

There's more to the story; he's sure of it. The question is, does he actually care?

"A Mandalorian wielding a lightsaber," Ben laughs at the notion. "You think the Empire would have let that happen?" It's an easy deflection, one he's been able to brush off for years whenever people caught the lightsaber strapped to his back. Most assumed it was a trophy and nothing more, and if they did see it, they either no longer remembered his existence or no longer lived. Obviously, that can not be the case here, so deflection will have to be his route.

But then the pull of the Force draws his gaze back to the lightsaber, and a surge of protectiveness floods him. They may have parted ways on strenuous terms - their relationship strained from the war and the secrets - but his Padawan had still lent him his ship to go to Satine. He was still his brother.

She didn't know what happened to him.

This one doesn't act like a Mandalorian with a trophy. Even if there's not truth in him wielding the blade- he is not parading it around with a point to prove.

She feels his focus on her weapon. Like how she's long been better able to read people, that itching under her skin. Luke says it's the Force, but Mara thinks- it's different. The Force is her ghosts, the haunting hurting cold, the darkness. Someone eying her weapons... That goes back to her earliest training, and being a child made to figure out when one of them was going to go for her throat.

She places her fingers on it, wraps them just protectively enough around the hilt to leave no doubt about the motion.

"It was a gift. Of a sorts, I suppose." The fight had been confusing, blurry in her memory. But the aftermath- Luke had been crystal clear then. Standing over a corpse, and looking back at her as she held out the blade- He had reached for it. And then pulled away. "I was told it wasn't meant to be his anymore."

Luke had spoken as if the lightsaber was more than a weapon. More than just- an object to be passed around.

Something in his tone had implied that the lightsaber was making a choice just as much as he was.

Mara turns her head up, and focusing her gaze on his visor. Were it not for the black tint, they would be making eye to eye contact. Amusement twinkles in hers, as her mouth turns up into a smirk.

"And you recognize it. Pretend all you want to be an ordinary man, but you know this saber."

Amusement- does he realize how silence and guarded nature can reveal just as much? Is he so used to his armour that he doesn't now what the shaking void of his soul says? To her; in the blankness of what he projects, she reads him. In this focus, the repeated looks and questions. She had dealt with clones, and stormtroopers, and Vader since she was old enough to know who she herself was.

Walls of anger or walls of denial. Mara is very good about the slightest crack in them.

There was so many Palpatine or Tarkin wanna-be's. So many traps and routes clogged with Hutt avengers ready to fill that vacuum. It was hard enough to stand in the Senate again rebuilding and also dodge assassin fire. Yet here they were, finally changing things.

But there was always a sense of dread. A fear of something Leia hadn't sniff out yet. A war wound festering under her skin. The what if all of this is too good to be true.

The deeds of the Emperor's hand; they'll follow her forever.

And Leia sensing that darkness, well, she's Luke's sister after all. Mara can not judge her for sensing what was the truth.

His head moves just slightly to indicate his interest in her private favor, and a sense of dread washes over him. Many years have passed since he last saw that lightsaber, but he could never forget the proud moment when Anakin had shown it to him, newly designed and forged. The first time they sparred to test out the balance, they both knew it would already be perfect. Anakin had made it after all.

Heart lurching in his chest, Ben shifts his weight to one leg, resting a hand on his hip, closer to his blaster. What in the stars can she possibly be doing with Anakin's old lightsaber? The weight of his past had weighed him down for decades, encroaching on the dark side for so long until he finally found some peace after Maul's death. Reaching the middle ground of a murky balance had taken resolve and practice, but he had done it, and since then he has stayed away from whatever is going on in the Rebellion, the Empire, and the New Republic.

"Luke Skywalker," Ben repeats the name. "The guy who ended the Empire, right?" He doesn't have to ask; Ben already knows. As soon as he heard the whispers of Skywalker he had honed into the galactic news outside of the Outer Rim. And that had led him down the rabbit hole of Luke Skywalker. He didn't need to be a genius to put the dots together. Even during the war, Obi-Wan had teased Anakin about his relationship with Padmé.

"I don't know why he would want to talk to me." Wouldn't it just be better to let the past be in the past? Ben Kenobi could have been Obi-Wan Kenobi, but there was no true proof. Unless Luke had visions, was guided, or came across old footage of him, the likelihood of connecting Ben Kenobi with Obi-Wan Kenobi was slim. Then again, with his history of bad luck (which he does not believe in, thank you), the past physically coming to haunt him again seems fitting.

Not one that had been very big; it would probably be more accurate to call it a conspiracy theory. The kind of crazy story that spacers told to pass the time, getting wilder and wilder with every retelling. Nothing concrete, nothing believable. Yet- Luke is spiraling in chasing after those very kind of stories.

Before they spilt apart, Luke had said he was going back to Tatooine. There was stories, he said, in his childhood. From the Tusken Raiders; competing myths of Tuskens being slaughtered by a lightsaber, but also defended by one of their own who wielded one. The Senate (in this case, his sister) could be quite firm about how he couldn't get himself into trouble by galavanting into Mandalorian politics, but no one cared as much if he got into it with the Hutts on some backwater planet.

She hums. Mandalorians traditionally valued bluntness, and this one could probably tell if she was lying, but that didn't mean she wanted to bare her soul. In time, perhaps, if he was who Luke seemed to think he might be.

"He is painfully hopeful about building a future." Simple, honest, to the point of the truth. The next bit will come slower, as she skirts those edges around opening up. "I worked for the Empire. Our paths crossed, several times. I've tried to kill him, and he's saved my life."

Luke had been one of the only consistent things, in those years of chaos. Finding her footing, in a galaxy without orders, without a Master. With only her ghosts, for the first time in her life. She had all those skills, but didn't know how to choose her own direction.

Even when she'd tried to kill him- he had been a cardinal star, capable of guiding her to some safe planet.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of loose quotes taken from various characters from hades (supergiant games). these quotes are from the first game of the series. writing/roleplaying prompts. from fluff to angst! feel free to edit as you see fit, especially since some are gendered.

Ghost Anakin watching his son fall in love with that annoying redheaded murdergirl he thought was going to steal his job:

With the interloper present, Ben can't use the Force like he wants to, but he can feel the whispers of the dark floating around her, the light that shows in her Force presence, and in response, his own shields fortify themselves. He's always had impressive natural shields, one of the reasons he's so good at getting into the minds of others, but just in case, he wants to seem like just a regular Mandalorian, or a Child of the Watch.

The man remains still as she pushes back her hood, taking note of her long red hair. Amusement tilts his lips upward, hidden behind his helmet; he rarely meets another ginger, though she is unable to appreciate the sentiment, as he dares not remove his helmet, unsure why she is here for him.

Giving her a soft hum in acknowledgment of his carnage, he simply shrugs. Even when he was Obi-Wan Kenobi, he had to find acceptance in killing for the greater good. Of course, this was on a much larger scale, but the principle still applied. The biggest difference is his lack of a lightsaber and his status going from a Jedi to a Mandalorian.

Ben nudges a dead body out of his way and walks over toward the woman, taking a better look at her, tilting his head in curiosity. Years in the armor have taught him to speak solely through body language as a stoic Mandalorian. Of course, he can still charm and worm his way into situations most would never be able to, but outside of politics and academics, words meant little. Actions speak louder. Sliding the blaster in his hand into the holster at his side, he walks until they are within melee range.

He is not that light she seeks. Like high walls, he's surrounded by beskar, and she reads nothing off of him. He is as guarded to her mind as he is to her eyes.

And yet, he approaches. Puts the blaster away. Speaks, and tells her that he is listening.

More acceptance than Mara was expecting. Luke, damn him, had been all "if you tell him you want to talk" and it seems he was right. In the past year, they've been interacting more and more. Now that Mara no longer hears the Emperor urging her to kill him, it's easier. Plus, she has-

Her fingers brush the lightsaber's hilt; in response to the direct pointing as much as it is to her own thoughts. The metal, warm and echoing with ghosts all of it's own. Luke insisted that she keep it. That it was meant to be hers, for a time. He has his own that he built, after all, and no desire to bring this particular lightsaber back into his personal life.

So she carries it.

"I'm here as a private favour." Lest he think she's here for the New Republic. Or worse; the Imperial Rement. Mandalore has long made clear its feelings about the Empire; and this man especially, carries a reputation of who will not accept that kind of influence being spread over his planet again. When she's here for his reputation, it matters all the more. The Emperor had once talked of him- muttering to himself while Mara had been in training. And Luke had stumbled on some old, civil War era files aobut a Mandalorian who matched the description.

It had taken a while to put together enough of a trail to follow. She had told Luke it wasn't worth it, back when he started this project. Trying to find survivours of the Purge and the Empire, after twenty years? Needle in a haystack in a planet filled with haystack.

Curse Skywalker for his eternal stubbornness though.

Curse herself for wanting to help.

An hour later:

"And meanwhile, you cover for your own flaws by being an overtended brute. You constantly terrorize past the point of getting any kind of useful information."

"You've been a disappointment since the day you turned into a cyborg. Which is why He's. Raised. Me."

His hand tights upon his saber, inching closer to what he truly knows is what's in stock for both of them.

"It takes one to know one."

His red blade comes up to Mara's neck. Casting her face in that evil light.

"And once either of us ruin that illusion for him, I won't mind being the monster again, but you...you already believe the lie. Which makes you more dangerous."

After another moment Vader switches off his weapon. Coming back to his senses. Chosen now to leave.

"I know I'm not nearly good for him. But since he wants me around-"

She shrugs, and breaths, and when the weapon is moved away, she still keeps her chin steady. No backing down. No change in her determined expression.

If he really had lost his temper, it would have been far more of a battle. But she can feel him just as much as he can feel her.

"Goodnight."

One heart beat. Two heart beats.

His days on Kamino were similar when he was a child- early mornings, tough drills, and brutal hours to shape him and his brothers into efficient killers. Fear ruled those days, and failure was often met with a beating or another form of severe punishment. It seemed that times hadn't changed.

There was one source of reprieve in those days, and that had been the guidance and care from his training sergeant, Kal Skirata. Niner didn't think he would ever fill the man’s boots, but he owed it to himself to try.

"It happens," Niner said as he lowered to a knee. He extended his hand to ask for the blaster. "It packs a punch. Press it into your shoulder like this." He held it up and peered down the sight of the blaster. "Like this."

He just takes it, and demonstrates holding it. It looks much smaller against his body than it had felt in her arms. Wide green eyes stare (take it in, note how he holds it, prepare to mimic), and when he offers her the blaster back, she doesn't flinch.

She holds to copy how he'd held it. Sliding her fingers, shifting her feet when he prompts. It feels better; like her body can tell that she's already positioned better. Holding the blaster is still heavy but- When Mara looks down the sight, and exhales, it feels much steadier than her first try.

Another inhale, another exhale. She squeezes the trigger.

The blaster butt pushes against her chest, but she doesn't slide as much, and she's able to hold onto her stance. Best of all, when she looks at the target-

"I hit it!"

"These type of things can take a long time to fade. It is an unfortunate truth, but often the best way to move past is to move through." It is a Jedi answer, and she knows it the second that it leaves her mouth, half wisdom, half riddle; She can't entirely help it, having been raised with the old ways. The answer often wasn't clear cut.

Essa had never been a very adept mind healer, her skills lying more with physical injuries; she preferred when there was a more straightforward solution to problems, but minds were complicated, problems becoming so tightly intertwined that it was hard to tell where one issue ended and the next began.

She longed for the Archive, the place where she could spend hours browsing the resources to find the best way to help someone. Essa was on her own now. All of that knowledge was now lost and she would have to figure out how to help this girl on her own.

Never easy. Not easy.

Another breath. "Through pain, I will be made stronger." Like a prayer, as it had been when she was all of seven years old, and crying in the darkness of that cold Imperial Palace. The words had come, in passing, picked up from some instructor or the other. "Through pain, my chains are broken."

She must work through the pain. And if the haunting of the Emperor's voice remains- then she will work through that pain too. Until she is as strong as she used to be. Until she is free.