#lightloyal

In  his  line  of  business,  it  was  for  the  best  to  always  assume  that  people  were  lying  and  that  you  couldn't  trust  them  -  it  made  it  a  lot  easier  to  notice  when  they  were  betraying  you  and  it  had  helped  Din  avoid  being  shot  more  times  than  he  could  count.

Not  that  he  tried  to  keep  up.

Ben  was  admittedly  a  far  more  charming  sort  of  fellow  than  Din  usually  spent  his  time  around,  maybe  because  Din  didn't  have  a  tracking  fob  on  him,  but  that  didn't  mean  Din  trusted  him  in  the  least.  Maybe  he  wasn't  necessarily  a  criminal,  but  he  was  far  too  polite  to  always  be  an  honest  man.

He  lived  on  Tatooine  (Maybe.  Supposedly.),  a  place  known  for  housing  slavers,  smugglers,  and  other  scumbags,  the  sort  of  location  where  you  could  be  shot  while  waiting  to  get  a  drink  and  the  music  started  right  back  up  once  the  body  was  off  the  dancefloor.  You  didn't  go  there  unless  you  were  a  criminal  and  wanted  to  hide.  The  same  for  the  Outer  Regions.

"Guess  it's  a  good  thing  you  said  no  one  would  be  chasing  us,"  Din  said  after  a  pause,  not  looking  away  from  the  blur  of  hyperspace.  "Right?"

Poe knew his own nervousness was working against him here but how was he supposed to just calm down when he was about to face his perhaps only chance at ever becoming a Jedi Knight? Most of his clanmates have already been chosen by various master to be trained, but Poe had been overlooked, omitted. He knew why - his results were unbalanced. Though he excelled in what he was innately talented at, he still royally sucked at the skills which were currently absolutely crucial for a jedi and a padawan. He was last in practically all of the external, physical applications of the force. At least he wasn’t last in lightsaber training, but only because he made up for his lack of force skills with physical ability and form. Still... No master wanted to take the risk, not when they were fighting on the front lines of the Clone Wars. And though Poe could see the reason, it didn’t change how desperately he wanted to be chosen, to be given a chance, at least!

Now he was sat waiting in the northern garden for no other than Obi-Wan Kenobi, the one as legendary as Anakin Skywalker - no, more than Skywalker. He was the one who had trained him, after all! And so, Poe was a ball of nerves, pacing thought trying not to, picking at his robes and stopping himself. What if he doesn’t like me? What if he won’t choose me either, even though master Yoda asked him to? The ultimate choice always belonged to the master in question, after all.

He sensed Obi-Wan’s presence long before he heard his approach. He has seen him and met him a few times as a youngling and just like he could recognize faces, Poe recognized the feeling, the imprint in the Force, of those he’s met in his life. Obi-Wan was coming and Poe was so eager and also so unprepared!

         Anakin had been stable enough, to be flown from Geonosis to the Halls of Healing, at the Jedi Temple. No one had even mentioned that Padme was still with him, on the ship back.  But once they were back in Coruscant, he had to be taken to the Jedi Temple.  He was still a bit in shock, and then they had done the surgery on him, of sorts.  He only remembered that it happened really fast, and that it had been painful, even in the medical bay, on the ship back to Coruscant.  But as he came around, he looked down and the first thing he noticed was his new arm.  He could feel sensations in it, wondered just what made it work, and how he could improve it. But, he still could not believe that he had lost an arm.  Who was he as a Jedi, now?  He also had broken the Jedi code.  He’d had a attachment to Padme for years, but now, they had confessed their love.  He wouldn’t be blurting that out, but all of this felt so overwhelming.  He moved his arm and he could see the spark in it. 

You  shouldn't  lose  your  temper  during  a  fight.  Din  knew  that,  knew  that  reacting  hastily  meant  that  you  were  responding  sloppily,  but  the  more  that  the  hermit  goaded  him,  the  more  Din  wanted  to  knock  him  around  for  the  satisfaction  of  it.  That  wasn't  a  normal  thing  for  Din  and  he  couldn't  rightfully  explain  why  he  was  growing  so  annoyed.  He'd  fought  people  before  who  ran  their  mouths,  just  as  he'd  fought  people  who  were  better  in  combat,  but  this...  it  was  different.

Maybe  it  was  the  way  Din  felt  that  the  man  was  truly  playing  with  him,  the  roles  of  predator  and  prey  more  clearly  defined  than  they'd  ever  been  since  Din  first  swore  the  creed,  but  even  as  his  muscles  ached,  hands  stinging.  

Breathe.  Focus.  Stay  calm.

"And whose fault is that?" He didn't snap, but the words were certainly pointed even as Din continued to make his way through the dark network of caves, unlevel paths that snaked deep beneath the ground. The temperature was cooler in the caves than it was on the surface and Din remembered someone telling him once that caves stayed the median temperature of their surroundings, something that almost made him want to take temperature readings to check.

It wasn't as if there was anything else to do, the usual accompaniment of danger somehow missing from his latest excursion with the crazy desert hermit. Even though time had revealed that title wasn't as accurate as he once believed, Din still insisted on using it out of some stubborn burst of spite. Considering he kept helping the man, surely he could be forgiven for that.

Foot kicking a rock on his next step, Din listened to the clattering of stone and how it seemed to echo down the empty pathway for a moment, and then silence returned.

Then a rumbling growl came from further down the path, low and ominous.

Stopping in his tracks, Din threw out an arm to stop his companion as he scanned for any signs of life in their particular tunnel. What it was that made that sound, it sounded big. Too big for no one to know it was there, which meant Din's associate had withheld pertinent details again.

       As the first rays of sunlight climb over the horizon, the flames that had bit at his ankles make a home in his heart in dying embers and ash. Its weight has left him sleepless to watch the sunrise for the third night in a row, hollow bags underneath his eyes.

       It is this way: no inrush of sun can dispel the night that has been falling for days inside his heart, unfolding and pulling him close, cloaking him. Shielding him.

       After all, there is work to do. He has work to do. But aside from the work that the Emperor has assigned him there is a much deeper, much more personal task. In the darkness of the room, focused on his hatred, he can feel, almost see him.

       Despair.

       Towards the end of Anakin Skywalker’s days, he had harnessed something not yet fully known but familiar when in battle he had been able to sense, to feel and hear and almost see, all that Obi-Wan Kenobi had, almost as well as Anakin Skywalker had known that the blood dripping down his arm had been his own.

       Lord Vader closed his eyes and felt around the galaxy for the sign in the Force that had always been so familiar to his own, a particular blotch of ink known only to him.

       Obi-Wan.

       A call.

       I know that you can hear me.

       Not a word is audible where he stands, but he knows.