#roggwart

You passed by the room you slept in without stopping. You were both following the same path you had taken perhaps a week earlier, though keeping track of time here was exceedingly difficult. The closer you assumed you were to Gor’s den, the more your nerves tightened—an uneasy weight sinking into the pit of your stomach.

You had never wished to encounter the roggwart again in your life. And yet here you were, trying to prove something, at the same time wishing to impress your host. Agreeing to feed the creature might not have struck him as brave, but you hoped he understood the effort it took not to turn and run screaming; it wasn’t every day one came face-to-face with a beast like him.

It made you wonder: did Grievous feel fear? Was there anything that scared him? Thanks to A4-D, you knew his brain had remained intact. He was as alive as anyone, though stuck perhaps somewhat gladly in a machine-like body.

And if you could still feel touch—still suffer or sustain injuries, still eat and drink—just how advanced were those components holding him together? What could Grievous feel?

Your musings were interrupted, however thankful you were to have momentarily distracted yourself, the general pausing his trek to stand before a door you were unfortunately familiar with. About that time, you heard what sounded like a squeaky wheel desperately needing oil, A4-D arriving with a pushcart laden with the carcasses of dead animals.

Your eyes widened at the selection—bantha, nerf, what looked like half a ton of blackfish, ghara bird, porg, goat, and a plethora of other things you could not name.

You stared in awe. A4-D decided to make a joke at your expense. “What is the matter, human? You look as if you have never seen three hundred pounds of raw meat before.”

“No,” you whispered, your gaze shifting to focus on the droid’s photoreceptors.

Before either of you could exchange another word, Grievous interposed himself between you. “Leave us,” he instructed in a less than friendly manner.

The droid looked offended—if such a thing could happen. “Very well.” Then, from the hall, came a muttered remark: “Perhaps Gor will mistake our friend for an appetizer,” he snickered.

The door slid shut behind him.

You found yourself essentially trapped, with nowhere to run should things go awry. You looked to Grievous—he was moving toward the farthest wall. You knew there was a secret mechanism embedded in the stone and anticipated that he would activate it at any moment.

“Are you prepared?” he had the decency to ask.

You stood there, unable to say yes and too afraid to say no, lest Grievous somehow think less of you. You gave an almost imperceptible nod—the general took it as confirmation that you were ready, pressing the button that would release his roggwart into the chamber you both occupied.

You held your breath. Nothing happened at first. Grievous bellowed, calling upon his pet: “Gor! Get out here. Do you not smell what I have brought you?”

A few moments later, Gor’s enormous, fang-filled maw presented itself, followed by the rest of his horned head. He opened his mouth to yawn; Grievous thought this amusing on some level. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

The beast roared in its master’s face. Grievous took it all in stride, even going so far as to laugh a succinct, one syllable laugh in response.

You couldn’t help it—you jumped back in fright.

Your sudden movement, unfortunately, drew attention to you, Gor turning his monstrous face in your direction.

He stalked toward you, playing at predator and prey, his fierce yellow eyes locked on yours. The only thing keeping him from eating you, you assumed, was the presence of the general—though Grievous seemed in no hurry to redirect the roggwart toward the slabs of meat waiting on the cart.

Perhaps A4-D had been right; you were to be an appetizer.

“Nice puppy, sweet puppy,” you dumbly cajoled, hoping to persuade the creature against devouring you whole. Not a moment too soon, Grievous used his commanding voice to stop the toothy leviathan in its tracks.

“Gor! What did I say!” he scolded.

The roggwart turned its head back toward its master.

“She is not food, your food is here.”

You avoided a swipe of the monster’s tail by mere centimeters, springing to your left as he turned back around. You were forced to calm your breathing before full panic set in, Grievous extending a hand that held the body of a porg, plucked of all its feathers.

“Good boy, Gor,” he coaxed.

Then, Grievous swiveled toward you, tossing the flightless dead bird straight into the mouth of the beast. “Come here, Mouse.”

You hesitated, thinking the cyborg had gone mad. You looked between the two of them, Gor having swallowed the porg without chewing, and it was obvious he was waiting for more.

“Now,” he said, not asking but telling. You took one shuddering step forward, watching as Gor stomped a clawed foot impatiently against the ground.

Grievous threw him a fish to keep him occupied. You crept closer, then, at the last second, bolted the rest of the way across the room. You positioned yourself behind Grievous, peering out from the edge of his cape.

The general made a noise; you were not sure what it meant, but he did not sound happy. This forced you to face your fear—quite literally, head-on. Slowly and carefully, you slipped out from behind him, the roggwart never breaking eye contact with you. Once you were fully visible, the animal snorted a hot breath in your face.

“Ha! He is curious about you.”

“Ho-how can you tell?” you asked, your voice quaking in your throat. Without warning, Grievous shoved the corpse of a ghara bird into your hands.

“Feed him,” the general ordered.

As if agreeing with its master, Gor gave a deep growl, the sound prompting you to chuck the dead bird straight into the air, only vaguely aiming for the creature’s mouth—you wanted to be rid of the meat as soon as possible. It would be horrible should he decide to eat you along with it.

“Good, good!” Grievous praised. “It is easy, is it not?”

“No,” you whispered, taking a step back. You bumped up against your host without meaning to. Grievous set all six of his duranium digits along your shoulder, curling them to squeeze. Your heart raced, though you were now unsure of the exact reason—had it been the general who had elicited that response from you?

“Again,” he directed, pointing toward the cart brimming with the rest of Gor’s meal.

Gingerly, you stepped forward. You lifted up something bigger this time—the leg of a bantha. It must have weighed at least twenty pounds.

Grievous intently observed, though he said nothing about your selection or the bumbling way in which you turned back toward him, almost toppling to one side as you nearly lost your balance. Slightly embarrassed, you made an effort to walk toward Gor, then realized a little too late that this portion of meat was too heavy to toss—you would have to let him take it directly from your hands.

“Maybe—maybe I should choose something else,” you began, worry coloring your tone. Gor let out a deafening roar as if to protest, causing your body to involuntarily stiffen in fear.

“Nonsense!” Grievous returned, “that is one of his favorites. Do not keep him waiting.”

With a fair amount of exertion on your part, you used what physical strength you had to offer up to Gor the heavy leg of bantha. You yelped as his teeth snapped around it; he threw his head back, letting it rest on his tongue. Then, you watched in wonder as he chewed it to bits within seconds, bones and all, to disappear down the seemingly endless expanse of his massive gullet.

“Excellent!” Grievous exclaimed. “You have done well.”

Having redirected your attention to the general, you nearly jumped out of your skin when Gor touched you with the flat part of his face, nudging your arm as if to tell you he agreed. Turning quickly to make sure you were not about to get eaten, you witnessed Gor’s tongue lash out, licking you across the side of your face and head.

You recoiled in disgust, trying to shake yourself dry. It was clear you would need a shower after this.

“Ha ha ha!” Grievous chortled, brandishing one finger in your direction. “See? He understands now that you are my guest and is beginning to like you.”

You wondered if the same could be said for Grievous himself; there was an odd twinkling about his eyes.

“He… is?”

“You are not dead, correct?”

Your eyes widened—just how much control over the beast did Grievous have? You swallowed, turning back around to keep a wary eye on Gor. He had trotted over to the cart of meat by now, though Grievous did not bother to stop him, the roggwart devouring everything within his sights with the rapacious appetite of a half-starved hound.

“You shall continue to feed him in my absence, as I have said.”

“Wh-what?”

“A4-D will guide you in this task.”

“But—”

“—It will be good for the both of you! He needs company more so than he is given.”

“Next thing I know, you will tell me to play with him,” you had the nerve to say.

“And why shouldn’t you!” Grievous barked.

You balked at him—how could anyone even begin to entertain a beast of his caliber and size?

“Here, pet him,” Grievous instructed, taking you by the hand rather suddenly. It was neither from affection, nor did he attempt to be gentle in doing so, guiding you toward where Gor now stood, licking his chops.

You felt your heartbeat quicken, as much from the general taking your hand in his as from the idea that you would have to treat this creature like he were a common animal—like a stray Tooka or a Merqaal. Gor wasted no time in greeting you, practically headbutting you to the point that you would have fallen backward if not for the general’s steadying grip.

“Be careful, Gor! She is not as strong as you or I—though perhaps, one day, she will be.”

You almost laughed, though it felt forced. You wondered what the general meant by that, but shoved it to the back of your mind, instead focusing on the carnivorous, intimidating beast hovering near you, his head twice the size of your entire body.

“H-hello,” you stuttered, looking directly into Gor’s intense, gold-colored eyes. The beast peered out at you from beyond the split in his roggwart-sized helmet, dipping his head low—it was as if he knew you wished to pet him, and perhaps even liked to be pet. Tentatively, you held out your arm, laying the palm of your hand against the side of his face.

“Good boy,” you breathed, beginning to stroke him.

Gor made a sound of contentment, catching you off guard.

“Ha ha! What did I tell you, Mouse? He will give you no trouble after tonight.”

“R-really?” you asked timidly, still unsure about the whole thing, knowing this monstrosity was an animal first and a pet second—not even your pet.

“I am sure of it!" Grievous returned.

You slowly withdrew, finding refuge between the folds of the general’s mantle, grateful for the safety as fatigue set in. You had no idea how you’d become so tired in just a few minutes, though it was undeniable, your limbs growing heavy where you stood—even the one that was artificial.

Especially that one.

Gor cast one last glance at you both, then returned to his den, just as your eyelids began to flutter closed.

“You are still weak; you need more time to heal,” Grievous said matter-of-factually. You nodded, knowing he was right.

“Come, I shall return you to your quarters.”

Again, you nodded, though deep down you were sad—sad that your time was up. You wondered when you would see Grievous again, he was gone so often out on business or attending to his duties—you did not want to be left alone with EV-A4-D!