#write-and-wander

He gives her a sidelong glance, before his eyes snap back to the crackling fire; yet his stare is distant.  Words swell and fade in his closed mouth, mulling over the cacophony of feelings that seize him- feelings he decides to swallow.

She settles into the moment.  Gently, slowly, her thumb begins to move back and forth, caressing the back of the vampire’s hand.

Strangely, he doesn’t flinch.  His stomach doesn’t turn in disgust.

Honest , she reminds herself.  But where would I even start?   Her lips part as her mouth barely opens, ready for words she is still trying to find.  “Star…” she whispers, turning to look at him.  

The blaze dances in his ruby eyes for a couple of hesitant seconds before he at last meets her gaze.  “Yes?”

Sand and grass crunch as the footsteps of other companions approach.

Ayzora turns and stands, quickly pulling her hand from Astarion’s grasp.

He almost wishes she hadn’t let go.

Karlach is the first to reach the center of camp.  “Hey, soldier!  You won’t believe what happened when-”  She freezes.

Ayzora gives Karlach an uncertain look, when she feels eyes on the back of her head.  She turns her chin towards her shoulder as a new figure comes into view: a man, appearing to be around middle-aged, with brown shoulder-length hair and a fine set of clothes.

“My, my,” his voice bellows with a confident air.

D’Urge and Shadowheart jog up to the rest of the group, wearily stopping in their tracks as they see the visitor.

“What manner of place is this?”  The man takes a look around at the camp, pausing briefly on each individual.  “A path to redemption, or a road to damnation?”

Astarion instinctually steps closer to Ayzora when the stranger’s eyes land on her, an eyebrow cocking up in amusement.  

“Hard to say,” the stranger continues, leaning towards the necromancer,  “for your journey is just beginning.”  He straightens, addressing the rest of the group.  “What would suit the occasion?  Hm…  The words to a lullaby, perhaps?”

D’Urge takes slow, careful steps forward, before firmly positioning himself between the man and the rest of the group.  Wyll stands close at his side, scowling.

“The mouse smiled brightly: it outfoxed the cat!  Then down came the claw, and that, love, was that.”  The stranger chuckles, looking to D’Urge.  “They do know how to write them in Cormyr, don’t they?”  His hands stretch to either side of him, bowing at the waist.  “Well met.  I am Raphael.”  He straightens.  “Very much at your service.”

“If you want to threaten me, don’t disguise it with pretty words,” D’Urge bites back.  Lae’zel’s arm rests on her blade, while Karlach's battle-ready blaze fires up.

“Why, I never!”  Raphael’s hand rests on his chest in shock, until a smirk grows on his face.  “You’re paranoid, aren’t you?  Must be the surroundings,” he reasons, taking another glance around.  “Rather bleak and lonesome.  One feels so… exposed.”  He pauses, as if thinking for a moment.  “This quaint little scene is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my tastes.”  He leans forward and purrs, “come.”

In a bright flash of light, the comfort of camp is gone, and Ayzora- along with everyone else- is transported yet again to an unfamiliar domain.

Swaying trees and colorful tents are suddenly replaced by elegant marble and immaculate gold trim.  Turning around, there is a giant table completely filled with all sorts of food, from fine wine, to fresh fruits, to warm bread, to roasted meats.  The opulent feast is the centerpiece of the grand hall they now find themselves in.  Facing Raphael again, a grand painting of a devilish figure, with crimson horns and outstretched red wings, is proudly displayed above a roaring fireplace, before which he stands.  Multiple chandeliers of gold hang overhead, with red and gold fabrics draped between.  Heat rises in the room, leaving everyone to begin to sweat- save for Karlach, who at last feels comfortable.  Raphael seems to be unfazed by the grueling temperature.

“There,” he proudly declares with a gesture, “middle-of-somewhere.”

“Could you be more specific?”  Wyll pipes up.

“The House of Hope.  Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed- lavishly.”  He gestures to the table.  “Go on.  Partake .  Enjoy your supper.  After all… it might just be your last.”

While a few glance at the piles of food, none dare to take anything.  Everyone’s eyes remain carefully trained on Raphael, with a few who are still prepared to fight at the first sign of trouble.

Ayzora’s eyes almost seem to glow in the dusk-like light, the golden rings around her pupils catching the light in an eerie contrast to her emerald irises.  No one has taken me to their domain with good intentions… I will not be made a pawn again.

“Easy, darling,” Astarion coos in her mind.

Ayzora flinches, glancing at the pale elf.  “Astarion,” She warns, displeased by his uninvited mental intrusion, “I have half a mind to starve you for a tenday.”

“You’re tense; and as much as I enjoy being a little knife-happy, I would advise caution at the moment.”

She glances down at her flexed hands, humming with the magic of a prepared spell.  Suppressing an eye roll, she forces them down to her sides.  “Fine.”  

“Are these theatrics leading somewhere?” D’Urge asks, seeing that no one has chosen to take Raphael up on his offer for food.

The man lets out a half-hearted laugh.  “Are you not entertained?  Well- far be it from me to disappoint.”  With a cocky grin, a blaze engulfs him.

The group jumps, taking a step back from the fire.

As the swirl of ash and flame fades, a devil stands tall before them.  Suddenly, the visage in the portrait is made flesh, with the same jagged horns and outstretched wings.  His scleras turn black as fiery orange irises regard the group.

“What’s better than a devil you don’t know?” Raphael asks, feigning thought as he raises a hand to his chin.  His hand lowers with a rumbling chuckle, “a devil you do.  Am I a friend?  Potentially.  An adversary?  Conceivably.  But a savior?  That’s for certain.”

“What makes you think we need saving?”  Ayzora retorts.

D’Urge holds his hand outward, silently asking her to stand down.

“Come now,” Raphael condescends.  “Why play hard to get when you’re in deep over your tadpoled head?”  He turns back to D’Urge, showing more interest in the informal leader of the group.  “One skull, two tenants, and no solution in sight.  I could fix it all,” he snaps, and a flame sparks from his fingertips for a moment, “like that.”

“You think I’ll make a deal with a devil?  Are you mad?”  D’Urge responds, his tone sharp and firm.  The rest of the group seems to ease for a moment.

“And what is madness but a denial of reality?”  Raphael tilts his head.  “Still,” he lifts a finger, as if warning the group, “I’ve a feeling you’ll change your mind.”  He leans forward.  “Before it’s changed for you…  Try to cure yourself,” he continues, waving a dismissive hand, “shop around- beg, borrow, and steal.”  His expression hardens with earnestness.  “Exhaust every possibility until none are left.  And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair- that’s when you’ll come knocking at my door.”  He straightens, looking off to some other point, “Hope,” he mutters to himself with a hardy laugh.  “Such a tease,” he adds, shaking his head.

“Take us back,” Wyll demands, “now.”

“And after that,” D’Urge continues, “I never want to see you again.”

“By all means,” Raphael says, raising his hands, “bite the hand that feeds you… while you still have teeth.”  He crosses his arms, with one hand gesturing, “all those pretty little symptoms- sundering skin, dissolving guts- they haven’t manifested yet, have they?  One might say you’re a paragon of luck.  I’ll be there when it runs out.”

In a flash, the room is gone just as fast as it appeared.

Ayzora crosses her arms over her stomach, holding herself silently while the group breaks out in frustrated conversation.  Glancing around, she locks eyes with Astarion, whose expression is one of incredulity.  Before he can speak, she turns on her heels, promptly heading for her tent.

“Now there’s a bloody devil after us?”  Astarion asks aloud with an incredulous laugh.  “This gets better and better,” he mumbles, following after Ayzora. 

Astarion stops in his tracks as she ducks into her tent, letting the flap close in his face.  Sympathizing with her apparent upset, he continues.  “‘Shop around,’ he said,” Astarion mocks with a grand gesture.  “He seems sure we won’t find anything.”

Upon hearing no response, he opens the tent flap.

Ayzora sits on the ground, her back facing him.  She hardly moves to acknowledge the vampire as he enters and sits beside her.

“And he might be right,” Astarion adds, his tone sobering.  “We’ve had no luck so far.”

Ayzora shakes her head while she stares at the base of the tent wall in front of her, “He’s playing with us, Astarion.”

“I’m aware,” he says through gritted teeth.  “Cazador liked to toy with people, too.  Let them think there was hope right until the end; until he snatched it all away.”  He leans back on his hands, crossing his legs at the ankle.  “Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know they can win.”

“Exactly.”  She rubs her temples, hiding her face in her palm.  “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This!   Being toyed with!  Being dragged from one realm to another by cocky assholes with a promise veiled in threats-”

“We keep hunting for answers,” Astarion interjects.

She gives him a look; a silent “really?”

“What other choice do we have?”  He exclaims, lifting his hands in defense.  “This is no ordinary mind flayer parasite.  Who tampered with it, and why?  What do they have planned for us?  And why are we important enough that a devil comes knocking on our door?  If we find those answers, we might have a chance.”

Ayzora concedes with a nod, wrapping her shaking hands around herself and falling silent.

Actually, her whole frame trembles, Astarion notices.

A beat of silence passes.  And another.  Concern- oddly enough- begins to settle in for him as he watches her, silent and curled up and shaking.

“Darling?”  He asks softly.

She won’t even take a breath- much less speak.  She shakes her head.

“Darling?” He tries again, probing into her mind.

It races with thoughts: fears about the three powerful figures who prod at her vulnerabilities, anger at Orcus for his ask, uncertainty of their ability to find a cure, hopelessness for her redemption, anxiousness about finding answers in time- it all swirls into a whirlwind that overwhelms the both of them.

Astarion abruptly disconnects from her mind, taking a moment to center himself.  And as he looks back up at Ayzora, again, he sees himself.  Alone, trembling, consoling himself in whatever corner he could find.

Alone was the key word.  Suddenly, he finds himself in the face of uncomfortable vulnerability and intimacy that can’t be masked with theatrics; and it feels like he shouldn’t be here.  He wouldn’t want to be seen in a state like this, it’s only fair that he gives her some space to breathe and collect herself.

He shifts, preparing to stand- but a hand raises in the air, silently asking him to stop, and he heeds.

“Please,” she chokes out, divulging the amount of energy needed just to take a breath in this state.

He settles back into place, far enough for a gap between them, but close enough to reach out.  His eyes dart around the tent as he fidgets with the fabric of one of her blankets, and feeling awkward in the heavy silence.  

Her body shakes in waves as her lungs still yet again and her hands clutch her sides.  Terror tells her that the horror she endured all that time ago is on the brink of flooding her again; and this time, Orcus won’t be the only culprit.  Two new figures, capable of gods-know-what, are suddenly vying for pieces of her she’d thought she reclaimed at last, and begging for total control over a glorified puppet.

But she isn’t alone anymore.  The silence, loud and cold and horrific, is still somewhat comforting when it's held in company; company that believes they might have a chance, despite the odds that continue to rise against them.

Gradually, Ayzora’s mind begins to slow and her body begins to still as she clings to the breath of a chance.

After all, a chance got her this far; perhaps it’s all she needs.

When she at last calms, Astarion seems to perk up.

“Better now, darling?” He asks.

She nods with a half-hearted smile, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Good.  I’d hate to have Orcus set his sights on one of us as a replacement.”

She huffs- softly, as her lungs are still near-empty- and then it hits her.

She had been holding her breath this whole time; and as oblivious as Astarion can be, he’s not that stupid.  Wide-eyed, she turns to him.

He cocks an eyebrow at her sudden shift.  “Yes?”

Half-words tumble from her agape mouth as she trips over her clashing thoughts, before finally less-than-gracefully landing on a response:  “Shit.”

His brows furrow.  “What?”

Wiping a hand down her slacked face, she continues.  “You know.”

“Know what?”

“About… me.”

“About…?  Oh, the undead thing?”  He asks flippantly.

Ayzora rolls her eyes, which settle into a glare.  

An obnoxious ‘yes,’ on all accounts .  Astarion can’t help the grin that pulls his lips upward.  He shifts, leaning back on one hand while he pretends to inspect his nails on the other.  “Darling, that was old news.”

Her expression is unmoving, and brutally cold.

But he’s unbothered- in fact, he’s almost amused.  “Oh, come on.”  He rolls his head to his slouched shoulder.  “You didn’t really think you could hide it from the vampire, of all people?  Please.”

“Get out.”

There’s a moment of shock on his face that quickly shifts to exasperation.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of- you’re clearly in good company,” he adds, gesturing to himself.

She stands, holding open her tent’s door.  “Out.”

He rises to his feet.  “Alright, have it your way.”  He ducks out of the tent, returning to his own.

The second he steps out, she closes the flap and collapses into her bed roll.

Tears slowly roll down her face as her fears and failures weigh heavy on her head and heart.  She would hide away for the rest of the evening if she could, but…

There’s still that party tonight… Gods, I need to pull myself together.

It’s a battle, gathering her confidence and collected appearance again, but she manages.  The party hardly seems special- nothing more than a gathering of tieflings and “heroes” and shared liquor, likely with some songs and stories tossed in between.  It ought to be much easier to navigate than the sorts of parties she grew up attending, with countless nobles and an endless list of etiquette rules woven between practiced dances and long toasts.

Or, perhaps the lack of closely-followed-scripts and protocols will make it worse.

Only time will tell.

She stands in front of her mirror, adjusting her at-ease clothes.  Her hair is in the same pristine braid she creates every night, and her light grey blouse is neatly tucked into her leather shorts.  She tugs at the tops of her looser-fitting boots, adjusting them to the same height on her thighs.  Stepping back, she takes another long look at herself.

It’ll have to do.  Nothing seems to look quite right, but she’d rather not draw attention to herself as the last one to show- if at all.  That is, if anyone notices she’s gone in the first place…

“Ayzora?  Are you joining us this evening?”  Gale's gentle voice calls through her tent.

She sighs.  Of course he would.   She pulls open her tent, securing the flap to the side to keep it drawn open.

Gale stands at her door with a pleased look and an easy smile.  He's in his usual evening wear, but his hair is drawn back in a tousled half-bun.

“Trying new hairstyles?”  Ayzora asks, giving him a once-over.

“What do we think?”  He opens his arms out in presentation and turns, showing off the minor transformation.

She gives him a smile, and a slight nod.  “Not bad.”

“I think that's the kindest thing you've said to me yet,” he beams, winking at the necromancer over his shoulder before turning back around to face her.

“I strive not to further inflate the ego of a mage,” she responds almost dryly- but there’s a twinkle of fondness in her eyes, giving way to levity.

“I see.”  He glances around behind him.

There are some other conversations carrying on around camp as the night sinks in.  D’Urge sits around the campfire with Karlach and Wyll, and Shadowheart seems to be in thoughtful discussion with Halsin, who had arrived a few minutes earlier and announced the rest were on their way.  Lae’zel sits in front of her tent, carefully polishing her weapons to put on display for the evening, while Astarion stands on the rugs set out before his tent with a book in hand.  The vampire rogue steals a glance over at the chatting wizards, briefly reaching up to ensure his curls are perfectly in place before resuming his reading, turning the page.

Upon confirming their companions are occupied, Gale turns back to his friend.  “Are you alright?”

Ayzora, whose gaze had been subconsciously drifting to the nonchalant rogue, snaps to attention.  “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been rather uncharacteristically absent since our encounter with the devil.”

“I have a characteristic absence?”

“Most tend to,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Her head cocks to the side with a smirk.  “Fair.”

“So, might I lend an ear to whatever it is that troubles you?”

She turns her head in the beginning of a shake, before changing her mind as it dawns on her: she isn't the only one with a god looming over her.

Gale had told her about his love affair with the goddess of magic, Mystra.  A tryst that began to drive him to a desperation to impress her, and ended with a magical bomb in his chest, something he called a Netherese Orb.  A precarious condition he has to maintain through the absorption of magic in order to stay alive- and, well, keep the impending explosion at bay.

That's when she told him about Orcus.  About the triad.  About the power and security it promised her, and the brutal downfall that followed.

If he knew that she, too, oft absorbed a precious and immaterial force to stay alive, would he understand?

She gives a long look to the wizard.

His eyes dart between hers as he works to get a read on her.

“I know that look.”

She catches herself in a moment, forcing her expression to remain the same; forcing herself to remain in control.  “What do you mean?”

“There's something you're not saying; because for one reason or another, you're afraid to talk about it.  I’m here if you-”

“No.”

His eyes go wide.

No, She thinks to herself, of course not.  He wouldn't understand.

Her mind searches for words she cannot seem to find- something to ease the tension rising in the air and in her stomach.

Gale’s expression shifts from shock to resolve as his eyebrows furrow.  His voice is softer, but much more firm.  “People who speak in excess often conceal a lack of knowledge.”  He leans in, gesturing with a nod of his head towards Astarion, “our friend seems to have mastered the craft.”  

Ayzora glances at the elf, taking a deep breath as she locks eyes once again with the wizard.

Gale holds up a finger; as both advice and a warning, “It’s the ones who stay silent you need to keep an eye on.  They know much more than they would ever let on, often to a concerning degree.”

The necromancer cautiously scans the camp for listening ears.  Everyone appears to be occupied.

She doesn’t notice that Astarion only turns the page when he feels eyes on him.  Besides, with his tent next to hers, who can blame him for accidentally hearing bits and pieces of her conversations?

Her focus returns to Gale.

His eyes soften.  “But remaining silent and alone is a grim sentence.  Whatever it is, Ayzora, I will listen.”

There’s a long pause.  Thinking.  Debating.  And finally, acquiescing to her friend’s persuasion.

“Orcus returned last night.”

“After a long stretch of silence?”

She nods, shifting her weight.  “He wanted to make one last deal.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know yet.”

He nods thoughtfully.  “Is it the unknown nature of this final bargain that troubles you?”

She pauses.  The answer is… complicated.  Half-yes, half-no.  She’s long grown used to the less-than-explicit approach Orcus took to his orders and offers.  This time feels different…

Her eyes drift again to pale white curls.

“Yes,” Ayzora answers slowly, as if cautious of every syllable.  She looks at Gale, taking pause to find her words.  “But I worry about the implications it may carry for others.”

His head tilts to the side.  “How do you mean?”

She tilts her chin downward.  The gold ring around her irises catches the light, glowing in contrast to her cold emerald eyes staring at him through white eyelashes.  “Traveling in numbers means any bargain struck by one is made for all;” her voice, though still resonant in her chest, is broken by breath as it quivers, “and I fear I remain a bad omen.”

Gale casts his gaze downward for a moment, gathering himself.  “Ace…” he whispers under his breath.  No other sound emanates from agape mouth, his eyes pleading for his mind to catch up to his heart and say something. 

And yet, the wizard with a knack for always having something to say is rendered speechless.

She watches him with baited breath, awaiting any sort of comforting response; but the longer she looks at him, the deeper the pit in her stomach sinks as she begins to feel less like a friend pleading for encouragement and more like a looming shadow over a gentle soul undeserving of further torment.

Before it can cut any deeper, she steels herself, giving a curt nod to Gale and stepping past him: The conversation is over now.

As much as he would like it to continue.

“Ayzora?”  He asks, trying to deny- or at least appeal- her decision to leave and dissuade her from putting her walls back up so quickly.

“Thanks, Gale,” she adds over her shoulder as she walks away from her tent and over to the incoming group of Tieflings.

The wizard stands before his friend's tent for a while.  In a way, he almost stubbornly hopes it tells him something she won't. 

It doesn't.

Astarion stares at Ayzora from afar.  He swirls a bottle of wine in one hand, lifting it to his lips and swallowing the bitter liquid until he feels sufficiently distracted by the horrid taste of the mediocre drink.

As soon as the guests arrived, she had been comfortably near them and agonizingly far from him.  Listening to their songs and stories, softly smiling at their jokes, and even waltzing with Wyll for a while.  Yet her eyes continually found his, as if anchoring herself to him in these uncertain waters.  There’s hardly a moment for his concern to find voice in his mind; she continually makes wordless promises to return to the home he has become, and he cautiously dances over the line between honesty and manipulation as he tries to draw her in further.

Mulling over his disappointing beverage, he watches on as a tiefling shows off a few of his spells to a small crowd, Ayzora among them.  A minor illusion ignites from his fingertips, rising up into the air before bursting in brilliant blues, whites, and purples as bright fireworks.  Ayzora offers reserved applause along with the rest, stealing yet another glance at the rogue.

The bright light of the fireworks fade into the blue hue of the moonlight and reflect in his silvery curls, highlighting the tops of his strong cheekbones and pink pouting lips.  The contrast of the cool tones in his ruby red irises makes his eyes twinkle as he meets her gaze.  Ayzora saunters over to Astarion, her alcohol-induced buzz relaxing her gait, in turn bringing a gentle sway to her hips that he can’t help but notice.  As she nears, he puffs his chest and wears a charming smirk, donning the seductive act yet again.

“Here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed,” he announces- mostly just to her.  Like no matter how loud or grandiose his speech, she will always be his audience.

She catches herself in an involuntary grin, glancing down to regain her composure before looking back up at him.  A soft smile still remains, despite her efforts.

He continues, “you will come to my bed tonight, won’t you?”

She raises an eyebrow.  “Will I?”

“Darling, I can hardly keep my mind clear to fight; I’ve been thinking about our last night together ceaselessly.”  He drops his head, fidgeting with his hands, shifting from declaration to confession, “I’ll be in quite the spot of mortal peril if you let me keep distracting myself dreaming instead of doing.”  He leans back, resuming his arrogant flirtation, “we can’t have that, can we?  It would be very dangerous.”

“Well, now I’m tempted to leave you dreaming a while longer,” she teases.

“Ah, so you need a bit of enticing?”

She shifts her weight to one side, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow, silently challenging the vampire.

“Let me see…”

She watches as he thinks for a few seconds, before pulling one of his lines out of his mental catalogue.

“How about this one,” he begins, “All these accolades from the Tieflings are nothing compared to the sound of my name, cried from your lips.”

She thinks for a moment, before shaking her head.  “I’ve heard better.”

“Hmm, let me give it another go.”  He re-positions himself, standing back like an artist taking in their sculpture work.  “Every part of your perfect body whispers temptation -” he emphasizes, leaning towards her as if the beauty he speaks of is a confessed secret.  Straightening, he offers an explanation:  “It’s as if the gods made you just to ruin me.”

Perfect body?  The gods?  Please.   Despite his best efforts, she can’t get past the fact that these lines were meant for someone- anyone- else.  Her arms unfold as she begins to examine her fingernails, noting how chipped the polish has become.

Before she can say a word, Astarion sees her negative shift in expression and jumps in with a final attempt:  “How about if I said these little words…”

Ayzora looks up, intrigued.

“Everyone’s favorite,” he adds, stepping closer to her.

Her stomach stirs, but she does not move.

Astarion begins to speak, but as the words fall from his mouth, his expression shifts from feigned gentleness to suppressed fear as they seem to ring truer than he had intended:  “I love you,” he says low.

Her eyes widen as her heart drops into her stomach and a pang echoes in her hollow chest.  Everything tells her that this moment is fabricated; the rehearsed confession of a professional seducer, and a man desperate for the safety of a companion- but softly, whispering in the back of her mind, is a voice telling her that somehow, he might mean it.  But he doesn’t.  And… there’s part of her that wishes he did.  But she can’t even bear to think about it.

A long silence- only a couple of grueling seconds long- passes.

“Y-you… don’t mean that,” she finally responds, voluntarily adding salt to wounds she wasn’t ready to admit existed.

His jaw clenches for a moment.  I didn’t mean it.  Of course I didn’t mean it.  I’ve said it countless times to faces I hardly remember now.  Her pained expression burns into his memory as guilt grows heavy on his consciousness.  “Well,” he reasons, “I could.  If only for tonight.”  The tension within him eases.

It’s stupid.  She knows that.  But gods damn it, she’s come to care about the rogue- and despite the grief that will inevitably follow yet again, she can convince herself to believe another lie for one more night.

He recovers the theatrics, carrying on before she has the chance to dwell too much longer on just how much he can mean it if he allows himself the evening.  “Now, as much as I relish standing around and saying all my favorite lines at you, I’d much rather we got to experience each other’s, uh… full portfolio of talents once again.”

She takes a deep breath.  “Perhaps once everyone has turned in?”

He smirks.  “I’ll be waiting,” he says with a wink before turning on his heels and dipping into his tent.

Ayzora stands outside of his tent, swallowing down a lump rising in her throat.  She can tend to her wounds later- for now, they don’t have to exist.  Heartbreak will have to wait.  She slowly turns to look over the rest of the party before deciding to pass the time by joining the group around the fire listening to one of the bard’s stories.

Meanwhile, Astarion lies in his tent and stares at the ceiling.  Just tonight, he reminds himself.  Just tonight, he repeats.  Just tonight.  The mantra turns from a promise to a prayer to a plea.  Just tonight.

But when the fire dies down, and the tieflings leave, and their companions doze in their tents, and the suddenly beautiful necromancer appears at his tent door, and his hands find their gentle way to her hips, he pulls her close.  His confidence wavers, grazing lips over skin in hesitation before pressing soft kisses into her neck.  He reaches for the ties holding her blouse to her body when a hand stops him.

The gold ring around her pupils glows in the low light, making her emerald gaze all the more intense.  “Tell me,” she commands- no, begs.  If he will mean it for now, she wants to hear it, and memorize the sound of the words from his mouth.

With a slow, chaste kiss to her lips, he whispers: “I love you.”

And he means it.

Where were the promised valkyrie protectors, meant to keep greedy others at bay?  Where were the gods who had claimed to love you, and had sung your praises upon the deliverance of their eternity?  Where was the god of mischief who had robbed you of your heart and home, leaving you at the hands of a cold giant?

You don’t know.  You tried to count the days in which you had been left without answers, but time has continued to revel in its cruelty as it crawls by at a pace you cannot keep up with, blurring the world around you into a cold, muddled, snowy gray.

You tried pleading with Thjazi, in the beginning, to let you go.  No matter what you would say, it seemed all for naught.  He knew who you were; he knew the gods would age and die should you be shut out from them forever.  He would not budge.  To him, to the jotnar, and seemingly to all the nine realms, you and your gift are made nothing more than a commodity to be hoarded;  And hoard you, he did.

Your once-pristine white robes have tattered and dulled and grayed from their continuous wear, despite usually being covered in furs to maintain warmth amidst the frigid climate.  Your hair has grown rather long, usually maintained now by braids.  Though you’re limited by the situation, you’ve still managed a small wintery garden near the house Thjazi kept you in.  You’re thankful for the bit of color it provides in the gray wasteland.

As you sit on your thin mattress, staring out through the window of the second floor of Thjazi’s home, your frail body still aches from the night before- from Thjazi dragging you to yet another feast, wherein you were put on display like prized livestock.  You stood all night at the front of the hall, your ankles and wrists sore from the chilled metal that attached you to the ground, keeping you in place.  Boars were often caged beside you, slaughtered just before the feast began in the name of providing the freshest meat.  You wondered if the animals understood their place in this cruel event, too.  You almost hoped they do, despite the part of you that wishes they maintain blissful ignorance for as long as they can to reduce their suffering.  If they knew they were here to be used at the jotnar’s whims, then maybe you wouldn’t be so alone.  You usually tried to offer them comfort within their cold cages- through small food offerings, or soft words, or a calming hand brushing down their back.  It was the least you could do for your fellow livestock.

In line with the new routine, the animal was slaughtered by cheering drunkards in the center of the hall.  Numb, you silently blessed their meal, placing a trembling hand on the raw, bloody meat.  Then, you spent the rest of the evening waiting to return to a home that was not yours, where you collapsed into a dreamless slumber.

Each morning that you woke was its own sort of prison.  Your dreams were blinks of black, bearing you no sense of escape as even the goddess Nott’s gift of dreams would not reach you in this frigid place.  Loneliness saturated your existence.  The house you were held in was lonely, even if Thjazi was there.  The grand banquets in great halls were lonely, even when filled with jubilant crowds.  Your small garden was lonely, even with the few plants you maintained.  You were constantly utterly alone.  You’d cry over it more often if tears meant anything anymore.

Thjazi was generous enough to give you some leftover food from the bacchanalian feast before he went out to sea for the day.  The bread and cooled meat sit on a cloth in your lap.  You wonder how long he will be gone; if he will return tonight, or grant you a couple days of peace through his absence.  Only time will tell.

For now, you sit, leaning against the frame of the window, staring out into the white abyss and wondering what will become of your Asgardian garden and your gods.  You tie the cloth in your lap closed and set it beside you, hoping you’ll be in the mood to eat later.  A fine golden chain delicately drapes around your neck, the green stone resting between your fingers as you mindlessly fidget with the prize that acted as the final nail in your coffin.  

You replay the memory in your head again in a torturous ritual you’ve made for yourself, searching for answers you can never seem to find.  The arm of Loki beneath your hand.  The sound of running water over the small cave.  The moonflower.  The books.  The promise of return.  The gold shimmer.  The empty forest.  The unanswered cries.  The cold wind.  The sharp talons.  There is nothing.  No answers, no closer to home, and no god of mischief.  

You force your thoughts to focus on your garden instead, and wonder if you might see it again.  You mentally begin your walk through your home, knowing every plant in it by heart.  The thought of walking in that soft grass grants you a touch of much-needed comfort.

You watch the clouds slowly drift by in their various shades of gray, thinking of those you’ve been forced to leave behind, when there’s a heavy knock at the door.

You freeze.  Thjazi only left a couple of hours ago… and he explicitly instructed me not to answer the door.  Grabbing your pouch of food, you quickly stand and move across the room on the pads of your feet, minimizing any noise your footsteps could make.

While you climb down the large steps to the main floor, the stranger knocks at the door again- and this time, it’s faster.  Heavier.  Growing upset.

With a quick glance around the room, you decide to dive under Thjazi’s massive bed, using the disheveled quilt that drapes halfway off the side as cover for your dwarfed body.

“I know you’re in there,” the voice booms from the other side of the door.

You lay your cheek against the near-frozen wood floor and stare out from under the edge of the blanket-shield with wide eyes, focusing on your breath, that it might steady in spite of your racing heart.

With a great crack, the door is forced open, slamming against the parallel wall.

Your hand flies to your mouth, stifling a yelp and muffling your ragged breath.  Your heart pounds in your chest.

Heavy footsteps slowly come closer, pausing for a moment while the broken door is forced closed, and continuing again until the intruder reaches the center of the room.

Blue skin peeks out above giant boots.  A jotunn.  The boots begin to pace, turning as they scan the room.

“Idunn?” A whisper breaks the silence- one that seems familiar to you, somehow.  “Please tell me that oaf had the confidence to leave you here,” he says low, his tone strained by panic.  The boots turn towards the bed before pausing.

Your heart stops.  You hold your breath.

In a flash of scintillating bright green magic, the giant’s boots are suddenly replaced by much smaller ones- that of someone about your size.  What kind of trick-

“I’ve come to take you home, Idunn,” he says, his whisper rising to soft speech.

There’s a moment of hesitation within you until it finally clicks: you know that voice.  You’re certain of it.  Is that… Loki?

With a sharp exhale, you lift the quilt.

Your eyes trail up fine emerald and gold robes until they meet the heartbroken jade eyes of the God of Mischief.

You crawl out from under the bed.  Straightening yourself, you drop your eyes to the floor and keep them low, struggling to maintain his stare.  You know you look worn- but you're not sure you want to know just how worn.

A raging sea of thoughts passes through your mind.  Is this a trick?  Are you one of them?  How can I be certain you will take me home?  Why are you the one who came?  Has my absence at last been noticed?  As always, only one manages to make its way from racing mind to quiet mouth.  “How long?”

He pauses, his troubled expression stripping him of his usual nonchalant mask.  He was prepared for your anger- most everyone has grown angry with him.  However, he was not prepared for your resigned grief.  “Idunn-”

“How long,” you interrupt emphatically, finally looking up, into his eyes, “have I been gone?”

His stare darts between your eyes as his mind grasps for words.

You take a step closer to him.  “Loki-”

“Three years.”

You are immediately locked in an emotional stun.

Three years.

Three years since you've seen the gods you had come to love.  Three years since you were stripped of your own volition.  Three years since you've tended to your garden.  Three years since you've been home.

And based on the way he looks at you now- as if you are something fragile, something that could break if he moved too fast or spoke too harshly- these three long years have come at a great cost, taking a heavy toll on the Goddess of Eternal Youth.

Tear ducts that had long remained dormant spring to life with full vigor, creating twin cascades of tears that run down your cheeks, flushed from the cold.

The dense fog of a silent “why?” settles in the room.

“I can explain,” Loki blurts.

You remain silent, watching him.

“But we must leave.  Now.”

Though despondent, you nod, stepping closer.

He nods, taking a deep breath, reminding himself:  It’s okay to touch you; you won’t break beneath his fingertips.  With a flourish, the god ghosts a hand over your shoulder and transforms you into something small- you're not entirely sure what, to be honest.  In a second green swirl of magic, he turns into a large black bird, similar to the one that had stolen you away from your home all that time ago.  Gently, he picks you up off the ground with his talons, carrying you close to his feathered body to keep you warm.  He pokes his head out of the now-broken door- the one you long stared at as you dreamt of walking through it for good- and after determining the surroundings were vacant, takes off.  The heavy beating of his great wings lifts you into the frigid air, over the giant wooden houses and tall snow capped mountains, and into the grey clouds you had grown so acquainted with from your frosted window.

You watch Jotunheim fade from view as a bittersweet grief settles in the pit of your stomach.  You're glad to be going home, yes; but three years is a long time to be gone, and a long time to endure so much.  There were still countless questions weighing on your numbed consciousness. 

You hope Loki has one hel of an explanation.

Landing on Asgard is surprisingly reminiscent of your first arrival; at least, on the outside.  There is still no crowd awaiting your return home, nor is there any sort of welcome decorum.  Instead, there is an angry All Father standing beside Frigga and a row of Valkyries, blurred by your thick tears that haven’t stopped since you finally left Jotunheim.  

When Loki lands, he transforms back into his usual form, carefully cradling you in his palm.  When you are transformed back, you're laying across his outstretched arms and quickly set down on your feet.

“Welcome home, Idunn,” Frigga greets warmly with a mothers’ embrace.  As you sob into her shoulder, she steals a glance at Odin and gently pries you off of her.  “Come, we'll clean you up.”  She places a soft hand on your arm and ushers you away.

As you walk away, tears still trickling down your cheeks, you hear the distressed tone of Loki's voice quickly smothered by the booming rage of your All Father.

Frigga is quick to lovingly tend to you when you arrive at her palace.

After a warm rosewater bath, you are given new white clothes to replace your tattered robes.  A meal is prepared for you right away- the first warm meal you’ve had in a long while- and a goblet of water is kept full before you.  You cry until you can’t anymore, drink deep and eat your fill, and cry again.

Frigga, ever your closest ally, sits beside you, drying your tears with soft cloths.

You don’t say much of anything.  What is there to say?  She knows the jotun, and what they’re like.  She knows what happened- likely more than you do.  You’re finally home, and you’re safe.  Your gift is yours again.  You are yours again.  That’s all that matters, now.

When you finish eating, Frigga instructs you to rest.  She promises to bring food and check in throughout the day, but she will wait to break the news to the rest of the gods until you feel ready.  You’re well overdue for a trip through the realms, and the gods will be restless until they are rejuvenated again- so it’s for the best that they don’t hear of your return until you begin your travels.

Frigga walks you to your home under the silver glow of Mani.

Arriving at your garden, you see that it has been carefully maintained for you- not as well as you would maintain it, but well enough to keep everything healthy.  It’s a meaningful gesture.  A few extra Valkyries stand guard faithfully at the garden gates.  A couple follow you inside your tower, where Frigga gives you another long embrace before bidding you goodnight.

You are left to rest that night.  The Valkyries remain closer than usual to grant you the company you’ve so deeply craved these three long years.  Exhausted, and in your own bed at last, you drift into a deep sleep.

It isn’t until you rise at last, late into the following afternoon, that Loki makes his appearance at the door of your tower.

“May I?” he asks, anxiously pressing his left thumb into his right palm.  The expression he wears is soft, free of all pretense.  There’s a light crease between his brows as he awaits an answer.  Vulnerability is something the God of Mischief has comfortably slipped away from; yet, here he is, willing himself to expose his emotions to you.

You nod, stepping to the side and closing the door behind him as he enters.

He takes a moment to look around, his eyes briefly pausing on various details in the room.  

Green plants hang from pots chained to the ceiling, cushioned chairs sit around an ornately carved wooden table, and sunlight fills the room, highlighting the golden calligraphy hand-painted on the wall-space that remains between giant windows from which white curtains are pulled back.  The smell of chamomile and rosemary dances on the back of the cool breeze drifting in through the open window.  There’s a touch of life delicately interlaced with every aspect of your home; as if you can’t help but bring gentle vibrancy to everything you encounter.  It suits you.

So much so that Loki feels completely engulfed by you.  Normally, that would almost feel comforting- but in this circumstance, he feels nearly smothered.

You remain standing by the door, watching him.  Your arm crosses over your front as a hand grasps its opposite bicep, a self-soothing gesture to quell the fire of anxiety that has sparked in your chest.

He stands for a while, mouth slightly agape as he tries to decide what to say first.  When he at last speaks, his voice is soft and uneven: “How are you?”

You shrug, softly shaking your head.  “I am… alright.  As much as I can be, I suppose.”

“Did they hurt you?”  His eyes drop, and you realize he’s staring at the reddened raw skin on your exposed wrists.

“No,” you blurt, shaking your head, “well… Not directly.”  

He nods, a touch of relief washing over him.  His shoulders relax, but his thumb still idly presses into his palm, giving way to his lingering anxiety over the conversation that looms over the two of you.

You take a few steps closer, pulling out a chair and sitting on one side of your table.  You fold your hands together in your lap, staring down at them.

Loki follows suit, taking his place in the adjacent chair and turning it to face you.  He learns forward, collapsing his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.  He breathes out a long, heavy sigh.  “It began years ago, after word of your arrival and travels had at least reached every corner of the nine realms.  I discovered,” he lifts his hand, and the ivory skin shifts to an icy blue, “my true lineage.”

“You’re… jotunn?”

He nods.  “Taken as a babe and brought here by Odin.  As soon as I learned the truth, I went to Jotunheim to demand answers.  My mother and father knew.  They saw it happen, and… simply watched.”

Your brows knit together, your heart sinking for him.

“They justified their inaction with a hope: if I were to learn of my true heritage, perhaps I would align with the jotnar and help them gain the immortality Odin has long claimed he would find.  They believe they could come to rule the nine realms so long as they lived long enough to build an adequate army.”

You hesitate, fearful to ask, but eventually manage: “And?”

“I denied them, of course!  I wouldn’t relinquish you into their hands so easily.”  He looks at you with an expression of pleading; one that begs that you believe him.  That you don’t turn your back on him so quickly.  That you forgive him for this horrid thing he’s done to you, even before he’s fully confessed.

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“They nearly killed me on the spot, promising that Asgard’s blood would pool with mine; and then they made an offer.  If I delivered your gift to them, they would refrain from attacking Asgard.  It wasn’t until you granted me the first apple that I realized you and your gift are one and the same.”

“And it was too late to go back on that bargain,” you finish for him.

He nods.  “I tried to grant you what little comfort I could, before you would be taken from us,” he adds half-heartedly- knowing there was nothing he could say that could make any of what he had done better.  He concedes to the guilt.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Your eyes drift downward as the realization settles as a grief in your chest.  The choice laid before him was simple: you, or countless others and a war without an end in sight.  Of course he gave you up- what other reasonable option was there?

Yet, your last memories were… sweet, by his design. 

His eyes flicker to your chest, catching the shimmer of the paradox necklace that still faithfully rests against your skin; a bitter symbol of his betrayal, but now, too, a touching memento of his devotion.  Despite the conflict in your heart, it ultimately encapsulated the god you cherish so deeply- a paradox in his own right.  Your downfall and your savior; the god who both doomed his kind and sought recompense by saving them.  You wouldn’t part from his gift in your captivity; you certainly wouldn’t part from it now.

He returns his gaze to yours, a hopeful peace washing over him.   

You’re almost comforted by the thought of Loki’s intention, leaving that necklace behind.  Now, staring into his eyes, you wonder if there’s more to be found within them.  Beyond the regret, past the hope, buried beneath the hesitation.  Perhaps there is more; perhaps you are merely projecting that which you refuse to come to terms with yourself.  You resign yourself only to wonder.

“I would have gone willingly, if you had only asked,” you finally profess, breaking the silence.  Because I would do anything for you, if you asked.

“I could not have asked such a thing of you, Idunn,” he responds softly.  A few words flood his mind and weigh heavy on his tongue.

He will not utter them.

“I promise you,” he insists, taking one of your trembling hands in his, “I will make them pay for what they forced upon me.  For what they’ve done to you.”

Quiet tears fall.  You nod.

“I understand if-”

“I forgive you, Loki.”

His expression instantly softens from one of grief and regret to relief.  His shoulders relax, but his grip on your hand tightens.  The corners of his mouth pull into a brief, soft smile.

Tucking your free hand beneath his, you lift his hands- still gingerly wrapped around yours- and press your lips to his knuckles.

“Thank you,” you whisper with a soft smile.

The warmth that sets his heart aflame is enough to strip him of the bitterness garnered by the newly-discovered jotun form that sits beneath the Asgardian illusion.

You stand, guiding him by the hand to the gates of your garden.  The two of you walk in silence.  With a gentle squeeze of the hand, you at last let go, turning around and heading back to your tower.

He stands for a few seconds, watching you leave, and swallows his words before he, too, walks away.  He cannot tell you now.  He will not tell you now; not after what he has done.

Not when there is yet more he must do.

Not until revenge is wrought from the jotun who set their greedy sights on you.

After that, he will tell you at last.  Once revenge and victory are proclaimed from the mountainous bodies felled by his lying hands, he will offer them as a sacrifice at the altar of your heart and confess the sins committed in his devotion to his ever-worshiped goddess.

He thought about the friends he had made. Some that didn’t like him much at all, others that did. Either way, they were people who stuck together and risked their lives for his, as he did for theirs. They healed him, in some ways. Not just because he was free from the pain he had been forced to endure- though, that really was a treat. No, it was more than that. He was glad to die feeling the sun’s warmth on his skin. He loved that he could go wherever he pleased, do whatever he pleased. It was healing to have that freedom again.

Yet, they couldn’t save him. He knew that- and he knew that they were in denial about it. They would likely be angry with him, wondering if he had given up on them. No, he had just given up on himself; but they could believe whatever they like. Many have thought worse. Their collective anger would subside with time. Wounds would heal again. Even the wounds of the one he cared for most.

They wouldn’t just be angry- they would be grieved. He always knew their heart was far too soft for his. They loved him from the moment they found him. Even when he bore his teeth as a cornered animal, they loved him.

He had told them that he felt the same- that he wanted them from the very moment he had first laid eyes on them. They both knew this was a lie. He was more concerned about survival (and the security of his freedom), and his cold demeanor made it clear that being close to others was not his strong suit.

At the same time, it was hard to ignore his draw to them. Their immediate forgiveness upon the withdrawal of his knife from their neck sent him reeling. He was a monster to everyone but them, even in that moment- he was just another person. Someone with real feelings and thoughts that actually mattered. They were one of the few people who could keep up with his wit, and yet, they were the most gentle soul he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. They could whole-heartedly love the cold surface and the man that hides beneath. Their love just... was that way.

He really had come to love them, though. He was putty in their hands; a now-willing slave who would use whatever power he had to move the heavens and the earth for them without a second thought. Yet, he had never said it out loud. He couldn’t. He would never be able to do what must now be done if he had.

And so, with a steak leveled at his own chest, hands shaking as they might, he thought not of this moment. The darkness of his memories and the promise of their reprise had driven him here. The warmth of the sun was the only thing to embrace him now. Yet, his thoughts were on the beacons of light that were his friends. His mind wrapped itself in the comfort of his lover, who could gently carry him unto death through memory alone. Now, he would finally embrace the once thing he had begged for over the last 200 years. His fists tightened around the steak as he began to press it into his chest.

Then they called out his name.

Their voice was no longer an echo in his mind.

They were there, calling for him out loud, their quivering voice echoing against the cliffside.

“There is another way,” they pleaded, desperation clear in their face as he finally opened his screwed-shut eyes to meet their gaze.

Suddenly, his plan was ruined before it began.

They ran to him, and rested their hand on the stake that still pressed against his chest. A drop of blood ran down his torso with the same heaviness as a tear running down a cheek. It teased him with death; with the power that would now hold, and the power that was now lost.

“You’ve made me soft,” he whispered, eyes watering. How dare they, he thought, less in offense and more in helplessness. He would not go like this. He could not go like this. Not when they would beg him to stay.

They'd saved him once- perhaps, against all odds and demons and gods that were pitted against him, they could save him again. Perhaps they already had; perhaps the victory was already claimed before the fight even began. They had a way of doing that with the ease of a breath- cheating time for those they loved.

They gently took the stake out of his white-knuckled hands. “I know,” they murmured, kissing his cheek.

He folded into them, finally able to relax completely. It was like the two of them fit together perfectly; like every moment they spent apart strained against their very nature. They were meant to be like this- together.

He resolved that, if he was never to be freed from his burden, so be it. At the very least, his taste of wretched freedom had granted him the beauty of the purest love. That could sustain him for eternity, if that were his fate. If the two of them died trying to promise his freedom, at least they tried. Hope had pierced his hardened heart and promised light in a never-ending night. He no longer knew how to do anything but strive for it.

After door closes, you listen to his footsteps fade away.  You sigh, running your hands down your face.  Sitting on the cot, you take a moment to evaluate the room more carefully.  One door, a couple of windows covered by shutters, droids and various devices lining the walls, a few cabinets in a corner, and two other cots.  Pretty minimal.  They were going to need to get you a lot more supplies if you were going to actually do anything productive here.  You take a mental note: ask for a list. 

While you wait, you figure if you’re going to work here, you might as well clean the place up to your liking.  You start to tidy up the strewn supplies, organizing the room in a way that makes more sense to you while taking other mental notes as you go.  About halfway through your work of cleaning and reorganizing, the door opens once again.  A trooper stands at the door, which stays open this time.

“I will escort you to your quarters now.”  The trooper turns, waiting for you.  You nod and begin to follow as they walk through the hallways.

The Finalizer is bustling with people.  Troopers jogging through the halls, others standing at doorways, generals carrying whispered conversations in various corners, and plenty of work being done.  You walk by a couple of windows and can’t help but pause and stare for a few moments. Countless stars litter the sky while various planets glow in the distance.  You hadn’t seen a view like this since-

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Chandrila?  You couldn’t find anything here in Coruscant?” You shifted in your seat, skimming over the hand-written job description.

“It’s a real competitive field in most places- but especially here.   Add in your lack of formal education, and, well-”

“Okay, okay…  Is the ship ready to go, then?”

“Once you actually finish packing, yes.”  Vilya grabbed one of your duffle bags.

“It would help if your ship had room for bigger bags,” you quipped.  “Besides, I’ll probably be back in a couple of months for housekeeping.”  You stood, giving everything a once-over.  “You sure you can’t stay here for me?”

“It’s your home- I’ve got my own place here- and who knows, you might want some time off every now and again.  It should be yours, for whenever you need it.”  She picked up another bag of yours.  “Well?”

“I’ll meet you out there, I just want to finish up a couple of things and make sure I didn’t forget anything.”  You flashed her a smile and headed to your bedroom as she left.  

“Don’t take too long!  I can’t have you crying the whole way there, miss sentimental!”  Vilya called from the ship outside.

“Yeah, yeah!”  You brushed her off, looking around your room.  Where is it?  You sifted through your bookshelves, bed, closet, nightstand- ah, there it is. You pulled out a small green and grey pyramid from the bottom drawer of your nightstand.  The notes that had been left for you, both when you first woke up in your house and when the item had been delivered, were still there.

Since you could remember, someone had left small gifts for you. The first time also happened to be your first memory: waking up in your current home.  A note was laid beside you next to a necklace containing a blue crystal.  It was addressed with what you assumed was your name.  Then, it read:  “You’re from the Sehanine family.  You are home.”  Since then, the necklace had remained around your neck at all times.  From what you gathered, you were about ten at the time, and your parents had suddenly disappeared.  You’d been living in Coruscant, picking up any freelance work you could find, ever since.  

A couple years ago, this pyramid… thing… had been dropped off at your doorstep with another note in the same handwriting, which read: “In case of absolute emergency, go here.  You will be safe.”  In all honesty, you didn’t understand, but you held onto it anyway.  A part of you hoped the notes were from family- maybe even your parents- yet, when you asked around, everyone swore they didn’t recognize the handwriting, or the family name.

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name being called.  “Coming!”  You picked up your bags and went to your parents’ bedroom, setting everything on their bed.  Despite the fact that you had been living alone for the past 10 years, you hadn’t touched your parents’ bedroom.  Sure, you’d clean it or spend a few hours in there from time to time hoping to feel some sort of connection to them; but other than that, it was left alone.  You made a hidden panel in the back wall and pulled it out before setting the pyramid and the two notes inside newly created pocket.  You closed the panel carefully, ensuring it was secure and unnoticeable, and left the bedroom.

“There you are!  I was starting to worry you had changed your mind or something.”  Vilya said with a smile as she hopped into the small aircraft. You got in after her and placed your bags in the back of the cockpit.

“Are you kidding?  I’ve been waiting an excuse to leave for years,” you said as you strapped yourself in next to your friend.  

“Alright.  You ready to see space?”  She turned to you, her smile bright as ever.

“Ready as I can be.”

The two of you took off, leaving Coruscant for the first time.  Looking down at the planet, you felt a sense of awe.  Clusters of light covered the city-planet as if it had its very own set of stars.  However, looking up, you saw that the view around you was even more incredible.  For the first time in your life, you weren’t looking up at the black sea of space and all the stars scattered within it- you were looking among them.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”  Vilya finally asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you soon after Coruscant disappeared in the sea of the rest of the galaxy.

“It’s incredible…  I can see now why you’re always itching to fly.”

“It can be addicting; but it makes being home even more special, too.”

The two of you talked for a long while during the flight to Chandrila. You learned more about Vilya’s personal life, her found family, and her goals in the future.  Meanwhile, you told her more about growing up on your own, hoping to someday find your parents- or at least remember them.  You were thankful for Vilya.  She had been your closest friend, seemingly finding you out of the blue shortly after your parents left you.  She helped you learn the ropes around Coruscant, finding work and getting to know important people that could help you later on.  She always seemed to be there when you needed her most.  It was going to be weird living on a new planet, working without her around every day.  The two of you promised to see each other on Coruscant at least once a year, though. That was reassuring.

When you landed at the village in Chandrila, Vilya helped you unpack and set up your little tent.  The two of you met most of the civilians and even took a quick visit at the nearby city.  It wasn’t anything like your home, but it was still a pleasant place to live.  You had a good feeling.  Things were finally going to really looking up for you.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Here we are,” the trooper announces as the door in front of you slides open.

“Oh,” you blink a few times, fading out of your mental walk down memory lane, “thank you.”  You step into the room.  It’s a simple living space.  A window out into space, a couple of nightstands surrounding the queen-sized bed, your own bathroom, a small kitchen, and a dining area off in one corner. Everything is very plain and dark in color.  It sure isn’t going to feel like a home, but admittedly, it is better than a prison cell.  

“Is there anything else you’ll need?”  The trooper asks, still standing at the door.

“Um… oh, yes, I’ll need some supplies for my work.”  The trooper nods to the table in the back corner.

“Make a list on the pad, you’ll have everything you need soon.”   The trooper leaves and the door closes.

You take a walk around the room, looking through all of the amenities. The bathroom and kitchen have been stocked full with toiletries, towels, food, dishes, and pretty much anything else you’d think you may need.  The dresser is full of new clothes- various black and grey robes and other clothing items- and extra pillows and blankets are stored in one of the nightstands.  The other nightstand is empty, with a simple clock sitting atop the surface.

You’re not sure what time it would be on Chandrila, but your eyelids feel rather heavy.  You still need to make a list before calling it a night; but for now, you could really use a long shower.

You take your time, letting the hot water ease the tension in your body.  For the first time in a long while, you feel completely clean; you make a promise to yourself not to take the feeling for granted.  The towels are softer than you thought they would be.  You wrap one around your body and step out into the main room, sifting through the dresser for something comfortable to sleep in.  Though your options are limited, you find something you can make work to your liking.  As you walk back to the bathroom, something catches your eye in your peripheral.

You gasp.

Kylo.

Standing on the other side of the room… Staring at the wall?  And he’s talking… but not to you.

“What the hell are you doing here?”  You ask quietly, your heart pounding.

He turns to you, his hands moving up to his helmet.

And he disappears.

Letting out a shaky breath, you hurriedly scan the room for any signs of him.

“Kylo?”

No response.

You rush back into the bathroom and lock the door.  When you come out, you double check the room to make sure it’s empty.  You walk over to the wall Kylo stood at, inspecting it.  Is there some kind of hidden panel?  Was it some kind of jedi trick?  Hmm.  No, the wall is solid.  There’s no way he got in here other than through the door.  So… Oh, whatever, now is not the time to figure out what kind of tricks people like Kylo try to pull around here.

You sit down at the table and familiarize yourself with the tablet that you’ve been provided with.  You create a document with a list of all the supplies you’d need, most of them being easily retrievable from Chandrila.  You stand and move to the door- which does, in fact, open on its own- and hand the tablet to the trooper standing outside your door.  The trooper nods, taking the tablet from you.  You take a step back and watch the door close before moving to your bed.

Though you’re fairly certain that no one else is in your quarters, you can’t help but scan the room every now and again.  Why would he just… come in like that?  You look out the window for a while and watch the stars go by.  Maybe it would just be better not to think about it. Maybe the space travel and lack of sleep was getting to you.  With a yawn, you decide to try to sleep instead of overthinking everything that had just happened.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You wake up to an alarm you didn’t realize was set on the clock beside your bed.  You think back to Coruscant, thankful for growing up on the one planet that determines the time, and for the little piece of home that found you even here- wherever you are.

You get ready for the day and make yourself a sort of breakfast.  You hear a noise outside your door and rush to look, but much to your confusion it doesn’t open this time.  You knock on the metal and call out, “Hello?”  

The door slides open as a trooper stands in the middle of the doorway.  He offers you the tablet upon seeing you, assuming that was the reason you came out.  Unsure of what else to do, you simply take it with a quiet ‘thank you’ before heading back to the small table.  While you eat, you spend some time on your tablet, waiting for something to happen.  Anything.

But nothing does.

No messages on your tablet.

No random appearances from Kylo Ren.

No troopers coming to check on you.

Minutes melded into hours, hours melded into days, and days went on and on with seemingly nothing.  You went from one chaotic, awful day to a long, constant cycle of making food, pacing your room, looking through the tablet, dressing and undressing and redressing, over and over again.  You even decide to start a sort of journal for the sake of having something to do, and something to keep you company, in a sense.  Though it helps some, it doesn’t make the difference you had hoped for.  The days would still drag on at a snail’s pace.

To be fair, realistically, it had probably been about week at most; but it feels like an eternity, and you’ve had enough.  As you write in your journal, a thought comes to mind: no one important would know if I left, right?  You stand, smoothing down your clothes and fixing up your dining area a bit before heading to the door and realizing you’ll have to ask the trooper for permission.  I just want to explore for a little while- that can’t hurt, right?  You sigh.  It doesn’t hurt to try.  You walk up to the door, and much to your surprise, it opens.  Just as you prepare to step out into the hallway, you realize someone is standing right there.

Kylo Ren, now just inches away from you.

“Oh, you knew I was coming?”  He asks. Despite his words, his voice seems mostly devoid of emotion.  You clear your throat, taking a breath to calm your racing heart.

“Commander,” You respond simply, taking a step back.  “What brings you here?”  His hands go up to his helmet, and he finally removes it.

Oh.

Oh.

So… that’s what he looks like.  For someone like him, he’s… Not as evil-looking as you had expected. His dark eyes are soft, and loose dark curls splayed around his head, framing his face.  In spite of his soft appearance, he looks tired and troubled.

“May I come in?”

His voice is so much softer without the distortion of his helmet.  You nod, stepping to the side.  

“The supplies you requested are in med bay, at your disposal.”

You nod again.

“Are you comfortable here?”

You look down at the floor in front of your feet.

“You are allowed to speak.”

You look back up at him.  “I need to leave the room during the day.  There’s nothing to do here.  If this really isn’t supposed to be a prison, you need to let me out-“

“Consider it done,” he interjects, “but only under constant supervision.”

You nod.

A few moments of silence pass.

You can’t tell if he’s expecting you to say something, but he doesn’t leave.   It seems like there’s something else on his mind.

“Is there anything you need, or can you go now?”  You finally ask, breaking the heavy, awkward silence.

“Yes, actually.”  He sits down at your small table.  “Tell me about yourself.”

You pause, staring at him, confusion immediately written all over your features.  Did he really just ask…?  “O-okay.”

He motions to the seat across from him.

You sit, facing him, fidgeting with your hands.

Though he keeps his eyes fixed on you, you can’t get yourself to meet his gaze.

“Well… my name is-“

He finishes your sentence for you as your full name falls from his lips.   “Yes, I know,” he adds.  “Where are you from?”

“Coruscant.”

“Who are your parents?”  

You pause.  “I don’t know.”  

He stops at this, and you watch as a wave of emotions pass over his face.  Unreadable, yes, but many are there regardless.  For a moment, you wonder if you’d be able to hear his thoughts again should you try.  You decide against it; for now, at least.  Finally, he speaks once again.

“You’re an orphan?”

“In a sense.”  You glance up at him, quickly reverting your eyes back to the floor.

His facial expression urges you to elaborate.

“They disappeared when I was young.  I don’t remember anything before I was 10.”

He nods, his mind reeling.  “Would you like me to try to remember for you?”

“You…”  You finally meet his gaze.  “You can do that?”

“I believe so.”

“But…  How?  Why?”

“The force has somehow brought us together.  I’d like to find out why.”

“The force?”  Your expression quickly falls from hopeful to doubtful.  The force, as far as you know, is a myth consisting of mostly wishful thinking.  Like magic.  Or a god.  Or both?  You remember it was something that the old Jedi and Sith orders were all about.    It was pretty clear to you that it was totally illogical.  Then again, he does seem to have an unnatural set of abilities…

“I can sense your concern.  I assure you, I only want to help.”

“As far as I’m aware, all you care about is yourself.  Once I’m no longer useful to you, you’ll get rid of me.”

“And if I promise not to?”

“Like I can trust you,” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“Do you have a choice?”  

You freeze.  No… I don’t have a choice, do I?  You take a deep breath.  

Before you can speak, an intense pressure pulsates in the front of your head- a familiar one.  

Your eyes snap to Kylo’s.  You change your mind.  “Yes.”  You push him back, anger beginning to bubble in the pit of your stomach.  You watch as his expression hardens from curiosity to determination, but you don’t budge.  “Stay. Out. Of. My. Head.”  You command with strain, pushing into his own mind.  You begin to gather what you can.  Fear… Anger… Pain, lots of pain...  Someone is calling for him… a woman… his mother… Ben?

“Stop!”  Kylo wails, his hand striking your cheek.  

You cry out, holding your stinging cheek in one hand.  Suddenly, the realization dawns on you: you’ve seen this before… you saw this exact moment when-

Kylo abruptly stands, picking up his helmet and leaving the room.

The room falls silent.

Alone again, all you can think about is how his mother misses him.  How she longs to see him again.  He knows that.  Why isn’t he doing anything about it?

If only my mother were the same.

You sit in silence as tears roll down your reddened cheek, drumming on the floor.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Over the following weeks, you spend most of your time in your room or at med bay, patching up nasty wounds for various soldiers.  Although Kylo has come in every now and again with injuries, he always gravitates towards the droids.  Even if he does let you tend to him, he won’t speak.  All you get are simple nods, hums of agreement or disagreement, and if you’re lucky, he’ll mutter ‘thank you’ in monotone before he leaves.

You do take full advantage of leaving your room, however.  The trooper that almost always guards your door and escorts you around The Finalizer has become the closest thing you have to a friend. You learn that her operating number is VY-107, so you’ve taken to calling her Vy.  

Though you aren’t thrilled about the idea of spending the rest of your days going through the motions on this ship, you are at least thankful to not have to worry about money.  Food is always stocked in your kitchen, you have a nice bedroom to yourself, and you still have something to do to fill your time.  You’ve even picked up a couple of books to read every now and again, learning more about the history of various planets and some tales of the ‘powerful’ Jedi and Sith; but those books are, of course, kept in secret and taken with a grain of salt.

Every week or so, Kylo tries to get into your memories again.  Though you now know better than to push back into his mind, you do still manage to keep him out.  Admittedly, it gets annoying, but you’ve learned that, of everything you’ve lost in your life, the one thing you will always have is an iron will.

Everything seemed to settle into a sort of routine; one that you don’t mind all that much.  Every day was similar, easy, and not much surprised you anymore- at least, until today.

You wake up early, as per usual, but as you get ready for the day, something feels off.  You’re not sure why, but you just have this strange feeling in your gut that something is going to happen today; that today is going to be different.  You try your best to brush it off as you grab your bag and head to the door.  It takes a moment, but eventually the door slides open.

“Good morning, Vy,” you greet your escort with a slightly exaggerated smile.

“Good morning.”  The trooper turns to you as your door closes.  “To med bay?”

“Of course.”

You settle into med bay, checking over patient records and supplies for the day.  No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to focus.  Your mind keeps drifting back to that feeling.  That gut feeling.  Today is different.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Kylo quickly walks into the throne room to meet with Supreme Leader Snoke. Whatever Snoke wants him for, it seems urgent.  Kylo kneels and the two briefly exchange greetings.

“You will be rather pleased to learn that I have gathered new knowledge about the girl,” Snoke announces, his voice echoing against the plain dark walls of the room.  

Kylo stands.

“But as I recall, it was your duty to find out more.”

“I’m trying.  She doesn’t seem to know it, but the force is strong with her.”

“Very.”  Snoke pauses, silently preparing Kylo for his next words.  “She is the granddaughter of a Jedi Master; Obi Wan Kenobi.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You’re sitting on one of the cots in med bay with a battle-worn trooper, finishing up with the patching on a small wound when the door to opens, announcing the arrival of someone new.  

“You should be good as new in a couple days’ time,” you note softly.  The trooper nods, whispering a small thank you before replacing his helmet and leaving the room.  You pick up your tablet to complete the report and turn to the door.  “Commander,” you greet nonchalantly, typing the remainder of the report and submitting it.  Wordless, he remains at the door.  You look up at him, setting your tablet to the side.  “Can I help you?”

“Come with me,” he commands as Vy walks in to escort you.

“What?  Why?”  He remains silent as you stand and starts walking down the hall.  You look to Vy, who offers no answer before urging you to move.  You follow Kylo through a few hallways before he brings you to The Finalizer’s landing dock.  He leads you onto a smaller ship and into the cockpit, a couple other troopers following the two of you and standing at the door.  He sits, and you follow suit.

“Commander, will you at least tell me where we’re going?”  

Kylo starts up the ship, and as you fly out of the Finalizer, he answers.

“Tattooine.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Get back here!”  Another trooper yells in the distance, nearly drowned out by the sound of blasters and screams.  While he would normally turn to look, keeping an eye on his troop, this time, something else preoccupies his mind.  Why did he come here?  What was he so desperate to find?  He can sense that he’s close, but if he isn’t entirely sure of what he’s looking for, how is he supposed to know-

“Agh!”  A sharp pain in his arm cuts off his thoughts.  Reflexively, he holds his hand out behind him, forcing the perpetrator to the ground.  Kylo turns to see a young man holding an ornate blade.  A blue liquid, now swirling with his own blood, drips from the hilt.  How did he not notice the man coming towards him?  He’s losing focus.  Stupid.  “What did you do?”  He asks as stinging pain begins to crawl up his arm and into his chest.

“Devil’s Kiss… you’ll be dead within the hour,” the young man replies with shocking- no, offensive confidence, “my people will-”

Kylo draws his lightsaber, holding it to the young man’s throat.  “You think I don’t have antidotes?”

“Not for Devil’s Kiss.  Our healer created the poison.  She’s the only one that knows how to cure it.”  

Just as he finishes his statement, a hole burns through the man’s chest.  Kylo retracts his saber as the body falls limp to the ground.  Relying on the power of newfound rage and pain, he shifts his focus to this healer. 

“Find their healer,” Kylo roars, “now!”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

They’re looking for you, you can feel it.  Though you have no way of knowing for sure, there’s something in you that tells you they’re coming.  You hold your breath as a couple of troopers come into your tent, tearing the place down.  You focus on your body, keeping every muscle as still as you can.  And you wait.  Vials shatter.  Jars roll across the floor.  Tables flip.  But eventually, the ruckus calms down.  Footsteps soften.  They must’ve left- and I need to get out of here.  You finally breath out in relief.  You wait a little longer, just to be safe, listening.  Silence.  You stand.

The false wall tears open.

Your heart drops.

“Get up,” one trooper says, clearly satisfied with his catch, “you’re coming with us.”

The two of them cuff your hands behind your back and pull you out of the tent.  They drag you to the center of the small town, pushing you down to your knees at the infamous Kylo Ren’s feet, his black attire making for a stark contrast against the blazing buildings behind him.  

You feel a sudden throbbing pressure in your skull and look up to see Kylo’s shaking hand a couple of inches away from your temple.

“Where is the antidote?”  He asks in whatever calm tone he can manage, the pressure in your mind increasing.  A thick blue liquid drips from his fingertips.

Devil’s Kiss.  You knew your friend could do some damage, but nicking Kylo Ren himself?  That’s even better.  Though, any feeling of triumph quickly dissipates when you notice your friend’s body, limp on the ground, just a few feet away from you.  You turn your focus back to the man in front of you, Watching Kylo intently as he continues to push.  You get the urge to fight back- no, to push back?  It’s worth a shot.  No, you think, pushing back.  You feel his confusion- with just a hint of anxiety.  Pushing further, you hear his thoughts: How is she doing this?  Who is she?  Memories start to flash in your mind.  Moments where he felt drawn to someone- to you.  

His hand pulls back.  The pressure dissipates.

You let out a breath of relief.  “So you feel all that too, huh?”

A red saber appears at your neck.  “The antidote,” he repeats flatly.

“I don’t have any left…”  The saber gets closer, the heat starting to burn your skin.  Think.  “You can do that, but you won’t get any help then- I just need to make more.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Do you have a choice?”  You watch him, certain he’ll want to see for himself.  He slowly lifts a hand.  Before he can even start to push back into your mind, you pull him in.  He instantly pulls back.  Why?  What did he see?

“Fine.”  He retracts his saber and watches you, waiting for you to stand.

“I can’t do anything with my hands behind my back.”  You say, looking directly at Kylo.  He nods to the trooper to your right, who then releases your shackles.  You stand.  Instantly, you hear the clicking of multiple blasters, all pointed at you.  You put your hands up.  One trooper grabs your arm, which you quickly jerk away, glaring at him.  “I can walk on my own.”  You turn to Kylo.  “Follow me,” you instruct as you head back to your tent.

The moment you walk in, you get to work, starting with tidying up a bit.  You flip the table over, set up a couple of chairs, and begin placing some of the strewn-about supplies on the table.  Kylo stands at the door.  

“Go on, sit.”   

Kylo moves to the chair furthest from you.  You take a piece of dried fruit from a jar and set it in front of him.

“I’m not going to eat that.”

“It helps numb the pain,” you note, starting to grind some ingredients into a powder with your mortar and pestle.

“Why would I-“

“Trust me, this one hurts.  Now eat the damned fruit.”  He doesn’t move, simply watching you.  You stop for a moment, rolling your eyes.  “Fine, don’t.”  You finish making the paste, moving to sit in front of Kylo.  “Why are you tearing this village apart?  These people have done nothing wrong.”  You begin to apply the paste to his wound with a flat wooden spoon.

“We’re looking for something you have.”

“Well I’m not sure what this place has to offer, but I could help you find it if it means you’ll leave us alone?” You offer, standing up to grab some bandages.  

Silence.

You sit back down.  “Although, I guess I can’t know what it is…”  You pause.  “For all intents and purposes, I hope you do find it.”

“We already have.”

“Oh, good.  So you can leave now?”

“Why?  So you can go warn the resistance?”

“So I can- what?  No,” you laugh, “heavens no.”  You shake your head.  “I would much rather stay out of your war.”  You pick up your bandages, applying extra paste to his wound.  “I’ll bandage this and then you can go.”

“I have droids to do that for me.”

“These bandages help the healing process.  Just to make sure the antidote works faster.”  He says nothing.  “It’s not going to do any harm to try, okay?”  Still nothing.  “Just let me do it.  I don’t want you to walk back to your ship, cough, and have me killed on the spot because you think I lied.”

“Watch your tone.”

Biting your tongue, you grab his arm to start applying the bandage. You freeze.  He freezes.

Images.  

Flashing visions, almost like memories.  

You see this moment, but from a different perspective.  

A strike to your cheek.  

Your hand extending down to his.  

Holding hands.  

Holding each other.

You jump, pulling your hands away, eyes wide.

“Wh-... What… was that?”  You look at Kylo..  He had to have seen that too, right?

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it’s pointless.  Do your job, and make it quick.”  He holds his arm out to you.  You swallow hard and nod, taking his arm in yours and wrapping it in the bandages.  The moment you finish, he stands.  “Come with me.”  Confused, but unwilling to argue, you stand and follow Kylo out of the tent, back to his ship.

“There, he’s all fixed up,” you announce to the surrounding officers.  You stop walking as Kylo carries on, quietly speaking to a trooper.  Silently, he walks onto the ramp to the ship.  “You’re welcome!” you call after him.  Ungrateful bastard.  Whatever.  You turn and start walking back to your tent.

A trooper grabs your arm, pulling you backwards, and starts dragging you back to the ship.

“Hey!  What the hell are you doing?  You can’t kill me, I healed him!”  Kylo turns back to face you.

“You’re coming with us,”  Kylo answers.  He boards the ship.

“What?  No, no!  Why me?” You finally manage to wrench yourself away from the trooper, running towards the Commander in your own fit of rage.  “Kylo Ren!”  You make it to the ramp just as you feel a blaster pressed into your back.  You stop, now standing before him.  Kylo turns around again.  Tears start to brim at your eyes.  “Why are you doing this?  I healed you!”

“And I’ll need healing again.”  His hand waves across your face.  Your vision blurs.  Your eyes close.  A tear rolls down your cheek.  You fall to the ground.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

You wake up on a plain, white cot.  You immediately sit up, scanning the room.  Computers, wired machines, droids attached to the walls, med kits, and a small window through which you could see the bright stars scattered across the black vastness of space.  Son of a bitch really did take me with them.  There’s definitely a way out, though.  That’s what you need to focus on.  You stand, feeling dizzy, and stumble over to the door.  Aren’t these supposed to just… open?  You see a small panel beside the door, a red light glowing in the corner.  No matter how much you try, you can’t get the damned thing open.  You start rummaging through everything in the room, hoping to find something you can use to pry the door open.  

There’s barely any supplies in here.  Probably because droids do everything.  Ugh, why the hell am I even here?  You slump back onto the cot, the entire room now a mess.

The door slides open.

You sit up.

Kylo Ren steps in.