Ruth means Compassion: A warrior’s tale

[kabeone]

Line 3. Prep work

 

Notes:

 

 

Sorry, kabeone, for stealing your mind trap! It turns out we have very few tested and certified options for imprisoning ancient evil. We'll see how usage goes.

 

Haha. You can't steal what isn't mine to begin with, though, your writing does make me want to write fanfic about YOUR universe. is that weird? i think that might be weird.

[irishfino]

Notes:

 

Also, Quinn: You lying liar. You filthy, pants-on-fire lying liarface. Your dirty horrible lying liarosity knows no bounds. Pulling this account together just reminds me of playing through this the first time, having no idea whatsoever of the sheer magnitude of your wretched lying lies.

 

*hem* That is all.

 

Now I'm convinced you're doing that on purpose... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAH!

[bright_ephemera]

Line 2.5 – One step forward, one step back

 

Crossposted from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge, Dreams and Nightmares prompt.

 

 

 

December, 26 ATC – 15 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

14 months before Ruth is ordered to kill Larr Gith

 

 

Ruth stood with her back to a river of blood. The stench was tempting, but she mustn’t swim. She stood and awaited the hunters: faceless, innumerable. Stepping into the blood would be shame, would be failure. Fleeing would do her no good. She had to stand her ground, and she would. She would.

 

The ground shook and dissolved into the river. She fell and was drenched. Blood was hers, and always would be. She screamed. Only a fool would have been dumb enough to rely on the ground.

 

A different, gentle shake brought her out of it, to a safe place where Quinn’s arms were wrapped firmly around her. His gaze steadied her. He seemed to drink in the sight of her, as he had a habit of doing. The last few weeks had been difficult, to say the least, but it was worth it for the look he had just then.

 

“Good morning,” she rasped.

 

“Good morning,” he said.

 

“Thanks for waking me up.”

 

“Of course. You seemed distressed, and that is unacceptable.”

 

“So you went and straightened things out for me.”

 

“Always.” He brushed a lock of her hair to one side. “I l-“

 

“Don’t.” She hurriedly covered his mouth with her hand.

 

He frowned and waited for her to lower her hand. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asked. “When will you permit me to say it?”

 

She hesitated before deciding to answer. “You don’t want to ask that question, Malavai. Just don’t say it at all.”

 

He frowned. “I do want to ask. You’ve kept this bizarre behavior up long enough. Why can’t I tell you I l-“

 

“Silence!” He actually raised his voice to try to talk over her, but a short hard Force choke arrested him before he could finish ‘love.’

 

He recoiled, sat up, stared warily at her.

 

“Get dressed,” she said.

 

He held still, watching.

 

“Get dressed. That’s an order, Quinn.” She started toward her closet. “We’ll want to be armored for this one.”

 

She put on her own clothes, then her black body armor, and felt slightly better. Slightly.

 

Quinn finished pulling on his uniform and sat back down on the edge of the bed. “And now, my lord?”

 

“Do you remember the last time you told me you loved me?”

 

He blanched.

 

“We were in our quarters,” she said. “The ship was headed away from Voss.”

 

“I know,” he said, white-lipped.

 

“You were uncommonly attentive that night. I commented on it and you –“ the memory brought an unbidden genuine smile – “of all things, you reported that you had no explanation for it. It was so you. And I said you didn’t owe me one.”

 

“I know.”

 

Smile, gone. “And then you told me you loved me.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Twelve hours after that you opened fire.”

 

He looked away. “I know.”

 

“I don’t want your declarations, Quinn.”

 

“Then why am I here now? You’ve welcomed me back. Why?”

 

She had thought that through plenty of times. “Because I can’t stomach that line, but I like the rest of it. You gave me everything, once. Word, deed, the whole package. All of it turned out to be a lie. But even knowing it for what it is, I want that lie back more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.” She gestured hopelessly. “So here we are.”

 

“And that’s what this is to you? A lie?”

 

“Yes,” said Ruth, and wished she weren’t so numb to the idea. “It’ll snap again when circumstance or ambition demands. I don’t blame you. This is the closest thing to love you know. It’s actually admirably Imperial. And it’s enough for me. Just don’t mislabel it.”

 

“I thought you were happy.”

 

“I am. I told you, it’s enough.”

 

“Believing that none of what I have to offer is real? That’s nowhere close to acceptable.”

 

“Why not, dearest? We eat together, sleep together, talk, laugh, feel happier with each other than without. What else matters?”

 

“I want to be able to tell you I-" He brought himself up short. "How I feel about you."

 

"Tell me you enjoy me,” she said flatly. “I think that covers it."

 

"If I try to say the other thing, will you attack me again?"

 

"Yes. I'm sorry. I told you not to ask why."

 

“But everything else can proceed as normal? That’s a twisted game you’re asking me to play.”

 

What little patience she had left for his indignation snapped. “It’s more than you deserve after what you did to me.”

 

Ice slammed down over the hurt on his face. "I see. Dealing punishment for a living must be quite strenuous, Wrath. It must be a relief to come home and hit the easy targets. You know I would do anything to prove myself to you.”

 

“I know you can’t do anything that would prove yourself to me.”

 

“Yet you continue to strike at me for failing this test I can never pass. You pretend to be disgusted, but you’ll endure my presence anyway if it means you’ll have someone around to hurt at will.” He raised a hand to his throat, stood. “You make me sick sometimes."

 

"So go.” It was wrong, all of it, wrong again, but at least she had made sure he was dressed to go. That was a precaution she was learning to take before conversations. “If you don't want me, get out. Leave me alone so I can finally go find someone capable of loving me back."

 

That white face flushed. Quinn strode out and slammed the door behind him.

 

He stopped outside and took a long moment to compose himself. He turned back and pressed one hand against the door. "I love you," he said quietly. His face spasmed. He hurried away.

 

Ruth didn’t hear him. She slammed down onto the bed, pressed her face to the pillows, and - not for the first time, not for the last - screamed, as loud and as long as she could.

 

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Huddle

 

 

 

June, 28 ATC – 16.5 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

 

With the Wrath exposed, there was no reason not to keep Pierce and his picked set of guards – the ones he knew would answer to him over the Emperor – ready for an offensive. It was in a conference room on the destroyer he used as a command ship that the conspirators gathered. Ruth sat still, stared at the table, and tried to pay attention.

 

It had been eighteen hours.

 

“Vette’s out there now streaming data as fast as she gets it,” Wynston was saying. “Based on the signals Ruth’s ship picked up at the moment the Voice went down, we have a direction; Vette’s out there narrowing down a range.”

 

“How long will that take?” said Jaesa. She had joined the Defender’s crew in the operation-turned-trap that they had just been rescued from.

 

“There are physical limits to how fast you can traverse the distance it takes to pick a reliable location fix off a point source. But it may be a matter only of hours. After that, we’ll need to case the place, determine its defenses.”

 

“And get in to Rylon,” said Ruth.

 

“It’s no use charging in if we don’t know what we’re up against. We’ll need time to observe – ”

 

“She’s right. We should go,” said Kira. “Be ready to ride the minute we have coordinates.”

 

“We will, to go in and observe,” insisted Wynston.

 

“Your caution is misplaced,” said Lord Scourge. “We do not have infinite time for this endeavor. If the Emperor comes within our reach, we must strike.”

 

“Everyone,” said Larr Gith. “Lord Scourge is right. The Emperor is no joke. If we get an opening we have to hit it, hard.”

 

Things were quiet for a moment.

 

“Quinn,” asked Kira, “your opinion?”

 

“At the risk of agreeing with the agent, we ought to tread carefully,” he said. “Scout the location, skim its communications, determine both its defenses and its structural and internal system weaknesses, lay a plan of attack, act only when we have adequate reinforcements.” He paused. “We will not do so. Anyone who tries to slow me down for such considerations will be met with deadly force.”

 

Ruth, without looking away from her spot on the table, reached over to squeeze his hand.

 

“Once we are in,” said Lord Scourge, “Ruth and I will locate the Emperor. Larr Gith will come with us. We must face him alone; we have proved able to resist his command. The rest of you would only be a danger. However, the Emperor likes to have warriors near to hand wherever he stays; no doubt he’ll send enough to keep the rest of you busy.”

 

“If we have to split up,” said Quinn, “anyone who finds Rylon, contact me immediately.”

 

“And me,” said Ruth.

 

Lord Scourge caught Ruth’s eye.

 

“I already know what you’re going to say,” she said. “Don’t bother.”

 

“You cannot afford distractions. I have only one concern here. So should you.”

 

Ruth made a face, then turned her head to Quinn. “If I can’t be there to talk, take care of him.”

 

“I will. You have my word.”

 

She smiled slightly at that. “I’ll save the galaxy. You save the part that matters. Nothing will stop us.”

 

“Nothing ever has.”

 

She loved him in that moment, again, still, and though she was still heartsick at least she wasn't in it alone.

 

Larr Gith sighed loudly. “Saving all life in the galaxy was kind of difficult, people. Let’s just get it over with.”

 

 

Edited August 12, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

Blech, writing is hard. Let's get some of this other timeline out of the way. Series of crossposts from the Short Fic thread.

 

Line 2.5. Letters 1

 

 

 

April, 27 ATC – 15 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

10 months before Ruth is ordered to kill Larr Gith

 

Quinn

 

 

“Shut up. I’ll tear out your throat if you don’t shut up.”

 

“Will you? That would make the second part of me you’ve shown any interest in in the seventeen years of our acquaintance. I’m flattered.” Quinn struggled to free his jacket from the coat closet as he talked.

 

“If that’s how you remember it happening, I guess you got a lot more use out of me than I did out of you. Well, congratulations, Quinn, you win the play again. That’s all that ever mattered to you.”

 

“That’s an egregious lie even for you,” he snarled.

 

“Oh. How could I forget? Your bloody mission mattered, too. More than the mission we shared and far, far more anything you ever said to me.”

 

Quinn finally yanked the jacket free, bringing a burst of assorted small objects with it. He reflexively caught what he could with one hand, then headed for the door, resisting the urge to give Ruth the telling off she deserved. That furious child, every bit as selfish as the day he’d met her, and as usual she was trying to cover her own faults by being unfair to him, even though if she had a tenth the brain she gave herself credit for she would…no. Shut up, man, and walk.

 

He headed to the hangar for one of the house shuttles. Ruth’s inevitable anger be damned, it was raining like doomsday out there and he wanted to be gone quickly.

 

It was about time to give up on this farce.

 

Get to the city. Send the shuttle back. Deal with Rylon directly from now on. Deal with work by himself again, because in truth her counsel and encouragement weren’t really all that useful. He could make it stick this time. Any time he missed her, or wanted her, or thought she might have something valuable to say, he could just mentally replay the bit about her tearing his throat out.

 

He set course for Kaas City and then, leaning back, took a look at the little items he had caught from the closet. Two mismatched buttons, a blue crystal that might or might not mean anything, and a small, ornate golden datacube.

 

The latter didn’t look like something Ruth would favor. She wasn’t one for trophies, either. A gift?

 

He tapped it active and was greeted with a long index of dates, each marked with one or the other of Ruth’s parents’ names. Colran, whom Quinn had met only once; the Sith had died in Baras’s purge shortly after Ruth and Quinn were married. Dolarra, whom Quinn had never met; she had died when Ruth was very young.

 

The dates spanned an eight-year period centered on Ruth’s birth. Quinn opened and scanned the first pair of letters. Plain text files: early getting-to-know-you correspondence in a format suited to frequent travelers.

 

What had they talked about, the Sith and the mystery woman? It wasn’t in his nature to ignore this kind of information trove. He selected another date, well into their acquaintance.

 

Colran, he read, the mission goes. Ever have one of those where you know you won’t be getting a shiny gold star at the end? It matters, it’ll help, but I don’t have a shiny gold star to look forward to. Still, if all goes well I’ll see you after this ties up. And that’s almost as good. Almost. (I love you, but just think about it. Gold star.)

 

About that. Love in this our big bad demanding galaxy. I’ve been giving it some thought, and I think it counts, even with our jobs.

 

I know our tasks separate us a lot, Colran, and I know sometimes we even seem to work at cross purposes. Yet we keep on with the mission. That’s who we are. And just because we are committed to our work, I don’t think that means we can’t be in love. Does the willingness to sacrifice for the greater good diminish you or me? Are we worth less for knowing what we would be willing to pay it all for? Think about this one big thing we serve. The Empire. Think of all the good she does. If there were only you and me, is there some grand love we could carve from the chaos that would somehow be better or more pure than what we’re working for now? Could I even love you as much as I do if you didn’t give so much of yourself to our common cause?

 

No. Duty is what we live by. But what we have, just between us two, it still matters.

 

I hope that helps settle the question. I imagine you might like something more cuddly, but you’re involved with a high-power no-nonsense Imperial femme fatale now, and I won’t lie to you if I can avoid it. Our lives, our missions are uncertain. My feelings for you aren’t.

 

I haven’t forgotten, I’m still on the hook for “how would a Force-blind even begin to handle a Force-sensitive child” (hello? I would, hypothetically speaking, have a nine-month head start on bonding!) and “how can I justify drinking Graylian ale anywhere ever.” The latter isn’t even a question, but I’ll assume your Jedi training stunted your development such that you need these basic things explained to you. Later. For now I’m out of time; there’s work to do, gold stars to dream wistfully of. I love you, madly. Be safe and be well –

Ever yours, Dolarra.

Some time later, the shuttle halted outside Kaas City’s west transit center. Quinn shook himself and pocketed the little datacube again.

 

Had Ruth ever read them? Did she care?

 

It was, of course, a strained comparison, and Ruth’s awareness of her parents’ correspondence would certainly be on the list of things she didn’t want to hear him ask about any time soon. In fact, everything was on the list of things he had better avoid asking about. He should just return the datacube. Make sure she knew he hadn’t stolen it, then be out of her way.

 

He dismissed the shuttle, held the datacube in his pocket, and headed down the street, heedless of the hammering rain.

 

Edited August 11, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

Line 2.5. Letters 2

 

 

 

May, 27 ATC – 15 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

9 months before Ruth is ordered to kill Larr Gith

 

Quinn

 

 

Quinn read the whole datacube’s worth of old letters. Ruth’s parents had corresponded regularly throughout their time together; Dolarra was often traveling for her work (Intelligence, obviously, though he could tell maddeningly little beyond that from what she said) and Colran, from the sound of it, was a habitual letter-writer to many of his friends.

 

For eight years they avoided hard facts, details of work, traceable names, and yet still managed to write volumes. About life, about the Empire, about each other; about Ruth, when she came along; about the planets Dolarra saw, though she seemed to put intentional delays and vagueness in describing them so he couldn’t trace her exact routes; about the Force, where Colran’s descriptions sounded much like Ruth’s always had, only better articulated.

 

Quinn envied both the love and the purpose that threaded through every letter. He envied the father who had gotten to be there for his young child. With every glowing passage, Quinn envied the years he had almost had.

 

It took him a couple of weeks to work through the full index of correspondence. When he was finished, he tried to think of who to contact to return it. Calling Ruth directly was asking for a fight. Secretaries seemed wrong for a trust like this. So he called Jaesa Brindel, née Wilsaam.

 

When she came up on holo, she smiled the smile he had heard others describe as winsome. “General Quinn. This is a pleasant surprise.”

 

“It’s been a while.” Several years, in fact; Jaesa had supervised his visits to Rylon for years, but eventually he was allowed to see his son alone, and from then on his sole contact with Ruth’s camp was done through her secretaries. “I need to get something valuable to Ruth. Do you think you could arrange for a pickup from Kaas City?”

 

“I’m in town myself today. I can take care of it.”

 

*

 

She met him in the office he kept at the city’s military headquarters. She looked much as she always had: mousy, nonthreatening, though even with the slight rounding out of the years she moved with a certain balance that suggested it would be difficult to take her by surprise.

 

“Thank you for coming,” he said. “How are you? How are Kaeve, the twins?”

 

“All of the above are doing well,” she said. “How are things with you?”

 

“Good, thank you.” He didn’t ask about her weak bordering on pacifist political aspirations, and she didn’t ask about his unending push for total victory in a war he would never compromise on. They were polite like that.

 

He had never been friends with the gentle former Jedi; all they had in common was Ruth, and Jaesa’s primary goal there was to encourage the softest, most dangerously vulnerable parts of her. But when Ruth had collared and imprisoned Quinn after his betrayal, Jaesa was the one who, unbidden, had thought to feed him and, in those first few brutal days, tend to the worst of Pierce’s physical retribution. Jaesa was, to reduce it to two words, inexplicably gracious, and since the falling-out with Ruth that had helped matters a great deal.

 

“I’m glad,” she was saying. “I heard you and Ruth were back in contact, but she’s pretty tight-lipped about you.”

 

“Really.”

 

“Yes. Sometimes glowingly so – “ she smiled – “and sometimes…not…but she doesn’t say much either way.”

 

“I see. I just need an item returned to her. It would help if you could let her know I didn’t intend to take it, it accidentally ended up in my things.” He produced the datacube, an ornate golden thing scarcely two fingers’ widths to a side.

 

Jaesa’s eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?” She snatched it out of his hands, tapped it active, looked over the text index that it projected. “Where did you find this?”

 

“It fell out of the coat closet while I was on my way out one day. I happened to catch it.”

 

“This is great! I put it together for Ruth some time ago. You know how much she loves anything to do with her mother, but she never had time to finish plowing through her father’s files after he died. I pulled this all together, but then the cube vanished before I could give it to her. I was convinced the whole thing was lost.” Her eyes sparkled when she smiled. “Did you read any of it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

 

“It explains a great deal about her,” he said cautiously.

 

“She was lucky, having parents like that.”

 

“They were lucky, too.”

 

“I know. Some of it sounded just like…” She caught herself. “Well. Other things.”

 

Don’t touch the thought of her and me. That’s mine. “There aren’t many other things like the relationship laid out in those letters.”

 

“I guess you’re right.” She paused. “Are you all right?”

 

In front of you? “Quite. It’s kind of you to ask.”

 

“I’ll get this to her. And I’ll let her know you didn’t mean to walk off with it. Anything else you want me to pass along?”

 

He considered, decided to risk the small personal touch. “Yes. Tell her I said happy birthday.”

 

Edited August 11, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

Line 2.5. Letters 3

 

 

 

June, 27 ATC – 15 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

8 months before Ruth is ordered to kill Larr Gith

 

 

Ruth read every letter the datacube stored. She read them again. It took her weeks; she was working, managing her intelligence network, coordinating a handful of strategic projects, doing some field work herself. And reading her parents’ words as fast as she could in every spare moment.

 

It was the most of her mother she had ever seen. It was a perspective on her father she had never known. It was…a lot, and Ruth was grateful Jaesa had found the old letters and put them together. She didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Quinn had gotten his hands on it for a while.

 

But the correspondence was that of a well-meaning Sith and a dedicated, Force-blind Imperial, and a great deal of it was familiar. A great deal of it was what she had thought she had for a while, before it all went to hell. She missed it. And she was starting to imagine that Quinn was capable of knowing it for what it had been, too.

 

So, eventually, she called him. It took him a minute to pick up, but he got there.

 

“Thank you,” she said.

 

“You’re welcome,” he said carefully. “I hope you like it.”

 

“You kept it for a while. Did you read any of it?”

 

“Yes.” He sounded like he was braced for impact.

 

“I’m really glad this wasn’t lost to the unfathomable shadows of the coat closet.”

 

He relaxed, very slightly, and smiled. “I aim to serve.”

 

She realized she was rapidly turning the datacube over in her hands. With an effort she stilled herself. “Would you be willing to talk sometime?”

 

“I could.”

 

“You free next Tuesday?”

 

The man actually flinched. Very slightly, but it was there, as his face drained of everything but something like pain. “Not then.”

 

“Why no- Oh.” The incident. The sixteenth anniversary thereof. “If you’d rather spend the day apart...”

 

“I think that would be safest.”

 

“In the interest of managing our tempers, I think you’re right. Saturday after?”

 

“That could be arranged.”

 

“Good. I think there’s something worth fixing. I’d like to talk about how.” She tapped the datacube. “We had something. I think I haven’t given you enough credit for just how much.”

 

“We had something. And we’ll talk.” He took a deep breath. “But first we have an anniversary to survive. I have to go, Ruth. I’ll call you when I know what the logistics look like for Saturday.”

 

The holo cut out.

 

Ruth had butterflies in her stomach. Optimism was probably premature, but for some reason, for the first time in quite a while, the butterflies were pleasant.

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

And a couple of snippets not posted on the short fic thread.

 

 

Miscellaneous Old Letters, 1

 

 

 

5 BTC – 15 years before the confirmation of the Wrath

 

 

Dearest Dolarra,

 

Things at home are good. Ruth has fallen in love with her toy saber, even if she hasn’t quite figured out how to keep a grip on it when she hits things.

 

I wonder what she’ll grow up to be. I hope she’ll continue our work, saving the little guys from the big bads of the galaxy, including my brethren the hardline Sith. She is the most sweet-natured four-year-old I ever known, so…we can hope.

 

Thank you, again and always, for being with me in this. In all of it. Any time I get discouraged with my work I look out there and remember that, even when you and I are apart, we’re working for one Empire, one cause, one people. Our people.

 

And for Ruth.

 

I'll have hot chocolate ready for you when you get home, 'Lara. See you then.

 

Ever yours,

Colran

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

Line 2.5. Sometimes love is a decision

 

This ends Timeline 2.5 and leads into the first story and Timeline 3.

 

 

 

June, 27 ATC – 15 years 11 months after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

Ruth worked up the nerve to call Quinn on the anniversary of the betrayal, but he didn’t answer. She spent a while longer agonizing over what message to leave. She wanted to say something; if they were going to try to salvage a relationship, she had to say something definite to mark the occasion. Definite but short. The details could be hammered out when they met in person. She practiced it until she was sure of it. Then she called again to leave a message: “General. I hope you can take this as a private message.” A few seconds to give him time to reach the pause function if he had to, to clear out the room. “I love you. No matter what. And I always will.”

 

She cried for a little while afterwards, because sixteen years ago she had very suddenly lost a number of her illusions, and she missed both them and the man who had broken them. She cried, and then she cleaned up and went about her day.

 

He called her, late, just as she was preparing for bed. She hurried to answer.

 

He seemed a little flushed. “Ruth. Thank you."

 

She smiled and nodded a warm acknowledgment. “You’re doing all right today?”

 

“It was difficult, until I got your call.”

 

“I wanted you to know. Even when it is difficult. Come home to me soon, Malavai.”

 

“I will. You have my word.”

 

It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was a start.

 

 

 

Notes:

This ends Timeline 2.5 and leads into the beginning of this thread and Timeline 3, at which point the Quinn/Ruth relationship has stabilized.

 

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Protection, 1

 

 

 

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

Vette finally called in to report the location of a cloaked space station hidden in the vast black shadow of a nameless gas giant. Pierce took the destroyer Big Brass (which had everything to do with musical instruments in military bands, he insisted) and brought the seekers to the coordinates Vette reported.

 

The boarding party crowded onto the Fury: Ruth, Quinn, Larr, Scourge, T7, Wynston, Kira, Vette, Pierce, Jaesa.

 

Quinn declined to pilot for once; he sat beside Ruth and watched the wall. They didn’t say much on the way over. Vette and T7-01 took them into the hangar firing; the initial wave of red-robed guards was cut down in moments, and the Fury settled down.

 

“Ready?” Ruth asked quietly.

 

“Absolutely,” Quinn replied. He stood and offered her an unnecessary hand up; she took it, rising to meet him. Under the bustle of the crew’s movement he whispered “I love you.”

 

“And I love you. We’ll bring Rylon home.”

 

“Of that I have no doubt.”

 

They cleared the hangar of red-robed Sith guards and gathered on the station floor. “Listen well,” said Lord Scourge. “Myself, Ruth, and Larr Gith must face the Emperor alone. We can resist his will. We will bring the Rakatan mind trap, kill him outright if we can, lock him away if we must. T7, you may accompany us but would be more valuable outside. The rest of you must see that we are not disturbed. Clear out his guard and wait for us to complete our task.”

 

Imperial guardsmen, both Sith and Force-blind, contested them at every intersection as they worked their way into the austere grey station. At length they reached a long curved path that seemed to form a full ring of the place. A little ways along that they came upon a radial corridor leading inward to the center of the station.

 

“That way.” Lord Scourge nodded. “Our quarry is within. The rest of you, secure this ring, see that we are undisturbed. Larr, Ruth, with me.” He strode down the radial corridor to the great chamber that was dimly visible beyond.

 

Quinn leaned in after them. T7-01 rolled up to the access port by the door and plugged in a data line.

 

“I see five other doors in there,” reported Quinn quietly. “The way they’re set, there may be a total of eight evenly spaced doors around the chamber. We need them guarded, sealed, or both. Teeseven, anything?”

 

Eight doors = confirmed // door controls = encrypted

 

“Jaesa, everyone, go on,” said Quinn, his eyes locked on the center chamber. “I’ll monitor the room from here.”

 

“Quinn, if you go in there, he’ll have control of you like that.” Wynston snapped his fingers. “Go with Jaesa. Clear out any outer guards.”

 

Quinn shook his head “I see Rylon in there. I won’t step inside, but neither will I walk away.” He readied a high-power blaster rifle. “Go.”

 

Wynston seemed ready to argue, but Jaesa raised a cautioning hand. “It’s his son,” she said softly. “If Parvin or Grega were in there I wouldn’t budge, either.”

 

Wynston scowled. “No time to argue. You and Teeseven need me, call.” He followed Pierce and Kira down the curving hallway. Jaesa and Vette went the opposite way. Quinn braced himself against the wall of the inner corridor and watched.

 

*

 

Rylon greeted them, as Ruth had feared he would. The station’s center chamber was a huge open space, round, shadowy, with a dais in the middle and a throne on the dais and a monstrous, vaguely man-shaped shadow on the throne. Rylon stood at the base of the dais and smiled. “Hello, mother.”

 

“Rylon. Step away.”

 

“My son,” rasped the shadow. “I sense your mother is nearly ready to join us. Why don’t you keep her busy while I deal with these two.”

 

“With pleasure.” Rylon saluted the Emperor and turned back to Ruth.

 

“Lest you get any ideas,” said the Emperor conversationally, “the boy doesn’t get a choice this time. I enjoyed our previous session, but today you will submit or you will die. You’ll find he’s quite incapable of accepting any other solution.”

 

Rylon seemed curiously unaffected by this announcement. “Let’s do this, mother.” He saluted her.

 

She raised her sabers and instinctively returned his salute. “Don’t do this, Rylon. No grudge is worth this. He’s going to kill you.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” he said simply, and charged.

 

*

 

Larr Gith tossed back her hair and turned away from that confrontation. “The distraction will not avail you,” she with her best proud confidence. “We two can take you.”

 

“Why the rush? There’s someone I wanted you to meet first,” said the Emperor. He beckoned and an emaciated man emerged from a doorway nearby, escorted by two tall Pureblood Sith. They threw him at Larr’s feet.

 

The thin man shuddered and looked up at her with big dark eyes. In bizarre, crisp contrast to his tattered clothes and neglected air, he had freshly groomed facial hair, a mustache and a small tuft of a beard.

 

“Doc?” squeaked Larr Gith.

 

“I collected him some time ago.” The Emperor laughed. “I hoped you might come to visit him someday.”

 

“Larr,” said Doc in a low creaky voice. “I waited for you. Why didn’t you come?”

 

“I didn’t know.” Tears started in the Jedi’s eyes. “Doc, honey, I didn’t know.”

 

“Remember yourself,” warned Lord Scourge.

 

“Little girl,” oozed the Emperor. “You are surrounded by people who despise you. You see before you the greatest failure of your sorry life. And you could scarcely face the barest thimbleful of my power even before you gave up on the discipline that might have made you into somebody. Do you expect to achieve something here today?”

 

The Purebloods who had dragged Doc in didn’t give her a chance to respond. They attacked as one. She drew up to meet them, amber eyes blazing.

 

Scourge observed but didn’t engage. He set the mind trap he had been carrying at his feet, then turned his attention to the Emperor. “And what do you have for me?”

 

“I have already taken everything but your sad, grasping attempt at relevance. I hardly need more. You were never strong enough to overcome me, my old slave, and these frail children you pin your hopes on will be unable to help you. Do you still intend to invite your death here?”

 

Scourge said nothing. He raised his saber.

 

The Emperor stood and half walked, half floated to the edge of the dais. He lifted one hand, palm outward, and Scourge froze mid-movement. A film of shadows sprung up to cover the great Sith, holding him in place. This battle would be in the mind.

 

Edited November 22, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Protection, 2

 

 

 

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

 

Ruth tried to control her racing thoughts as she deflected her son’s attacks and tried to land an immobilizing blow. “Rylon, why are you doing this?”

 

“You have to die,” he said. “I’ll be a great Sith, mother, you’ll see.”

 

“I can’t see that if I’m dead.”

 

Rylon’s brow tightened briefly. “Be quiet! Fight!”

 

Control. Control. She summoned up her love, her focus, her need to protect and her need to prevail. She met her son’s attacks with precision, with a steady strength that countered his furious aggression. She could disarm him. Knock him out. Leave him someplace safe. Then get to her work against the Emperor.

 

Ten Sith in crimson armor charged in from one of the outer hallways. “Ignore the others. Preserve the young Wrath,” called one. “There are plans for him.” They drew sabers as one and rushed to engage Ruth. She gestured toward them with her off hand saber; a little movement, a little will, and the whole group blew back like leaves. She had to keep this fight between her and Rylon, contain his violence, perfect her guard.

 

Rylon sneered. “I suppose that means my master doesn’t think I can destroy you on my own.”

 

“He doesn’t think much of either of us. Help me eliminate these before they turn on you.”

 

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Rylon kept fighting, and Ruth felt the angry stares of the regrouping Sith at her back.

 

*

 

“Damn it, droid,” whispered Quinn as he watched the red Sith guard pour in, “we need those doors sealed now.”

 

Command protocol = almost cracked

 

Quinn was at the outer end of the throne room corridor, staring in at the battle between Rylon and Ruth. He didn’t see exactly what happened when something surged from the computer interface. He only heard a long crackle, a pop, a hiss, and then T7-01 stopped so much as whirring.

 

He looked over to where the droid was still and slightly smoking. He kicked T7-01 free of the wall plug, but it didn’t revive. Quinn shook his head, turned away, raised his blaster rifle, braced himself against the wall of the corridor, and watched.

 

*

 

Lord Scourge remained frozen, arms raised to hold his saber before him. His every muscle trembled. “Larr Gith,” he shouted, with some effort. “Ruth. Attack. Now.” Something shuddered through him, an impact no one but he and perhaps the still silent form of the Emperor could see. “Larr! Ruth!”

 

Larr Gith finished her last opponent and stooped to touch Doc’s hair. He stared up at her with slightly unfocused eyes.

 

“I didn’t know,” she said. “I didn’t, I didn’t fail you. I won’t.”

 

He rolled his head to one side to look at the Emperor. “There another crisis going on?”

 

“Yeah,” said Larr Gith.

 

“Then go show ‘em how it’s done.” He took a deep, rattling breath and tried to smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

 

The Emperor did not turn his head when Larr Gith charged. He simply raised his other arm and she, too, froze in place, shadows leaping up to wrap around her like a second set of armor.

 

*

 

Quinn couldn’t afford to get in closer. If the Emperor noticed his presence he would die or, worse, immediately be coerced into attacking his allies. He could only stay at a distance and fire.

 

When Ruth flung the ten red Sith back, Quinn took a shot on the nearest one. A second shot, then a third, before the Sith stopped moving. The others didn’t seem to notice; they were entirely focused on regrouping around Ruth and Rylon.

 

They formed up in a half circle around the fighters. Two Sith stepped in to join Rylon in active fighting. Five waited for an opening.

 

The remaining two actually walked to where Larr Gith stood suspended and attacked her. Their sabers glanced off the darkness that coated her. Wherever Larr Gith was, her physical presence here was protected by the same shadows the Emperor held himself in.

 

Which just meant that the red guards returned to watching Ruth face Rylon plus backup. Quinn’s heart sank. Ruth fought with the power and grace she always did, but some kind of Force push from one of her opponents threw her off balance too early. Though her face spoke only of focused determination, he knew she must be terrified. She could make something of that fear. She always did. But she might not be able to make overcoming a full Sith squad plus her beloved son out of it.

 

He needed to get Rylon away from the Emperor. He needed to get Rylon out of that room.

 

He took aim and downed one of the waiting Sith guards. The Sith’s fellows saw the fall, looked around, spotted Quinn. Two started running towards him. As they got closer, the one in front extended his hand for a Force push that took Quinn in the chest and knocked him flat on his back, several meters away; but the push that hit Quinn’s chest missed the thermal detonator he had tossed in the direction of his attackers. He recovered from getting knocked over faster than the two red Sith recovered from taking a thermal detonator explosion to the face.

 

*

 

Ruth was outnumbered and already wounded. But she had to fight. She had to protect Rylon, and that meant subduing him. The Force would show her the way, if she were careful, if she listened. She struck at the Sith around her, blocked their own attacks, leaped, descended, remembered at every moment that this fight, this necessity was born of love.

 

A saber thrust white-hot pain through one shoulder. Ruth cried out and struggled to spin free of her attackers, to regain some defensive footing. She sensed their hate and she sensed some of their strikes in advance. There, another guard down. But Rylon was pressing the attack again, striking fast and hard, and still she was surrounded.

 

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Protection, 3

 

 

 

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

 

Lord Scourge stood in an emptiness apart from the physical world. He leaned into the lightless void of the Emperor’s presence, directing hate and will like twin blades against the ancient being’s spiritual form. Opposite him he finally felt Larr Gith joining them. She burned with a purpose he hadn’t sensed in her in years. For perhaps the first time she seemed to have it under control: a brilliant, fine control, as she took up her place and began to oppose the creeping darkness.

 

“He calculated that reveal to weaken you,” Scourge said.

 

“He calculated it for a teenager who never saw what devotion looks like. Mighta gotten me to melt down last time I faced him.” She flared brighter, and Lord Scourge sensed the Emperor’s pain and anger at the attack. “Not now. Let’s clean this up.”

 

“I am not convinced the two of us can. But if we can weaken him enough, the Rakatan trap may work.”

 

*

 

There were four guards pressing Ruth around Rylon and another one standing by, saber drawn, eager to go in. She had lost one saber. Six people trying to kill her, where Rylon by himself was very nearly her match, and she was losing both blood and power by the minute.

 

There was no way Quinn could clear the rest of the guards fast enough. He had to get them away from Ruth so she could go on to fight the Emperor, but no demonstration he could make would distract more than one or two. He had to get Rylon clear, too, if he could. Rylon. The guards had talked about preserving him. They valued him. Rylon was the center of these guards’ mission. The Emperor had plans for Rylon.

 

Ruth took another hit. One of the Sith slammed down against her guard and bore her to her knees. Another brought his saber down on her right arm. Rylon himself prepared for what was to be a finishing blow. No time left.

 

Quinn charged up the reserves of his blaster rifle, took careful aim, and shot his son in the back.

 

Once, twice, thrice. Rylon cried out in shock. Everyone in the melee looked over to where Quinn stood. Then several things happened at once: Rylon fell down, Lord Scourge roared “Ruth, NOW!” and several of the guards yelled things and Ruth herself, wounded, staggering, howled something he couldn’t make out. “Trust me,” he shouted, as loud as he could, but he didn’t know whether she could hear.

 

*

 

Ruth struggled, but she was holding. She would not break. The Force would guide her, and she would preserve what had to be preserved. Even through Rylon’s overpowering hit, the strike that burned feeling out of her good arm, she could hold on to something. She could manage.

 

Until Quinn shot her son.

 

The last shred of her discipline was consumed in turning to answer Lord Scourge’s desperate call. She forced herself to limp to join Larr Gith and Lord Scourge in surrounding the thick dark mostly man-shaped cloud. Her heart shrieked for blood.

 

She forgot her focused defenses, her mental shield. Those were useless. Quinn had turned on her, again, as she had always known he would. Straight past reason, straight past any assurance she could give herself about his motives, beyond argument or defense, she had known. Of course he would murder his son before jeopardizing the mission. Of course he would do it like that, a cowardly shot in the back. Trying to love him in spite of that inborn treachery only made her a fool.

 

She couldn’t even kill him yet, not until she had removed the reason that had forced that treachery back to the surface. The Emperor. He had taken Rylon; now she had only fury. She threw her awareness forward at the Emperor’s darkness. Absolute rage fueled her – rage for whatever manipulation he had done, for knowing exactly how to hurt her. Rage because maybe he hadn’t manipulated anything at all.

 

Light Side be damned. “Let us end this.” She wasn’t sure whether it was Lord Scourge or herself talking.

 

*

 

“Get the young Wrath to the medbay!” one of the red Sith was repeating. Ruth, too wounded to lift a saber, limped off toward Lord Scourge and the Emperor. Quinn aimed and gunned down the guard who followed her. The remaining four were clustered around Rylon, who was suddenly, furiously fighting them, struggling to get free of their restraining hands. “Let me go! Let me at her!”

 

“Kolto pack here, somebody, now,” yelled one of the guards. “He’s bleeding hard, he’ll kill himself at this rate.”

 

Not what Quinn had intended. The injury was meant to be alarming, yes, but something that wouldn’t kill Rylon outright. Just enough to grab attention and stop combat temporarily.

 

“Come with us, my lord,” said another guard. “He wants you alive and whole.”

 

“I’ll kill her,” yelled Rylon, twisting and kicking while they dragged him toward the far door.

 

Quinn could do no more good from back here. Ruth was covered by the dark film of the Emperor’s engagement; the red guard was about to carry off Rylon, he didn’t know where. It was possible the Emperor would be too distracted to pull additional people under his command. Quinn had to hope. He raised his rifle, shot one of the guards clinging to Rylon. The boy freed an arm, seized someone’s lightsaber, cut down a guard himself, practically foaming in his fury. “Let me go! I’ll kill her!”

 

Quinn kept walking. Two guards left, and Rylon was armed and furious. Wounded, not quite standing up straight, but armed and furious. Quinn shot another of Rylon’s opponents.

 

Rylon ran the last guard through and then smiled a bright brittle smile. “Father,” he said in a scratchy voice, “much obliged.” He turned, seemingly only a little inconvenienced by his gaping injuries, to pursue Ruth.

 

Quinn was faster. He took another few rapid steps, raised a dart gun at short range, delivered a shot of a sedative. Not much, but enough to temporarily inconvenience. Rylon kept on toward Ruth. Quinn grabbed his arm and hauled back. The boy seized his wrist and nearly snapped it forcing it away, but in a few more seconds he would be weak enough to work with. Quinn pulled Rylon’s saber from his hand, eased him to the ground, and brought out a kolto pack to tend to the blaster wounds.

 

“I’ll kill her,” Rylon said groggily.

 

“I can’t let you do that, son,” said Quinn. “Hold still.”

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Protection, 4

 

 

 

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

 

Ruth’s awareness fell into a place that felt separate from the physical throne room. Larr Gith’s presence was bright gold here, imbued with something stronger and steadier than Ruth had ever sensed from her before. Scourge was a hungering darkness with a tinge like dried blood. The Emperor was deeper than black, a cold hole in the world.

 

She flung her will at him. She sensed surprise, a sharp pleasure that almost instantly turned to concern, while she pressed her attack into the Emperor’s essence. Everything around her was fuel for this fire, this hatred. Everything within her, too.

 

His counterattack lashed at her, cutting her with a pain more than physical. His will was ancient, malevolent, strong as the ages. Hers joined with Scourge’s and Larr Gith’s, determined. No, more than determined. Her companions weren’t doing enough. Ruth threw more of herself into the assault. She felt herself warping, blurring into the darkness before her, but her will was hurting him more than he could hurt her. She would tear him apart.

 

“Be careful,” cried Larr Gith.

 

“Burn him,” urged Lord Scourge. “Burn him to ash.”

 

Ruth felt the Emperor’s darkness stripping away her very sense of self, layer upon cracking, crumbling layer. She went on screaming her hate, pouring it into shredding his mind. Her comrades worked their tiny attacks; they didn’t matter. She held the Emperor’s attention and broke him apart, piece by piece, feeling every painful snap as he did the same to her. He was weakening. Every wrong he had done her, every life he had taken, every day he had congratulated himself for controlling her, she hated him for it. He had corrupted her husband and claimed her son. She would avenge what it was too late to protect.

 

While her enemy crumbled, Ruth kept screaming. She thought at some point her physical form joined in.

 

*

 

Quinn dropped what he was doing when he heard Ruth's scream. Hurriedly he recovered, finished the minimum treatment necessary to stabilize Rylon, then ran to kneel where Ruth had just collapsed in a thin, rapidly dissipating puff of the Emperor’s binding shadows. She lay motionless with an expression of almost comically light concern on her face. Quinn started checking for life signs.

 

The stone Rakatan trap was shaking. Larr and Scourge stood on opposite sides of it, mesmerized by the darkness between them, concentrating, doing something the Force-blinds couldn’t perceive.

 

Then the trap flashed once, brilliant white, and fell to the ground, inert. Scourge fell to his knees. Larr reeled but stayed upright. “There,” she gasped.

 

Wynston burst in, blaster rifle in hand. “I felt the…something…from out there. Is it clear now?”

 

“It is done,” said Scourge. “I sensed a core we could not destroy, but the Wrath scoured it to nearly nothing. What remains is both crippled and trapped.”

 

Wynston looked to Ruth. His expression froze. He moved to kneel opposite Quinn, leaning over the still form. Quinn swallowed hard but didn’t block the false-faced man from touching her cheek, her throat, the bandages that Quinn had pointlessly applied to the worst of her physical wounds. “Quickly,” said Wynston. He fumbled in his satchel. “A resuscitation stim, something.”

 

“Do you think I didn’t try?” said Quinn hoarsely, gesturing at his own open supply bag. “She’s dead. She died believing I had betrayed her again.”

 

Wynston met his eyes, briefly, then looked down. “I see.” He stroked her hair, then snatched his hand back. Half a minute or more passed. “She was my oldest friend.”

 

“She is my wife.”

 

Rylon was crawling a little unsteadily toward where Quinn and Wynston flanked Ruth. “Mom?” he said. He settled at her head and stared down at her, looking confused. “Mom. Mom?”

 

“Rylon,” said Quinn helplessly.

 

All trace of arrogance had drained from the teenager. “She looks…I didn’t think…Mom, no. I didn’t mean it. Not like this. Mom, get up.”

 

Quinn sought his son’s hand and took it.

 

“Stars. Dad, I tried to kill her.”

 

“I tried to save her,” said Quinn leadenly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

 

The others filed in: Vette, Jaesa, Kira, Pierce, a scorched-looking T7-01.

 

“So,” called Vette brassily, “did we win?”

 

“Yes,” said Wynston. “We won.” Quinn shot him a venomous look, but said nothing.

 

Vette noticed what they were gathered around. “Oh. Oh, jeez.”

 

Jaesa covered her mouth and looked away. Kira studied the three gathered around Ruth as if hoping to find something she could do. Pierce clenched and unclenched his fists and tried to look calm.

 

*

 

Larr Gith knelt by the emaciated man the others hadn’t noticed and propped him up in her arms. He looked up at her with a sleepy smile. “Hey. Beautiful. I had the strangest dream.”

 

Larr hugged him tighter. “You’re safe now.”

 

He noticed the voices from over by Ruth and looked at the trio gathered around her. “Oh. Friend of yours?”

 

“Yes,” said Larr quietly.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Thanks. At least she managed to bail you out.”

 

“Only one I see bailing me out here is you, gorgeous.”

 

Larr Gith smiled. “Well, I helped. A little bit.”

 

“The lady shares credit,” he murmured. “What will they think of next.”

 

*

 

“The Emperor,” said Scourge in a voice pitched to carry. Everyone but Rylon and Quinn looked up at him. “I will take charge of the mind trap and hide it where it will be well guarded. He will not be freed in my lifetime.”

 

“Take it and go, Scourge,” said Wynston wearily. “Thank you for…for bringing us this far.”

 

Scourge looked down at the other center of attention. “She died a warrior,” he said calmly. “And the people she fought for are safe. All two of them.”

 

“She fought for more than that,” said Kira.

 

“Don’t be so quick to idolize, Jedi.” He hefted the stone device. “Then again, don’t dismiss the love of one or two. Now, I will find my own way off. You will not see me again.”

 

T7-01 beeped diffidently.

 

This place = unsafe // Heroes = go home

 

“You’re right,” said Kira. “We should get back to the ship, guys.”

 

Quinn nodded jerkily. “Yes. I need to get her home.”

 

The others gave him space when he took Ruth up in his arms and started back toward the hangar.

 

 

 

[bright_ephemera]

Miscellaneous Old Letters, 2

 

 

 

5 BTC – 15 years before the confirmation of the Wrath

 

3 days before Dolarra Niral’s death

 

 

My beloved Colran,

 

The war drags on. I know someday this destruction will end. I’m not naïve enough to think it’ll be the last grand conflict, but everything we do brings us closer to at least a moment of peace.

 

Work is hard some days. That’s all I can say for now. I’ll be home soon. Give Ruth a hug for me.

 

Work is hard, but it makes a difference. And I know you’re doing your part back at home. The future looks bright, heart’s dearest, and it looks bright because of people like you.

 

Yours in love and in hope,

Dolarra

 

 

Edited August 12, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[bright_ephemera]

Line 3. Denouement

 

 

 

July, 28 ATC – 17 years after the confirmation of the Wrath

 

The Fury returned to the Big Brass. Scourge had disappeared rather than boarding; he had probably stolen his own ship elsewhere. Quinn laid Ruth out in the destroyer’s medbay; now he stood beside her, keeping vigil. Rylon lay nearby, turned on his side so the compress on his wounds could stay in place. He stared at his mother, wide-eyed, as if death were something entirely new and strange to him.

 

Pierce ordered a course for neutral space and came to join the others outside the medbay.

 

Wynston spoke. “I’m going to go ahead and call this our last planning session. You won’t be seeing my face after this; I’ve got to disappear to prepare for the next crisis. Larr, where are you off to?”

 

Larr Gith took a deep breath. “I’ve got some things to figure out.” She squeezed a subdued Doc’s hand. “And he’s going to need help. You can call on me if you ever need me.”

 

“Thanks. Best of luck to you.”

 

“I’m bound for Dromund Kaas,” said Pierce. “Got a perfectly good fighting force. Better figure out where it fits into things now that the Wrath is gone.”

 

“Yeah,” said Vette. “The Wrath. You know, she turned out okay. Guys, you have my holofrequency. I’ve gotta go do something less depressing now.” She hesitated for a long moment, then took a few rapid steps toward Quinn and reached up to hug him tightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged her back. Then she broke away and ran off.

 

“I’ll be returning home. Coordinating with Light Side Sith seems more appropriate now than ever,” said Jaesa.

 

“Good luck,” said Kira. “It’s a good cause.”

 

“And you, Kira?” said Wynston.

 

“Until you need me again, I was gonna go back to my day job. I’m a Jedi when I’m not being a superhero, you know.”

 

*

 

Wynston joined Kira, Vette, Larr, and Doc in taking Larr’s Defender to Nar Shaddaa, but when they reached the spaceport he took charge of a couple of Ruth’s possessions that had been left on the ship and went his own way. His companions were contractors, allies of convenience; they would go back to their real jobs now, their real lives. They didn’t operate at the level he did.

 

He headed to one of his safe houses and slept through the night and much of the morning. As soon as he woke up he got to work.

 

A short tap sequence at his hip caused the visage of the red-haired human to warp and vanish. In its place was a Chiss, short, skinny, crisscrossed and textured by scars from just about every physical process organic skin can be scarred by.

 

He discarded the physical profile of the redheaded Wynston that Larr Gith and the others had known, took a moment to study his natural face in the mirror, then turned away and pulled out his holocommunicator.

 

*

 

Quinn set up the funeral pyre in the stone courtyard where Colran Niral’s remains had been burned, and those of Colran’s brothers, and their father and mother, and the Nirals before them, on and on. The bier was overshadowed by a narrow roof-high shelter to block rain from directly above, so the fire was free to burn. Quinn stood with Rylon and watched the flame for some time. The youth broke down and ran back inside long before Quinn’s nerve gave out.

 

He turned away from the pyre and headed to the veranda looking out to the rain-battered lake. After some time he asked, very quietly, “How many times must I start over?”

 

His holo beeped. He considered ignoring it, but decided to answer. Wynston came up. The old Wynston, the blue one, the one who looked subject to time and fatigue.

 

“Quinn,” he said. “I’m sorry to intrude, but we found some of Ruth’s effects on the ship. I can come drop them off if you want.”

 

“Perhaps later,” he said. He was too tired for it now.

 

They looked at each other.

 

“There’s a place for you here,” said Wynston. “You do good work. There’s still a lot of people that need help when the great powers go bad. My organization has a whole department for Imperial affairs. If for whatever reason you’re not ready to go back into the system.”

 

“Let me look after Rylon first. After that…I’ll think about it,” said Quinn. “I don’t know yet.”

 

“Take your time. And, Quinn…I’m sorry.”

 

*

 

Inside the house, Rylon had locked himself in his room. He spent some time pacing, vaguely waving his holocommunicator. Eventually he swallowed hard, pushed his hair back, and entered a call.

 

“Lord Jaesa?”

 

“Rylon,” she said uncertainly.

 

“I was wondering.” He looked at his feet. “Do you…could you try maybe teaching me the ways of the light side?”

 

Jaesa’s lips parted and it took her a moment to answer. “Really?”

 

“Mom kept trying. She thought it was important. I want to honor that. And…Larr says she snapped clear Dark Side in the end, uncontrolled. Lost her defenses that way. Mom ended up angry, and that anger destroyed her.”

 

Jaesa sucked in a breath. “Did she tell your father that detail?”

 

“No.” Then, more confidently, “And no one ever will. He’s got enough guilt. Besides, I think it was mostly me she was angry at.”

 

“It wasn’t. Nothing you could do or say could ever shake her love for you or your father. She saved her hate for the Emperor. As for you, Rylon, you’re always welcome with me and mine.”

 

*

 

Wynston brought up his wrist console’s projection screen and pulled up the available disguise profiles. After flicking through a few gallery pages he selected another human face: handsome, young, with neither a scar nor a worry line in sight. He loaded it into the cybernetic disguise generator.

 

He didn’t activate the disguise yet, though. He pulled up a different, older file on the projection screen. A silly thing, but he had held on to it for a number of years now.

 

“GALAXY SAVED”, it read, “III”. Wynston smiled to himself, a little sadly, and drew in another tally mark.

 

 

Edited November 22, 2012 by bright_ephemera

[Magdalane]

Bright, this was a most excellent story. You know you've written well when true emotions are evoked by your words. You have written well, my friend. I am sitting here trying to explain the tears to my husband, who will never understand simply because he lacks the ability to put himself in a story. It was never a choice here, I was with Ruth all the way, and am simply blown away by your ending.

 

Thank you, thank you for sharing your story.

[Earthmama]

Wow! Amazing heart breaking ending. I'm shocked, and don't have many words right now. Beautiful.

[Vesaniae]

Oh, wow. That was amazing. I actually teared up at the end there, something that I very rarely do over a story. Well done.

[kabeone]

Amazing. Thank you for this story bright, that was the bravest ending I could never imagine. Edited August 12, 2012 by kabeone

[irishfino]

 

...

 

 

;___;

Edited August 12, 2012 by irishfino

[Kalterien]

O__o

 

That was an amazing ending.

[bright_ephemera]

Thanks, everybody! I really had no idea where this was going when I started posting, and wasn't sure about the specific outcomes until within the last ten posts. I love it when inevitabilities fall into place.

 

I wasn't sure I could commit to a hard love/hate through the duration of a femWarrior's lifetime...I mean, I'm a big sappy mushfest in some respects...but this sequence seemed to fit.

[bright_ephemera]

And here, have the remaining links from the Short Fic Weekly Challenge that give snippets of Ruth's life that didn't necessarily fit in this narrative:

 

on naming Rylon

on gathering allies agains Baras

on chewing up the scenery with Lieutenant Pierce

on Vette getting to know her

[irishfino]

Please tell me she at least comes back as a Force ghost and talks to Quinn or something. That poor b*stard.

Edited August 12, 2012 by irishfino

[bright_ephemera]

Please tell me she at least comes back as a Force ghost and talks to Quinn or something. That poor b*stard.

 

 

Oh, hell no. He does what he has to do and he gets to live with it. I am actually softening the blow by making sure Rylon (my poor conflicted Rylon, last of the Niral line!) never tells Quinn what Ruth said in the seconds after Quinn shot him. Rylon was the only survivor who had been in a position to hear it - Scourge and Larr Gith were otherwise occupied, Doc was very very out of it, Ruth and the Sith guard didn't survive. I think Rylon will make something comforting up - "I love you both" or whatever - rather than admitting that the last words of the woman Quinn loved most were shrieking hate at him.

 

But that mercy's all I'm granting him. He doesn't get closure.

 

Edited August 12, 2012 by bright_ephemera