Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter IV

Tags

battlefield of the soul, star wars, star wars week, stories in progress

Hello, everyone! This chapter has been such a bear to write, but hopefully it will be enjoyable, and the rest of the story will be easier from now on. 🙂

Also, I apologize for not posting something for Star Wars week yesterday. If need be, I’ll go overtime to make it up to all of you. 🙂

Enjoy!

Warnings: None in particular.

Chapter IV
Anakin seemed to be walking in a field of twilight. It was empty, and cold, and he was alone.
You don’t seem to understand what’s at stake here, child. The voice was… different. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Anakin shouted back.
Don’t you know this place?
“How can I? I’ve never been here in my life before!”
And yet, you’ve been here your entire life. Anakin turned to find something solid, something concrete. There was nothing.
Anakin, you must fight! You must fight the evil! Anakin fled. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he did know what he was running from. And he was too terrified to meet it face to face. He ran and ran without thinking of stopping. He didn’t dare to look back at the thing behind him. He knew it was following, silent, unseen, inexorable, beyond the senses, yet at the same time, horribly there, horribly present, horribly real. Anakin swallowed and ran harder. He thought he could hear Obi-Wan’s voice in his head—Anakin, it will not catch you if you fight it! You must fight your fear! Anakin! But the voice was only an illusion, only a dream. He ran harder.

Obi-Wan woke suddenly from a restless, disturbed half-sleep he had never meant to take. He could feel the disturbance in the Force around him, as tangible as a hard, metallic smell in the evening air. The air was tight with roiling potential energy, as through a storm was brewing. Slowly, he rose to his feet, wondering why no one had bothered to start their joint journey yet. The ship was silent, still, dark. Obi-Wan went to check on Anakin and Shmi.
After the rest, brief as it had been, and agitated, he felt much better. A nearly-instinctive healing trance had worked its magic on his injury, and it had begun to heal already. Obi-Wan thoughtfully turned his mind on Ventress, the apprentice he had—even if unintentionally—left behind. He had to rescue her, somehow, and soon. The mercuric temperament of the Dathomirian girl would dispose her to rapid, bitter despair, if she was not rescued soon.
There was a bitter wind blowing through the Force. He could feel it. There was an east wind coming, and many things would wither under its harsh and breathless blast, leaving only the things that could endure, that could last. And nothing, no matter how strong, lasted forever. Palpatine’s actions—his own existence—they rattled the foundations of the Sith Empire, threatening to topple it. And if his mere existence was worth so much, then what could he do… when he really set his mind to it? The thought was staggering, frightening, even.
Shmi was sleeping, peacefully, it seemed, but Obi-Wan could sense the foggy, murky inner turmoil behind feeble natural shields. He sent a soothing breath to her, and she relaxed. Obi-Wan moved on.
Anakin was not in his bunk. Despite the apparent peace of the moonlit, mysterious, magical, still night, Obi-Wan’s growing, nagging unease blossomed into a sharp prick of lucid, almost painful alarm. Something in the Force—something inside him in answer—screamed a warning half a second before a shuddering yet powerful whirlwind of hate caught Obi-Wan and hurled him backward, against the wall. Against the ringing in his ears, Obi-Wan struggled through the haze of his own half-stunned intellect and scrambled to his feet. Still trying to regain his balance, he chased off after the fleeing boy.

It was early in the morning when Ninane found herself pounding down the hallways of the Imperial Palace, disturbing the few who were already awake, perhaps even awakening a few of those who were not. She paused in front of the entrance to Dooku’s quarters, trying to improve her haphazard appearance, but before she had finished, the door opened of its own accord and Dooku’s deep voice rolled majestically out to meet her. “Enter.”
Swallowing hard, Ninane stepped into the quarters, an elegant and impressive antechamber and study with the bedroom hidden at the back. Ninane slowly tiptoed into the room, feeling very small, insignificant, and frightened. Dooku might pretend familiarity with her, but she knew her place far too well to offer it in return, and here, on the Sith Lord’s turf, she was reminded yet again of her own lowliness. In her own laboratory, she might offer objections, but here, in the inner sanctum of the Sith, she could not even raise a hand to defend herself if attacked, unless Dooku willed it.
Dooku was already up and dressed immaculately, not a hair out of place, despite the early hour. Ninane swallowed as he turned to face her. “Ah, Ninane. I trust you have the test results I wanted?” Ninane swallowed again.
“Yes, my lord. But I think they must be impossible.” She handed the print-off sheet that she had obtained from the computer to Dooku, who perused it.
“Over 20,000—too high to accurately test, in fact?” Dooku said, one silver eyebrow raised. Ninane swallowed, a third time.
“Yes, my lord. I wasn’t sure what it was, a malfunction or a mis-calibration, or if it was something else, so I brought it to you…” she babbled, her words falling away as she realized that Dooku was looking at her.
“It was undoubtedly a malfunction,” he replied. “A midichlorien count that high is impossible.” Ninane gulped and bowed.
“I can re-calibrate the equipment and bring back an accurate count before this evening,” she offered, tremulously.
“No need,” Dooku said in his sonorous voice. “The matter is of no importance, after all.” Ninane heaved a sigh of relief. “Of course, you will keep this confidential,” Dooku continued, authoritatively. Ninane bobbed her head hurriedly.
“Yes, my lord, of course,” she said. Dooku’s smile was thin and knifing as a cold wind blowing shards of ice before it.
“I have no doubt you will,” he said.

 

Advertisements

Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter III

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, insanity, panic attacks, shifting tides series, small rants, star wars, stories in progress

Hi! I’m back again, and here’s the next chapter. (Please, please, please give me some feedback on this one–I need the inspiration–continuation is proving difficult. As in, I don’t have another full chapter to post after this one!!! Chances of survival: Over four million to one. :-P)

This chapter: Dooku grows curious, an escape, a rescue attempt, and a failure. May the Force be with you (and the same to me, I sure need it…)

Chapter III

                Dooku walked into the med center, nodding to the receptionist as he did so. He made his way into the lab, curtly acknowledging the technician. He handed her the blood sample he had obtained earlier, while Kenobi was being interrogated.

“Ninane. I need a run-down on this blood sample. The midichlorien count is the most important thing.” Ninane sighed, shrugging.

“I’m sorry, my lord. The equipment is off-line—it won’t be until tomorrow that I can get it back to you.” Dooku gave no sign of irritation.

“Very well,” he shrugged off-handedly. “Time is not an object, as long as I get the midichlorien count.” With that, he left.

 

The sun had set hours ago, and the confines of the Imperial Palace had quieted somewhat. Obi-Wan’s eyes shot open, and he raised himself from the bed where he had laid down an hour ago, until the night gathered and worked its magic. Carefully, he took a long knife that he had sharpened before lying down from its hiding place beneath the mattress, and steeled himself. Taking a deep breath, he cut his upper arm, touching the slave transmitter and flicking it out with a combination of the knife point and the Force, to keep it from activating. He slid it under the mattress and bandaged the wound as best as he could. That done, he slipped out of his room and went to Shmi and Anakin’s quarters. The door slid open silently. The Skywalkers were prepared and waiting.

“Come on!” he wshipsered, grabbing the bundle out of Shmi’s arms, as the exited the quarters. “Hurry!” he hissed. “It’s already late. We have to go!” Silently, they rushed down the deserted corridors of the palace.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan froze. “Wait…”

“Come on! Hurry!” Anakin said, rushing forward.

“No, Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan cried, leaping after Anakin, grabbing at the collar of the boy’s shirt. Too late. The two of them barreled together into a patrol of the royal guards.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin and hit the ground with the boy underneath him, shielding him with his body. The first barrage of their fire spent, the guards retreated momentarily. Obi-Wan leaped to his feet, kicking out, his boot connecting solidly with the targeted guard’s jaw, felling him, as the young warrior struck another smoothly in the stomach with the same motion. In an impressive display of martial arts lasting for the next thirty seconds or so, the remainder of the guards were all on the ground, unconscious. Obi-Wan flicked his hair back out of his eyes. “We should go. We still haven’t—” He swayed. “We haven’t even picked up Ventress yet.” He hurried them along at a brisk pace. Shmi moved quickly to his side.

“Ventress?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“We’re taking her with us.” Suddenly, the young man clutched at his side, his footsteps faltering a little.

“Are you all right?” Shmi asked, concerned.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan managed, cheerfully. He staggered. Shmi was almost scared now.

“Obi-Wan, you’re not ‘fine’,” she said.

“I’ll be okay—we have to get Ventress, and go!” They ran on for a bit, then Obi-Wan suddenly fell, without a cry or gasp or any other sound. Shmi gasped.

“He’s been shot!” she said, fingers ghosting over the burn mark on the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Let’s get him to the ship!” Anakin exclaimed, grabbing one of the unconscious Jedi’s arms and struggling in an attempt to pull him onward.

“But what about Ventress?” Shmi wanted to know.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!”

Shmi did not notice, as they lifted Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, the odd, unnatural yellow tinge in her son’s eyes.

 

When Obi-Wan did not come for her, Ventress began to worry. Her overactive imagination supplied myriads of macabre images of the daring young Jedi found out—captured—tortured—killed. She waited an hour—an hour and thirty minutes—after curfew.

Still no sign of her would-be rescuer.

Taking a deep breath, Asajj hurried out into the corridor. No sign of Obi-Wan anywhere. Swiftly, Asajj searched all the relevant corridors. Still there was no sign of Obi-Wan.

Asajj rushed to the private hangar of the palace. She got there just in time to see a sleek corvette lift off the pad and take off. Her desperate waving and shouts went unheeded. The ship made for space, quickly disappearing into the distance.

Asajj stood, frozen to the spot, for several long minutes, feeling betrayed. Then, sadly, she turned and retraced her steps to her room.

There would be no rescue for her.

She had been left behind.

 

Somehow, between the two of them, they somehow managed to get Obi-Wan on board a spaceworthy craft and take off. As soon as they were a safe distance from Coruscant’s busy airspace, Anakin set the coordinates for a small Outer Rim planet in the middle of nowhere. As the ship made the jump to hyperspace, Obi-Wan blinked, opened his eyes. Shmi hurried to his side, concern coloring her voice.

“Obi-Wan? Are you all right?” she asked. “Other than the obvious, are you hurt?”

“I think I’m all right… What happened?” Obi-Wan groaned, holding his injured side.

“You were injured. We had to get you on board here as quickly as we could.” Shmi replied.

“What about Asajj?” Obi-Wan asked. “Did you find her? Is she here?”

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan…” Shmi turned away slightly. Obi-Wan felt a sinking, sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach.

“And?” he prompted.

“I’m sorry,” Shmi repeated. Obi-Wan grabbed her arm.

“Please, Shmi. You have to tell me!” he urged.

“When you were injured,” Shmi began, “we thought it would be best to go as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to, but Anakin was worried about you…”

Obi-Wan put his head in his hands. “Oh, no,” he breathed. “It’s back.”

“What’s back?” Shmi asked, suddenly afraid. “What do you mean?”

“Vader. Anakin’s selfish, twisted side,” Obi-Wan replied, darkly. Shmi frowned.

“I thought he had it under control,” she said.

“He still has not learned control,” Obi-Wan ground out. “He needs more time, which is something we don’t have much of right now.” He gingerly probed the wound. “It’s not that bad,” he said, cautiously. “I must have gone into shock.” Even Jedi were not immune to the ravages of an over-reacting body. Obi-Wan stood, carefully checking his balance before he fully trusted himself to it. “Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Nagr, I think,” Shmi replied. “I’m not sure.”

“I’ll go ask Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, walking with surprising steadiness toward the cockpit. Shmi hurried after him.

“Wait… are you sure that’s such a good idea? You’re injured!” she exclaimed, unheeded.

 

Obi-Wan entered the cockpit. “Anakin,” he said softly.

“Yes, Master Obi-Wan?” Too prim, too smooth, too calm. Obi-Wan was instantly on his guard.

“Where are we going?” he asked deliberately. Anakin’s eyes shifted slightly to his left as he replied.

“I don’t know. We were in a hurry to get you away.” Obi-Wan leaned down against the center console, his weight on the heels of his hands, intentionally invading Anakin’s personal space.

“Don’t lie to me, Vader,” he said, purposefully. “I know that’s not Anakin talking. What’s your ugly little game?”

“Kenobi,” the Dark Side hissed. Obi-Wan gathered the light around himself, flinging all that he could muster at it. It vanished, but Obi-Wan knew that it was only temporarily routed, not permanently put to flight. The soft wisps of light, seemingly weak yet startlingly resilient, that he had used to drive out the dark were already returning to him. He leaned forward and grasped Anakin’s shoulders.

“Anakin. Snap out of it. The Dark Side—you have to fight it, Anakin!” No response. Anakin appeared to be sleeping. Obi-Wan slowly released the boy’s shoulders.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter II

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, shifting tides series, star wars, stories in progress

I kind of owe this to you for the delays, don’t I? Especially since the last chapter was so short… not my fault. It’s just the way this story is telling itself, I guess.

This chapter: Obi-Wan, Anakin, Shmi and Ventress make plans. Low angst levels–please tolerate ’em for the moment. 😉

Chapter II

                Alone now, Obi-Wan shuddered. His danger sense had been screaming beyond sound the whole time he had been speaking with Dooku, painful white lights flashing behind his eyes, a headache pounding in his temples. He hurried down the halls, his original destination forgotten, the errand ignored. He found the place where Ventress would be passing along, between training rooms, with the other prospective Sith, soon. He walked swiftly down the corridor, just as Asajj and her classmates were coming up it behind Kyrina, the Nightsister and Sith acolyte who was their floormaster. Passing through the midst of the unruly crowd at a swift walk, as if unaware of anything except his fictitious task, he collided purposefully with Asajj and fell, together with her, in a complex tangle, to the floor. Quickly, he whispered in her ear, “We’re going to escape tonight. Pass the word to Anakin. Details later.” Asajj didn’t even nod—the quick, unintentionally painful pressure of her elbow in his ribs was confirmation enough, without being dangerous. Struggling to his feet in an overtly ungainly manner, Obi-Wan calmly withstood the fearsome onslaught of Kyrina’s wrath, vanishing with extraordinary rapidity as soon as her verbal abuse was concluded. He hurried to find Shmi. Finding her in the kitchen, where she was peeling scalded tomatoes, he hurriedly pulled over a second pan of tomatoes and began to pop them neatly out of their loosened skins.

“They haven’t found Steela and brought her back?” he asked softly, glancing at the empty space in the kitchens. Shmi gave him the barest hint of a smile.

“No. She hasn’t been dragged back in chains yet. I think we can hope that she did get away clean after all.”

“I hope so. It’s been far too long since someone successfully escaped the palace. It will make the Sith’s heads spin when it happens twice in one week. We’re leaving tonight, Mother.” Shmi gasped quietly.

“I thought you said we weren’t going to go for some time yet—until you were absolutely sure that everything was ready.”

“I changed my mind. Dooku’s been showing some interest in me, and, well… the escape won’t go forward without me.”

“You’re right. We’d never manage to escape alone,” Shmi said softly. “I understand. I’ll be ready.” Tomatoes all skinned, Obi-Wan left the kitchens and delivered the message he had been running, albeit half an hour late. It earned him a brutal cuff about the ears, but he barely noticed it.

Tomorrow morning, it would all be done with, forever.

Battlefield of the Soul, Chapter I

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, long rants, shifting tides series, star wars, stories in progress

I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but it’s finally here! The first chapter of Battlefield of the Soul is finally complete. Again, I apologize for the long delay. I really didn’t think it would take nearly as long as it has.

All right, I have to give you a few notes before I post the chapter. First of all, this story proved to be much shorter than I had expected. Mostly, it’s about Dooku and his ideas, Obi-Wan’s struggle for freedom, and Asajj. But the biggest part of the story is Anakin’s fight with Vader, the Dark Side as it exists within himself. It’s more of a gap filler than anything else, because though it’s important, there’s actually not much action. It’s more like a character study, I think. Also, it’s turning out to be much more difficult to write and edit. The scenes from the next installment (which I have already begun to look forward to, and which will involve the utter awepicness of Jango Fett himself!) have proven much easier, for some reason. Normally, when I do a character sketch, it just flows. But now… it’s very frustrating!!!

Okay, on with the show. Just a caveat–mentions of torture in this chapter. Read with discretion. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter I

                “Siri, what are you doing?” Obi-Wan hissed. Siri riffled hurriedly through the papers. Obi-Wan swallowed, hard. Those could be death to both of them if anyone knew what was going on. He had already reported the important things… why did Siri have to make things worse like this? It was maddening. “Someone will come in and see you!” he continued, anxiously glancing around at the walls of Sidious’ makeshift office on Naboo.

                “Don’t worry, Obi-Wan,” Siri said, her voice still in that annoying tone that made her seem to think that she knew so much better than he did.

                She didn’t.

                Obi-Wan hissed out a colorful expletive and snapped, “Siri, get out of here! Sidious is coming!” Any espionage possibilities instantly forgotten, Siri leaped to her feet and dashed from the room.

                She almost collided with Sidious.

                Reflexively, Obi-Wan leaped forward in a sudden attack. “Run, Siri!” he shouted as he grappled with Sidious. The guards stood by, unsure of what to do, as Obi-Wan struggled with their emperor.

                “Get the girl!” Sidious shouted. The guards moved to comply. Obi-Wan Force-pushed them against the wall, a tangle of limbs and gaudy livery.

                By the time they managed to get to their feet, Siri was long gone.

                Obi-Wan managed to press Sidious to the ground, but the Sith wasn’t going to stay down for long. Obi-Wan felt his throat constrict as Sidious gripped him, through the Force. He dangled a few feet above the ground, struggling for breath. Sidious slammed him hard into a wall, then hurled the energy of his anger at the young man. Obi-Wan cried out, writhing, unable to defend himself.

                “So, what did you have to do with this, Korzu?” Obi-Wan struggled to breathe. The Sith lightning came down at him again. “Speak!”

 

Obi-Wan came back suddenly to harsh reality, burning agony searing a blazing, white-hot line across his vision. “The girl who escaped… had you seen her before?” Silence. It took Obi-Wan a moment to realize that Xanatos was addressing him. Don’t tell him. he thought. That could lead to giving away everyone’s safety. “Were you involved in her initial escape?” Don’t say anything. Don’t blow your cover. You’re no use to the Council revealed, or dead. If he really wants it, let him fish, and dive, and caper and grovel for it. I still won’t tell. “What role did you have in the escape of queen-elect Amidala?” Still stubborn silence. Xanatos paced the other way. “Who were your accomplices? Did they press you into service?” He walked slowly in an ever-tightening circle around Obi-Wan. “Did you witness the escape? What happened? How did they get past the guards?” A mere hitch in already ragged breathing, unreadable either way. Nothing more. “Why did you help the Jedi Tachi to escape? How did you know her name?” Obi-Wan silently cursed himself. Why had he spoken Siri’s name aloud? But the damage was already done and could not be undone. Do in haste, regret in leisure, the saying went. He had said her name in the heat of the moment, and he was paying for it now. Only one slip in a lifetime. The irony was palpable.

Qui-Gon’s worry seeped into his awareness. Their bond had been allowed to remain in place, due to the unusual circumstances, and the fact that Yoda had declared that their bond was far too strong to break. Obi-Wan sent a wordless reassurance across to him, along with an imperative to calm Siri and tell her not to worry. He would be fine, just as he always had been.

 

Sidious entered. Obi-Wan was too tired, his thoughts too disorganized, his body too weak, to even acknowledge the Sith Lord’s presence. “Well, my Prince,” Sidious said, with a cruel laugh. “Ready to talk, yet?” Obi-Wan raised his head slightly with an effort and stared defiantly into acidic yellow eyes. Liquid fire shot along his veins, melting every thought as it was formed, but he still did not cry out.

The Sundaga Sith Lord, Argwal, leaning over him, overlong, skeletal forefingers pressed against his temples. Obi-Wan shuddered and tried to pull away, but he was too weak, and every movement sent jolts of pain lancing through him. The Sundaga was nominally the head of interior security, but it really was the creature’s innate ability, enhanced by the Force, to tell exactly when to stop, when a single moment longer would kill him. “The pain would stop, if only you would let go of your pride and tell us what happened,” the Sundaga wheedled. Go to your own place, Sith, and I hope you enjoy the company, Obi-Wan thought, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He was too disoriented even to speak.

The blackness swirled up from the depths and swept him off into oblivion.

 

Dooku entered the cell, humming an aria from an opera. He glanced across the room, at the young man who hung in chains in its center. Dooku clicked his tongue in disapproval and disgust. The young man raised his head slowly, painfully, a dull flicker in his gray eyes the only acknowledgement of Dooku’s presence. “So, it comes to this,” Dooku said softly. Obi-Wan said nothing, all his energy focused on just staying conscious. “They tell me that you aided the escape of a Jedi. Why would you do such a thing?” Obi-Wan raised his head to see the hungry expression in Dooku’s dark eyes. He smiled a little, somewhat secret and somewhat mocking. Dooku seized his chin, forcing him to face him. “What have you to gain by your defiance?” Strange green eyes looked deep into his soul.

“What do I have to lose?” the young man replied. Dooku frowned, searching the boy’s curiously ancient eyes. The boy was stubborn, and different. Just along the edges of his Force-presence was a slight tang of something exotic, alien.

 

Time passed, and the questioning passed with it. Even the patience of Sith could be worn out by sheer fortitude. Obi-Wan returned to his ordinary duties, slowly, though it took what seemed like weeks to recover.

Qui-Gon was away on a mission and did not meet with him for a very long time. Things seemed to be going on much as usual, but Obi-Wan could not stifle the feeling of something about to happen. So things went on, time passed in the same way as it always had, but always with the growing feeling of unease.

 

Finally, things came to a head. Ventress had a spat with Luda, a much older initiate of the dark arts. And he himself… had to face Dooku.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my young philosopher friend.” Dooku’s deep voice echoed throughout the passage. Obi-Wan stopped and drew in a deep breath.

“Lord Tyrannus,” he said, not bothering to turn around. He could practically sense Dooku’s amusement—he was, evidently, the only one with such audacity as to address the Sith Lord by name. The older man smiled.

“Why so formal, all of a sudden? Surely the titles may be dropped among friends, young Kenobi.”

“Perhaps. But perhaps I don’t consider you a friend.” The sharpness in his tone was not lost on Dooku; neither were the implications of its sudden mutation into seriousness. “Why all the sudden interest in my friendship—in me? I’m only a slave. What do you want from me? What’s your ulterior motive?” Obi-Wan carefully stepped sideways, cautiously keeping his distance. Dooku stepped forward, backing him against the wall.

“You are, of course, too astute to miss that,” Dooku noted. “You are capable of avoiding the subject or being direct as you will, wrapping a bitter meaning in honeyed words, deflecting attention among the intelligent, drawing on the ignorant with the promise of nothing at all…” Obi-Wan ignored the stream of words, choosing to get to the point at once.

“Another distraction tactic,” he said shortly, not at all abashed.

“What is your ulterior motive, Obi-Wan?” Dooku asked.

“Survival.” Obi-Wan replied bluntly. Dooku raised an eyebrow.

“Self-preservation—a worthy cause.”

“Why are you here?” Obi-Wan asked, brusquely, half-hoping that this bold affront would deter Dooku from any more words than were absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, he knew that Dooku was too suave and too determined to be distracted by the ploy.

“Perhaps I only wished to have your friendship,” Dooku hedged.

“What if I’m too proud to accept it?” Obi-Wan asked, coldly.

“Then you’ll be far more foolish than I took you for at our first meeting,” Dooku said. Obi-Wan smiled dangerously, thinly, at the veiled insult, as the said hypothetical example was completely possible and more than likely, and they both knew it.

Except, it was not on pride but on principle that Obi-Wan refused Dooku’s friendship.

“Think of me as a fool, then,” he said, still smiling that perilous, thin, feral smile, and walked briskly away.

 

Left behind, Dooku smiled as well, a hungry, predatory smile. He knew very well what he was looking for. The boy was strong in the Force, and as the heir to the throne was in a strategic position—though Kenobi was defiant, he might in the future reconsider. Kenobi’s strong-willed determination was a setback, to be sure, but not a real difficulty. It made the coveted prize all the more desirable. Kenobi would be a pleasure to break. The accomplishment of Dooku’s goal was inevitable.

The young man, in the end, would join him, and together they would overthrow the usurper. And then… then it would resolve itself in the clever game of cat and mouse, in which only one could ever be left alive at the end. If it ended in his own death, Dooku didn’t mind. To train a worthy successor was enough for any Sith, honor and glory to last an eternity. Darth Bane had said it, and it was true.

Kenobi would be his.

Sweeter than Fiction; Battlefield of the Soul PREVIEW!!!!

Tags

alternate universe, battlefield of the soul, completely random posts, insanity, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, previews, shifting tides series, short stories, song-related fiction

Hello! I’m back… contrary to popular opinion I have not fallen off the face of the ether… ;-P

Today, we have a special treat. A guest post from Iris, aka Irisbloom5 on Nanowrimo and Daylee15 on Wikia and lego.com!

A few weeks (?) ago, Iris, who is a consummate Taylor Swift fan, contacted me with news of a new Taylor Swift song, which, she said, “fitted The Hero’s Dream and its sequels as if written for it!” Not being a Taylor Swift connoisseur myself, I gave her my full permission to “song fic away!” And this is the awesomeness that resulted. 😀 Enjoy!

NB: This fic does contain spoilers, but if you’ve read The Hero’s Dream it won’t be spoiled for you. 😉 The only other one, I think you probably all already saw coming. 😉 If you read to the bottom, I promise, you will find a preview for the next installment in the Shifting Tides series, Battlefield of the Soul. I promise. So…

Read? Please? @_@

Sweeter Than Fiction

Hit the ground, hit the ground, hit the ground, oh oh

 Only sound, only sound that you hear is no

 You never saw it coming

 Slipped when you started running

 And now you’ve come undone and…

Siri stared at the floor, her foot tapping out a steady rhythm. A few other occupants of the stark white waiting room that she was currently stuck in glanced her way, biting back the impatient scowls the most likely wanted to show. Siri didn’t care what they thought. She’d been stuck in the sanitary hell hole for longer then she could stand. At last, Bant appeared at the door. Siri immediately sprang to her feet, ignoring the tell-tale tingle from sitting to long. “How is he?” she asked.

“Awake,” Bant answered. “He still has some healing to do though. Physically and mentally.”

“But I can see him?” Siri insisted.

“Of course.”

Siri practically ran down the halls to Obi-Wan’s room, not stopping till she was standing in the door. She sucked in a breath as quietly as she could, but he heard it anyway.

“Please, don’t say anything Siri,” he asked, not even turning his head to look at her. Siri stepped into the room and approached the bedside.

“How many were lost?” Obi-Wan asked weakly.

“Bant said…”

“I don’t care what Bant said, I want to know!”

“No more then a dozen,” Siri answered, and she winced as a pang of guilt and grief went through the Force. “Don’t blame yourself…”

“Then who should I blame?” Obi-Wan asked, growing angry. “Dooku? Sidious? It was me who failed to get everyone out in time!”

“This isn’t your fault,” Siri shot back.

 I, I, I, I

 Seen you fall, seen you crawl on your knees, eh eh

 Seen you lost in a crowd, seen your colors fade

 Wish I could make it better

 Some day you won’t remember

 This pain you thought would last forever and ever

“We gather to celebrate the lives and memories of those lost in the recent attack,” Master Windu said, his booming voice shrunk to a reverent tone. What there was of the Jedi Order present all bowed their covered heads, each remembering their own memories of the fallen knights. Siri tried to, but her eyes kept glancing over at Obi-Wan where he stood at Qui-Gon’s side. Even with his face covered in shadow, she could read him like a book. He was trying to meditate on those he knew, but each memory came with a pang of guilt. No one else seemed to notice the struggling and guilt ridden knight, but Siri did. She saw, and she felt guilt rise in her own heart. Guilt that wasn’t even sensible. She felt guilty because she was unable to save him from the pain he was going through. She couldn’t, and that hurt her almost as badly as Obi-Wan’s guilt did him. The only difference was she was better at hiding it.

Hold on, Siri thought, not sure if he’d even pick up the words. This war won’t last forever.

He glanced up, meeting her eyes. He’d heard. Whether he actually believed her was another question.

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“Have you thought about what will happen after the war?” Siri asked as Obi-Wan busied himself with packing for their latest assignment. Siri, for once, had known before him, and was already done. Not to mention she’d hurried so she talk to him before they left.

“Not really, no,” Obi-Wan answered distractedly.

“With Sidious gone,” Siri ventured, “there’d be no one standing in your way to take up…”

“No, ” Obi-Wan answered sharply, and he slammed his drawer shut. “I will never be recognized as Deriaka’s heir.”

“What is it people say about the sins of the father?” Siri pointed out, hopping down from the bed. “You don’t have to be Deriaka, and honestly I can’t think of anyone more qualified to clean up the mess the Sith will leave in their wake. You want to leave it to the bureaucrats who can’t even think for themselves?”

“I’m done talking about this, Siri.”

“Maybe your right,” Siri said slowly. “You’d look even shorter in a great big crown then you do now.” Obi-Wan glanced back at Siri, still frowning, but a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Just a shot, just a shot in the dark, oh oh

All you got, all you got are your shattered hopes

They never saw it coming

You hit the ground running

And now you’re onto something,

Qui-Gon slipped into the med room silently. Siri and Obi-Wan still noticed his entrance though, and Siri rose to leave. “No Siri,” Qui-Gon said quickly, motioning to the seat she had just vacated. “Please stay. That might help.” Siri didn’t ask help with what, but simply reclaimed her seat as asked to. Qui-Gon took the second chair.

“Obi-Wan, I want to talk with you.”

“That’s rather obvious Master, I just don’t know why.”

“Siri and Bant,” Qui-Gon began, “has brought to my attention the struggles you’ve been facing recently. We are all worried about you.” Obi-Wan began playing with the blanket on the bed, looking down to avoid eye contact with his former Master.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

“Obi-Wan, who are you?”

“I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, former slave to the Emperor, and jedi knight,” Obi-Wan said automatically.

“And, what else?” Qui-Gon prodded.

“The Chosen One,” Obi-Wan sighed.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I’m supposed to bring balance to the Force.”

“And what does that mean?”

Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” he said at last.

“That’s right,” Qui-Gon said with a nod. “And neither do I, and neither does Master Yoda. I can tell you what it doesn’t mean; it doesn’t mean you are meant to save everyone.”

“Master…” Obi-Wan began, but Qui-Gon cut him off.

“No, Obi-Wan listen to me. You have been under a shadow since the attack. You blame yourself for the deaths of others for which you share no blame. Just because you are the Chosen One, and you are told to be the greatest Jedi, does not mean you can stop death. There is no power great enough for that, and if there is, it certainly wouldn’t be worth the cost.”

“Master,” Obi-Wan said his eyes wide, “I did not… I never meant…. Master, i don’t claim to have that power.”

“Then do not blame yourself as if you do,” Qui-Gon snapped, and he rose, stepping closer to Obi-Wan.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softer, quieter. “I let my frustration get the best of me. Obi-Wan, you have so much potential, and you have done many things that would be beyond a normal Jedi, yet you continue to push yourself harder and harder. If you continue this, you will break. You tread close to such a fate even now.”

Without another word, Qui-Gon left. Obi-Wan glanced down again.

“He’s right,” Obi-Wan whispered, just barely loud enough for Siri to hear. “He’s right about me, about everything.”

“I know,” Siri said softly, leaning forward to take his hand. “I know.”

I, I, I say

What a sight, what a sight when the light came on

Proved me right, proved me right when you proved them wrong

And in this perfect weather

It’s like we don’t remember

The rain we thought would last forever and ever

Blue clashing on red. Once again Dooku had found them, and once again they found themselves pitted against him. But this time was different.

“I see you are letting your true colors show at last,” Dooku said to Obi-Wan. “I can feel the pain in you, the want for retribution.”

“You are wrong,” Obi-Wan said, just as calmly as the Count. “I want no such thing. All I want is for the restoration of freedom in the galaxy, for the light to chase away the dark.”

“And how do you suppose you can do that?” Dooku taunted, holding Obi-Wan’s blade at bay with the appearance of ease. Siri watched from where she crouched, ready to rejoin the fight if Obi-Wan need her, despite his orders forbidding her movement. “You are nothing after all,” Dooku continued. “The lowest of the low. A Jedi who was raised a slave. How powerful can you be?”

“More powerful then you know,” Obi-Wan answered with gritted teeth. At that moment, against all odds, Dooku flew backwards, slamming into the wall behind him. Surprised, but not dazed, Dooku looked up at the triumphant Jedi who stood above him shoulders back and a fierce light in his eyes.

“The Chosen One,” Dooku whispered.

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

There you’ll stand, next to me

All at once, the rest is history

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“This is it,” Siri whispered to the man beside her, the brightly colored robes falling to the floor. Obi-Wan meddled with the rich fabric, looking anything but comfortable.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered. Siri laid a hand on his shoulder, and helped to straighten his collar.

“I can,” Siri replied. “I always knew you’d do this. I didn’t doubt for a second.”

“Except maybe the hundred times it looked like I wouldn’t even see the end of the war, right?” Obi-wan teased. Siri frowned.

“When did I ever say that?” Siri asked, pretending not to know what he meant. Obi-Wan just shook his head and let the matter drop.

“Nearly time now,” Siri said as she glanced at a chrono on the wall. Obi-Wan looked as well, and then sighed.

“Do I have to do this?” He asked.

“No,” Siri answered. “But I think you want to.”

Qui-Gon stepped inside now, a few guards accompanying him, restored from the red robes of the Sith’s royal guards to blue Republic garb.

“It’s time,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan took a deep breath and stepped out through the door onto the balcony in the senate chambers, followed closely by the guards. A loud roar of approval followed, and Siri grinned at Qui-Gon.

“And so the war ends,” she said.

“But another begins,” Qui-Gon reminded her. “The sith are defeated, but there is still much to do.”

I’ll be one of the many saying

Look at you now, look at you now, now

I’ll be one of the many saying

You made us proud, you made us proud, proud

I’ll be one of the many saying

Look at you now, look at you now, now

I’ll be one of the many saying

You made us proud, you made us proud, proud

“To Obi-Wan!” Siri cried, raising her glass high. “The New Supreme Ruler of the Galaxy.”

“Siri!” Obi-Wan protested. everyone else present though only laughed, and echoed the toast. It was after the inauguration, and our group of heroes and their friends were gathered to celebrate.

Siri elbowed Obi-Wan playfully.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Have a little fun!”

“I don’t see why I should,” Obi-Wan replied, trying to avoid jostling his wine glass. He’d only accept the beverage after a lot of persuasion, and threats of being tied to a chair in the Younglings’ party room.

“You are the Emperor!” Siri reminded him. “And the best one this galaxy has had since the old days.”

“I’m Regent, not Emperor,” Obi-Wan reminded her, “and I’ve only been so for two hours, how do you know I’ll be the best?”

Siri looked him in the eyes.

“I just know,” she said, the joking tone gone from her voice. “And so does everyone else in this room.”

And then they call your name and we

Put your picture in a frame

You now that I’ll be there time and again

‘Cause I loved you when, when you

“I can’t believe this,” Obi-Wan groaned, slouching down as far as he could in the speeder, as if the reporters camera would find a way to see through the blacked out windows. “You’d think they’d get tired of taking pictures of the same person after a while.”

“Are you kidding?” Siri asked him, twisting around from the shotgun. “That’s all they do! It’s what they get paid for. Do you know how much a well placed photo of you is worth?”

“No, and I don’t think I want to learn,” Obi-Wan answered firmly. “Don’t you get tired of following me into these messes? You get it worse then I do, because nobody cares if they trample you.”

“I’ve come this far with you, and don’t intend to abandon you to the picture hungry mobs yet,” Siri shot back. “Don’t even try talking me out of it.”

Obi-Wan gave her a strained grin. “Thank you, Siri.”

Hit the ground, hit the ground, hit the ground, oh oh

Only sound, only sound that you heard was no

Now in this perfect weather

It’s like we don’t remember

The rain we thought would last forever and ever

There you’ll stand, ten feet tall

I will say, I knew it all along

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

There you’ll stand, next to me

All at once, the rest is history

Your eyes wider than distance

This life is sweeter than fiction

“So, how does it feel to be out and about and not be recognized as Supreme Ruler of…”

“Siri!”

Siri laughed and took a swig from the beaker she held. She, Obi-Wan, Garen, Bant, and Quinlan were all out celebrating. They had chosen a small little tavern of sorts far from 500 Republica and the senatorial chambers. Here, Obi-Wan had less chance of being recognized as Emperor and therefore mobbed. This was the first time in months the gang had all been together on Coruscant at once, and it was worthy of celebration.

“So, how is his highness getting on?” Garen asked, grinning at Obi-Wan.

“Barely getting on,” Obi-Wan answered, grabbing a small cake from the plate in the center of the table. “And how are our hunters?”

“Tired,” Quinlan exclaimed. “Me and Garen have been out coming the outer rim for months it seems. I say we just let local authorities call of us if a Sith shows up, rather then us wasting our energies searching for them.”

“That’s a matter for the Council,” Obi-Wan pointed out,” so I hope you are not asking me to do anything.”

“You need to do something with all that power of yours,” Garen remarked, and all the others burst into laughter at Obi-Wan’s exasperated expression. Bant took pity on him, and reprimanded Garen.

“Now Garen,” she said, waving a finger at her fellow knight, “you know very well Obi-Wan has enough to do. He has a senate to run, and papers to sign, and… um…” Bant could not think of anything else Obi-Wan had been busy doing, and her point rather fell short.

“Oh I see,” Quinlan remarked, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Yes, I suppose papers are a lot of work.” That set everyone off again, and Obi-Wan didn’t bother to respond.

“To us,” Siri announced, lifting her glass for a toast. “And which ever of us is going to write our history.” The others laughed, knowing fully well the only person among them who’d even try to do that happened to be the current ruler of the galaxy.

“To us,” Obi-Wan echoed. “And our biographer, Siri.”

“Ha!” Siri laughed, knocking glasses with Obi-Wan. “That’s the funniest joke tonight!”

Bant smiled at her two friends, and raised her own glass. “To life,” she said.

“To life,” Siri echoed. “A life sweeter than fiction.”

Is sweeter than fiction

Is sweeter, yeah

Is sweeter, is sweeter

Sweeter than fiction

And now, for the preview… 😉 Enjoy!

Obi-Wan froze. “Wait…”

“Come on! Hurry!” Anakin said, rushing forward.

“No, Anakin, wait!” Obi-Wan cried, leaping after Anakin, grabbing at the collar of the boy’s shirt. Too late. The two of them barreled into a patrol of the  royal guards.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin and hit the ground with the boy underneath him, shielding him with his body. The first barrage of their fire spent, the guards retreated momentarily. Obi-Wan leaped to his feet, kicking out, his boot connecting solidly with the guard’s jaw, felling him, as the young warrior struck another smoothly in the stomach with the same motion. In an impressive display of martial arts lasting for the next thirty seconds or so, the remainder of the guards were all on the ground, unconscious. Obi-Wan flicked his hair back out of his eyes. “We should go. We still haven’t–” He swayed. “We haven’t even picked up Ventress yet.” He hurried them along at a brisk pace. Shmi moved quickly to his side.

“Ventress?” she asked. Obi-Wan nodded.

“We’re taking her with us.” Suddenly, the young man clutched at his side, his footsteps faltering a little.

“Are you all right?” Shmi asked, concerned.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan managed, cheerfully. He staggered. Shmi was almost scared now.

“Obi-Wan, you’re not ‘fine’,” she said.

“I’ll be okay–we have to get Ventress, and go!” They ran on for a bit, then Obi-Wan suddenly fell, without a cry or gasp or any other sound. Shmi gasped.

“He’s been shot!” she said, fingers ghosting over the burn mark on the fabric of Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Let’s get him to the ship!” Anakin exclaimed, grabbing one of the unconscious Jedi’s arms and struggling in an attempt to pull him onward.

“But what about Ventress?” Shmi wanted to know.

“There’s no time. Let’s go!“

Shmi did not notice, as they lifted Obi-Wan’s unconscious form, the odd, unnatural yellow tinge in her son’s eyes.

Aaand… CLIFFHANGER! This is fun. X-P

I hope that will tide you over until the end of the month, when I will probably take up the mantle of the chronicler of the Shifting Tides series once more. Ta-ta until then! *waltzes blithely off*