Hey, could you link that short story about Sa'har again? The one that helps give context for Tau's worry about her. I was trying to find it, but I can't seem to. >.< (I think you're the person who originally mentioned it...if not, ignore me.)
I have! Actually, there's a few short stories I've read but they're hard to find, so I found this reddit post and thought about making a list on tumblr for easier access!
Short Stories
The Search for Oricon - Log written by Jonas Balkar, takes place prior to Oricon missions
Lana Beniko's Journal: Darth Arkous - Written by Lana, takes place just prior to Depths of Manaan FP
Surface Details - Written by a Selkath on Manaan with appearances from Theron and Lana, takes place just prior to Depths of Manaan FP
Wanted: Dead and Dismantled - About Jakarro and C2-D4
Remnants - About a smuggler on Rakata Prime
Bedtime on Concordia - About Mandalorians telling stories of Shae Vizla
The Price of Power - About Darth Marr and Darth Lachris, just prior to when Lachris took over Balmorra
One Night in the Dealer's Den - About Theron Shan and Jonas Balkar after the events of Yavin 4
The Final Trial - About Lana Beniko during her time as an acolyte on Korriban
Regrets - About Theron Shan and Jace Malcom after the events of Yavin 4
The Sixth Line: Part One - About the Sixth Line prior to Ziost
The Sixth Line: Part Two
Vacation - About Nico Okarr
Brothers - About Arcann and Thexan during their invasion of the Core Worlds
A Mother's Hope - About Senya and Vaylin between KOTFE and KOTET
Trading Scars - About Umbarans, takes place just prior to Crisis on Umbara FP
Chasing Copero - About Theron Shan just prior to A Traitor among the Chiss FP
Seeing Red - About Rass Ordo
Quite A Story To Tell - About Aryn Leneer
All That’s Left - About Sa'har Kateen
Bottled Fury - About Shae Vizla, prior to Ruhnuk (part 1)
Snare - About Shae Vizla, prior to Ruhnuk (part 2)
Last Road to Khar Shian - About Shae Vizla prior to Khar Shian
if you're interested in doing more dialogue prompts how about "okay, now i'm begging." or "i would never let that happen."
no worries if not! i am just eating them up.
Aaaa, thank you for the prompt💜!
So... care to read an angsty break up scene of Qyrhu and Theron after the traitor arc? Tadaa *Takes the cloche off and it's a fucking mess*
I’m angry because once I started putting it on the page, the glowing version in my head could not be conjured again. I hate that it does that!!! *through clenched teeth* this is what art is. now move on.
A bit of context: The time following the Alliance’s victory over Zakuul is rough for Qyrhu due to him going through a terrible mental health period (the mind takeover in the thron room fucks him up. forever). He keeps trying to brute force through it, running on fumes, doesn’t want others to know what’s up, and is therefore isolating or taking it out on the people close to him that try to help. Theron is taking the brunt of thankless care work during that time. He doesn’t really blame Qyrhu, but it makes him a bit desperate to protect him from more shit…. Theron going rogue slaps Qyrhu out of the idea that he can just keep going like that, he puts down most of his work and duties, tries to be more open about it to trusted people. He feels a bit better after that, because he finally stops pretending. His house of cards has collapsed and the relief of it takes off a significant part of his suffering. Still not exactly recovered. And his usual shit is incurable unfortunately.
word count: ~ 2300 (help), cw: none
"I would never let that happen."
Despite Qyrhu keeping his pace deliberately slow, Theron seems to struggle while walking next to him, gait careful, pain hiding in the rigid lines of his face. A slight sheen of perspiration starts to cover it, and his puffy eyebags look redder than usual. He looks awful and Qyrhu can’t believe Theron suggested going for a walk outside. No, the only place Qyrhu will be speaking another word to him is at his bed in the med wing. He has told him as such, and Theron has had to relent.
Qyrhu could have dropped by for a visit sooner, so Theron wouldn’t have felt the need to abscond from the med bay and ambush him in the halls, nearly making Qyrhu’s heart seize up. The bastard. But Qyrhu admits that he has been delaying meeting Theron again, even after he had recovered enough to receive visits. The conversation that will need to follow weighs heavily in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t trust himself not to botch it, draw too much blood. Not after all the previous ones with him, long ago now, but not long enough.
Let’s get this over with.
Theron sighs when they enter the med bay, and Qyrhu spends a few minutes idling in front of his room, picking at his gloves, while Theron receives a dressing-down from the annoyed nurse on duty. The satisfaction of it makes Qyrhu break into smile.
He enters the room when he finds it has lasted long enough. The nurse really hasn’t done anything other than scan him and remind him sharply that his state is still fragile. Theron bears it with an air of someone used to medical personnel being angry at him. No remorse.
“Thank you, sir. He will adhere to your professional recommendations in the future,” Qyrhu says, though only for the nurse’s sake. It is not likely to ever happen.
“Now, leave us.”
The nurse exits the room with delightfully insubordinate commentary under his breath. Something sounding suspiciously like ‘see if I care next time’ and ‘he’s as bad as Shan’.
He can’t dispute that.
Qyrhu lets the door slide close and leans against the wall, so as to face Theron, who, for the lack of other seating options, has perched himself at the far end of his bed. He seems like he really didn’t want to touch that bed again for a while, even though he looks less sickly now, sitting down.
Qyrhu takes note of his rumpled downtime pants and oversized shirt that were hiding under his cloak, now discarded. His mop of dark hair messy and unstyled, his sidecut less neat than when he had first seen him up close on Nathema. Theron takes him in in the same way. There hasn’t been much time to truly look at each other until now. Not in the last nine months. Something inside him aches for this kind of silence between them, Theron’s eyes on him, and his on Theron’s, no words, just their familiarity, their appreciation, their sanctum of the other’s presence. Both of them seem to briefly conjure it among the strangeness of his long absence, among this nervous, uncertain quiet before a storm of their own making.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Qyrhu says into this silence.
Theron looks up, into his eyes. Qyrhu holds his gaze, willing to show him he means this, his own eyes softening around the edges for a moment. Theron needs to know this, whatever follows, he’s glad he’s here, and alive. He doesn’t want to think on how he would feel if Theron hadn’t survived his injuries. He can’t… It is too horrific. He clamps this imagined despair down again. There is no need for it, Theron is in front of him, calmer now, his skin tone healthier again as he has had time to recover from his walk.
“I… yeah. I’m glad, too. That you’re safe.”
Theron looks like he has words bubbling in his mouth that he has wanted to say for forever. Qyrhu lets him speak them out.
“Look... I know I put you through hell. I was reckless and stupid, and it almost cost us everything. Leaving you there on Umbara... Saying these things to you… it destroyed me.”
Qyrhu keeps his face impassive. He’s surprised how hard it is to take his words for the apology it is. He had been waiting for an apology. Theron truly owes him one. But he just hates it now, hearing him do it. He hates his contrite look, how his eyes jump around before returning back to him. Theron looks like a trapped animal, and that’s quite literally what he just did to him. Maybe he should have had this conversation outside, as Theron had suggested. Theron leans his arms on his knees and looks up to him, looking everything like an abject supplicant. It makes him want to taste bile.
Qyrhu should at least have sat down, too, so to not make that comparison starker, but he hasn’t wanted to sit next to him. He slowly breathes out his discomfort through his nose. Since when can’t you take one sincere apology, from the person who wronged you? Not in every way, but it had been insane, what he did. Telling no one. Leaving everyone blind in the wake of this. Leaving him with this much guilt.
Theron has straightened up now, trying to decipher his silence. His hands are gripping the edge of the mattress unconsciously.
“I know I don’t deserve it,” he continues tentatively, “I don’t know if you… where we stand. If we have another chance –”
Qyrhu halts him with a raised palm. He has heard enough, and he doesn’t want him to say things he will later regret. Even without any Force behind it, Theron falls silent immediately, as if he has squeezed shut his windpipe. Qyrhu cringes inwardly, hurt to see that display of anxiousness before it is hidden behind a neutral expression again. It’s Qyrhu’s own fault, for always being so imperious, so exacting. For making everyone be wary of his reactions. It affirms what he has to say.
“My turn.”
Theron’s expression slips again, into confusion now.
“The way you have gone about this whole solo operation is terrible, and we’ll need to pick that apart more when you’re on active duty again.”
Well, the others will. I’m sure Lana has already started.
Theron nods feebly, valiantly covering his unease about that prospect. “Alright.”
“And I fault you for the way you broke up with me. It was cruel.”
“I know.” Theron’s expression is pained now. “I know, Qy. I’ll never forgive myself for that–”
“But I don’t fault you for ending our relationship in the first place.”
“…What?” The word escapes in a startled breath.
“You should have done it long before that.”
There had been many reasons to do it. For the many times he had rebuked his comfort, his help. For all the venom he had lugged at him for trying. For Qyrhu’s weakness at falling apart in the first place, not strong enough to keep himself together, to weather the hardships he should have been able to weather. He had been waiting for Theron to distance himself the whole time, even though it was Qyrhu who should have been the one to end it, assume responsibility, when Theron couldn’t do it, but he had been blindly clinging to the idea to try again, try every day to be better, to make it up to all of them. In vain.
“Qyrhu,” Theron shifts abruptly, to stand. Qyrhu holds out his hand as quickly to stop him in his tracks. He doesn’t want him to come closer right now. Theron keeps himself seated, tense and poised to jump. He looks distressed.
It had been a brutal wake up call. He had realized that if he kept this up, he would end up hurting everyone around him, until they all turned away from him, or worked themselves to death because of him. He can’t be thankful to Theron exactly, but in this last act, he had finally done what Qyrhu had expected him to, and made him realize how awful that was.
“I can’t let you go on flagellating yourself without bringing this up,” he says, too lightly for the taste of blood still in his mouth.
Qyrhu looks down at Theron’s unhappy face and breathes out. He didn’t think he’d ever have the opportunity to tell him this. It helps to ease the sting of it.
“I am sorry, Theron. For how I behaved. For trying to force it for this long. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve me like this.”
“Qy, you were going through shit. I never held that against you”, Theron says, grief in his voice.
“And why shouldn’t you?”, Qyrhu is tired. He swallows down his irritation at having his own past state acknowledged, even when he has just admitted it himself.
“The circumstances are excuses. This is about how much one has to put up with someone else’s issues, excusable or otherwise.”
Theron puts his face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m trying to apologize here.”
“It is noted. But I’m not finished.” He wants to say his piece before Theron can divert from it. Some detached inner voice is noting that he isn’t being considerate once again. Well, that isn’t news.
He overrides his instinct to remain unmoving and brings his hand to his face to smooth over his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment. Trying to soften himself into something less harsh.
“My point to all of this is… I don’t want you to feel like you owe me a relationship.”
Theron lifts his head again, his face carefully still.
“I don’t want to resume whatever we were doing just because it was so before. Honestly, I don’t want to go back to that.”
Theron chokes out a sound; it resembles a mirthless laugh.
Qyrhu doesn’t like who he has been then. No one would have. Theron is just being too nice, too forgiving. He doesn’t want that. He wishes he was angry at him at least a little. He used to be. When did it change? When did he stop to take him seriously? He thinks to know when. From the moment he had been snapped in half like a dry twig. The moment he started coasting.
“I don’t want you to come to me out of a sense of loyalty,” Qyrhu keeps going, trying to keep his voice even, through his chest constricting, “or guilt.” Or pity. His nostrils blow out involuntarily. “I would never let that happen.”
“You…,” there’s a oh-so-slight hint of anger in Theron’s distress now. He wants so badly to lock his jaw around it and shake. “Stop assuming things. I’m not thinking that.”
“I don’t believe you, Theron.” Qyrhu keeps his tone quiet, but the sharpness is undeniable.
Theron’s mouth clicks shut.
Their silence is thick now. Hope drains down slowly, marring the floor.
Qyrhu is still mad at him and he can’t pretend otherwise. He can’t swallow down these long months of misery and doubt, feeling like he failed him. He still failed him, but apparently not as much as he had thought. How stupid. All of it was stupid.
Another part of him wants to fall on his knees for all those words, clasp his boots and apologize for making him sad and hurt once again. He knows how much Theron has sacrificed, how much he has risked, how lonely and arduous his last year has been. And now, after everything he’s done, wounded and still half on his hospital bed, he comes to him for reassurance, to mend bridges, and he is met with this. His mess. Again. If he was a better man, a better friend, he would stand by him to get through this time of convalescence, at least wait until Theron doesn’t feel as jittery as now, covert op nerves still in his veins.
Qyrhu cannot smile at him and pretend it’s fine, however. He is tired of pretending things are fine. It is unfair, but he can’t change that.
“This is a chance. For both of us,” Qyrhu keeps dropping stones into the pond of Theron’s resigned silence. They splash in with a dull finality.
“I don't think we are who we need to be for each other.”
It will be better if both of them realize this, and leave each other be, don’t cling to something out of sentimentality that doesn’t actually make them happy.
“I want you to think about it. For longer.” plounk “And I will be doing the same.”
Theron nods calmly, a conscious act, his gaze looking at nothing. It hurts to see him like that. Doesn’t he see the chance in that? That he’s free of him, of his expectations? He hopes he will realize it soon.
He wishes to be someone who makes him happy. And he doesn’t want either Theron or him to squirm and change too much to be able to fit with the other. I just want both of us happy. But he isn’t sure how possible that is. He won’t make up his mind now.
Qyrhu pushes off the wall and makes to end this. Finally.
“I’m leaving Odessen.”
Theron looks up at him again, sharply.
“Where?”
It’s a hastily tumbled out word, not much hope for an answer behind it, as he watches him walk over to the exit.
Qyrhu stops in front of the door when it has swished open.
“Don’t follow me.”
He leaves, the door closing behind him. He is staring straight ahead, blinking too many times in the harsh bright light of the med center. When he’s out of there, he gets out his comm unit and quick dials the first contact.
“I’m done here,” he speaks into it.
“Good,” the line on the other end is briefly drowned out by a clattering noise, someone throwing down something with finality. He feels more certain again, hearing Vette’s voice.
how to run away from the chiss ascendancy, trans your gender and learn to cut hair as an unaccompanied minor. cil'voes very good zero snags escape
Cil'voe looks up, and a girl looks back at her.
Her blue hair hangs down her back, falling past her waist. It's perfectly straight, except the ends, which curl and fluff now matter how she dries it. She has big red eyes, perpetually flushed cheeks, and she's clutching a worn-out, standard issue CEDF pack as if her life depends on it. She's miserable.
Cil'voe looks away from her reflection and sets the pack down on the counter. It's full of ration bars and water, save for a few pairs of clothes she stuffed on top. She pulls a set of those out first. It's obvious as she unfolds them that they're too big for her, meant for a grown man. She's spent weeks gathering the simple shirts, trousers and jacket, never taking more than what could have conceivably been lost by the laundry droids. She double checks that the door to the refresher is locked, before carefully pulling out the knife she'd hidden in the jacket, setting it carefully on the counter. From there, it's only a moments work to shuck her dress and get changed.
The clothes are loose, shapeless, obscuring her frame and making her look younger than she actually is — and she is already quite young. Not quite an adult by Chiss standards, but well on her way. The shirt hangs off of her, nearly slipping off one shoulder. The pants are no better, and she has to roll them up multiple times at both the waist and hem to stop them from slipping off.
It is at this point that she pulls out the knife.
Finding scissors on a Defense Force ship is quite a lot like trying to find a specific piece of ice buried in the snow. That is to say, practically impossible. Work is done on datapads, there is practically no flimsi on the ship, and hair cuts are handled by droids. A combat knife is the closest she could manage. It's in good condition, as all weapons in the CEDF are required to be. Sharp. She's cut herself on it more than once while trying to hide it. That means it should cut her hair, right? How hard can a haircut be, anyways?
She gathers her hair, holding it tight in one hand near the base of her neck. As soon as she has a good enough grip, she pulls it taut and brings the knife through it. At first, it doesn't seem like anything has happened. Cil'voe has to run her hands through her hair and pull out what was actually cut. A handful of hair falls to the floor, and she decides a different strategy is in order.
Sawing at her hair actually gets results, although it takes a couple tries. The knife pulls at her hair, and her grip isn't as steady as she thought. The bulk of her hair finally comes off, but it's still longer than she wants. She ends up taking it shorter in chunks, leaving it uneven. As she works, she cuts her neck, her ears, and even her temple as she attempts to even out the front. The result leaves her surrounded by and covered in a mess of blue hair.
She regrets changing her clothes first. Deciding it can't get any worse, she ruffles her new hair and runs her hands through it, fluffing it up and sending more loose hair everywhere. It sticks to her clothes, it's scattered on the floor, her hands are absolutely covered... The refresher was pristine when she walked in, now it's littered with chunks of hair and specks of blood.
This is not going according to plan.
Trying to get the hair off of her clothes in a lost cause, but she tries anyways. After that, she runs a corner of her old dress under the faucet and dabs at her face and neck. She cleans off the worst of the blood and makes sure there aren't any hairs in her cuts before haphazardly slapping the few batca patches she snuck out over the top of them.
Cil'voe dusts off her hands, shrugs on her mostly hair-free jacket, and looks in the mirror again.
Now, a boy looks back at her. His dark jacket obscures the bloodstains on the back of his shirt, and he's got hair all over him, the worst of it on the front of his shirt and the bottom of his pants. In one hand, he has a slightly bloody knife. In the other, a fist full of disposable bacta-patch wrappings. His hair sticks up in all directions and it looks like he asked a child to cut it. There's a prominent bacta patch on his cheek, where he managed to cut himself deeper than anywhere else. It's not so deep that it's bleeding through the patch, but the injury is noticeable.
It's another thing to set her apart from the girl, the navigator that she's supposed to be.
That he was supposed to be. He's got to get used to that, but he doesn't think it will be difficult. All that planning to pretend to be a boy has paid off. No one will look at him and see a navigator. He shares features with that girl — the big eyes, the flushed cheeks — but at the same time, he is unrecognizable to himself, which means the caretakers won't catch on, either. He reaches up to place a hand on the mirror, and his reflection reaches back with a sheepish smile.
Here we are, he thinks, and his reflections eyes crinkle at the corners. His hair is curling at the uneven ends. He doesn't think he's ever felt so light.
He leaves the dress behind, wiping the knife clean with a handful of disposable, flimis-towels. He shoves it the dress into the waste receptacle and the knife goes back into his worn-out bag. With luck, no one will use this particular refresher for a little while. He cracks the door just wide enough to peer outside, and he doesn't see anyone. One of the caretakers expects him to meet them at the nearby airlock to his next assignment. Instead, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself and walks briskly in the opposite direction.
They'll search for him, he knows they will. He's so sure that they'll find the bathroom and all the hair and realize exactly what he's done. That he's running away, deserting his post, quitting the CEDF in the only way he knows how. It's freeing and terrifying, knowing that there is no plan past this point. Now he has to find a way off of this space station, and he has to do it fast. Preferably before they discover what he's done and lock the place down.
The brisk walk isn't cutting it anymore. He doesn't care if he looks suspicious, he jogs down to the bay that holds the shipping freighters. There is no indication as to where any of them are going, so he picks the ship that looks the least Chiss in design. A ship that is all hard angles instead of sleek curves. His people don't like outsiders, not even their technology, so he has to assume this ship is headed outside of Chiss space. He has no idea who it belongs to, but it's as good a lead as he's going to get. He loiters, waiting to see if anyone comes out, before suddenly ducking inside and making a dash for the crowded cargo hold.
He wedges himself in a corner, blocked in on one side by large freight containers, and another side by heavy sacks. The sacks soft enough to lean against, and makes himself as comfortable as he can as he waits for the ship to take off. He's just in time, he thinks, as he hears heavy footsteps echo against the ramp outside. Shifting just enough to take a peek, he gets a glimpse of a Chiss dressed in a way he's never seen before — not in uniform. Even Cil'voe is still wearing bits and pieces of uniforms, save the jacket. He ducks back into his hiding place and hopes that this is a good sign.
When the ship finally does shudder beneath him, he's certain he can hear the faint strains of an alarm starting to sound from outside. It fades quickly, just as the ship rocks heavily, once, and then smooths out, entering hyperspace.
The vice that has been gripping his chest this whole time suddenly loosens. He feels like he can breathe.
Sure, he's a stowaway on a stranger's ship with no idea where he's going, but… For once, he's not being watched. There is no caretaker tracking him, no ship to pilot with his powers, no Defense Force to use him. From here on out, whatever happens, it's his choice.
Every passing day under Vaylin's rule, the Eternal Empire was becoming more and more of a threat, and the Alliance needed information to keep up the pace. When an opportunity presented itself to gather some, the Commander only saw one solution: sending his two best elements on the scene, the previous Cipher Nine and Theron Shan. But there was a reason why he'd avoided making them work together up until this point. They both lived through hell because of the other's old faction. There was a million ways as to how this could go horribly wrong before they could even reach their destination...
Chapters: 2/3 (4223 words)
Fandom: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
The Trouble with Underworld Contacts is that They Pop Up When You Least Expect
Rating: Gen.
Characters: Theron Shan, Teff'ith.
Word Count: 2,435
Summary: After the fall of the Order of Zildrog on Nathema, Theron finds himself, against all odds, alive and back in the Alliance's fold once more. His desperate success and much-needed relief doesn't make the gradual healing any easier. A familiar face breaks up the monotony.
~
Laying on a slab in the windowless medbay, the room lit mostly by the dials on the wall-to-wall equipment and the glowing blue of the kolto, Theron passes the time staring at the blank gray ceiling, mulling over whether he’s ever felt his bloodstream so carbonated. Sure, he’s spent a week in and out of a tank for broken bones, lacerations, blaster burns, internal bleeding—just run-of-the-mill wounds practically a guarantee for the average spy. A lightsaber through his abdomen apparently requires more intensive sessions—like ‘sedated and left to soak for three days straight after emergency surgery’ kind of intensive. Though no longer in critical condition, he’s still stuck with the intermittent kolto baths. He’s opted to just go shirtless; quicker when all he has to remove are pants and the bandages.
The wound itself has healed slower than he wants, but his team of doctors and medical droids insist that he’s healing well and that he’ll avoid complications arising from the melted organs. That's still weird to think about. The lingering ache can be pushed to the back of his mind with painkillers, but the itching is hard to ignore when there’s little else to occupy his thoughts.
The tank itself bubbles quietly off to his left even without an occupant. Theron’s still not permitted far from the bed they’ve set up for him here, between the healing baths and the necessity of a sterile environment to recover from the organ transplant, a combination of flesh and cybernetics that Doctor Oggurobb was a little too excited to reveal to him.
He appreciates the consideration of the setup, he does. But he’s spent the last few months sleeping in his shuttle, occasionally surrounded by a group of highly suspicious enemies, pursued by the friends he tricked everyone into believing he was betraying. Not to mention the relentless guilt and ever-present anxiety dogging his every thought.
Needless to say, he’s gotten less sleep than usual, and a foam-covered slab attached to the wall of an otherwise open room with only a paper-thin sheet to cover up with is just depressing when he knows his bed, something he’s actually grown quite fond of over the past few years, is less than a few hundred meters away.
Warm. Comfortable. Not to mention private. Stars, what he wouldn’t give for a single night curled up in his own room under a blanket or three.
He sighs, his head thumping back on his pillow as he reminds himself that it’s all worth it—the danger, the pain, the longing for his own space. The threat has passed, and he’s back in the fold, even if he suspects he has a long way to go to actually make it all up. The Commander’s safe, the Alliance is safe, and that’s… he still feels a tremor take over when he thinks about what Atrius and Gemini 16 might’ve been able to do. What he… what he might’ve lost.
He can handle a few more days with his medical droid chaperon and the occasional visitor to keep him from truly climbing the walls.
He can.
A small groan escapes Theron as he tries to relax, shifting his stiff shoulders and flexing his fingers; he resists the urge to pull his datapad out of the bag stashed on the little table to his right. It’s not like he could actually do anything with it; his access to Alliance systems is still restricted. He has a sneaking suspicion the thing’s signal has been blocked as well. There’s ways around both these things, which could theoretically help him occupy himself, but he’s trying to rebuild trust here. Lana mentioned the restriction was only to keep his focus on healing and to prevent him from trying to play catch-up on work, but… he can’t really blame them if it’s more than that, can he? And he certainly doesn’t want to make anyone rethink welcoming him back just because he can’t meditate through his restlessness anymore.
There’s a hiss as the door to the medbay entrance slides open, though he can’t see it from his little room, even though his "door" is just an open archway. Theron quiets a flutter of nerves, hoping it’s just Lana showing up a bit early to continue where their last “Why didn’t you tell me?” conversation left off. That he can take, but… well, he’s not ready to face the rest of the Alliance yet, selfish as the thought might be.
He's pretty certain he's actually getting that black eye next time he sees Hylo.
A single set of footsteps echoes off the walls, and then there’s a voice—feminine, though he can’t make out more than that—followed by a response from the medical droid. A machine beeps, and a scanner whirs to life. His guest must be at the sanitizing station, his assumption confirmed when he hears water run, then the air dryer kick to life thirty seconds later. The footsteps grow louder, approaching the open doorway that leads to the little room he’s resting in.
The woman who enters isn’t Lana as he expects, but rather a Twi’lek, brown eyes set beneath penciled eyebrows, solid yellow lekku trailing down her back. Even with the mask obscuring the lower half of her face, he has no trouble recognizing her. She stops in the doorway as she catches sight of him, narrowing her eyes.
“Teff’ith,” Theron says, though even to his own ears, it sounds more like a surprised observation than a hello.
“When we warned you about Order,” Teff’ith begins by way of greeting, “that wasn’t suggestion to get killed.”
He supposes he should’ve expected as much—he hasn’t exactly touched base with her since running off with the tip she brought him. “Yeah. Things went a little sideways.”
“Hmmph,” Teff’ith grunts, and she approaches his bed, taking position at the foot of it and flicking her eyes up and down, clearly not pleased by what she sees. “You look bad.”
“Feels that way,” Theron admits, then lets his curiosity get the better of him. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Sith friend been in contact. Wanted us to help hunt you down. Told her we knew nothing.”
A bit of warmth seeps into him. “You didn’t have to do that.”
Rather than accept his appreciation, Teff’ith stiffens further. “Course we did. Someone had to cover your tracks.”
“To be fair, the plan was to have them follow me,” Theron points out, and he knows it’s the wrong thing to say even before her eyes inflame. “Look, you’ve got every right to be mad. I know I put you in a tough spot, and I—”
“We used to you making crazy plans, but those times, you have a plan,” Teff’ith interrupts, crossing her arms. “Why you run after Horizon Guard with no friends? Is that not point of making Alliance?”
A wave of exhaustion washes over him, and he rubs the back of his neck. He knows he doesn't have the right to complain, but he's tired of having this same conversation.
“You were the one who gave me that holorecording of an Alliance meeting they shouldn’t have had access to,” Theron counters, ignoring her eye roll. “I couldn’t stop them from listening in, so I had to keep everyone in the dark.”
Of course, that’s only half the truth, conveniently leaving out the days of relentless panic, stress sending him half out of his mind the longer he went unable to even pinpoint how they were watching. Terror that no amount of mental fortitude could quiet at the thought that he was already too late.
In hindsight, he can admit some of his more questionable actions were fueled by little more than panic.
“Stupid,” Teff’ith is saying, a sneer twisting her expression. “So what if they know you onto them? You smart enough to work around it.”
“Not if they could anticipate our every move.”
“So you tell Commander it happening. Then you do your own thing. Quiet. Where they can't see.” Teff’ith shakes her head. “But you don’t make Alliance your enemy, then run into real enemy’s arms. Too risky. Way too risky.”
He shifts on the bed. “Well, it worked out.”
“Only because Commander forgave you.” At Theron’s silence, Teff’ith uncrosses one arm to motion at his still-bandaged torso. “You almost died. We see that. What if Commander not accept explanation? Who bring you to medbay? Who pull you out?”
Theron can’t meet her eyes, his gaze on his right hand, fiddling with the sheet resting over his legs, keeping Teff’ith solely in his periphery. "It worked out, Teff’ith.”
“Stupid,” she snarls, pacing back and forth at the end of the bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why you throw life away like that? What wrong with you?”
Nervous energy, spindly and electric, pulses to his fingertips, and he drops the corner of the sheet, flicking it from his grip so that it lays flat on the mattress again. “Look, I admit it wasn’t my best idea, alright?”
“Not best idea?” Teff’ith throws her hands in the air. “Not idea at all!”
“I get it. You’ve made your point,” Theron says flatly. “I’m aware of how reckless it was. It didn’t feel like I had much choice. Telling the Alliance risked everything.”
Teff’ith draws herself up, and she makes several aborted attempts to speak. After a moment, she seems to give up; she massages her temples, pacing back and forth in front of the bed with more and more frantic energy. He thinks about interrupting her, and he thinks better of it. A frustrated noise erupts from her as she whirls on him once more.
“Forget Alliance. Why not tell us?” she snaps, shoving a pointed finger at her chest with her eyes wide, and Theron is alarmed by the tremor that’s taken over her—slight, but visible. “We pull you out. Like last time. Why not let us?”
“Did you miss the part where I couldn’t tell anyone because they were watching? Pretty sure I said it twice.”
“Cult didn’t see us give you recording. Didn’t find us after we stole it off their drunk idiot.”
Theron massages the bridge of his nose. “We don’t know that.”
“They mention us, then?” Teff’ith demands, motioning to herself. “When you joined?”
“No—not exactly, but I didn’t bring you up, either, so it’s hard to say—”
“They knew everything you did? Every message you sent?”
Theron huffs, the tail-end a little shakier than he anticipated. “No, I managed to keep a few things from them.”
“So why not tell us? Call us in where they can’t see?”
“My plan was to rejoin the Commander and the rest of the Alliance, so I didn’t need—”
“We know big plan was to rely on forgiveness. Smarter plan was to call us,” Teff’ith insists. “Even if you hid truth, we don’t care if you betray Alliance. Should’ve brought us for safety.”
“I didn’t think—”
“That much clear to us,” she says, adding a little shake to her head as if to ensure he understood she was mocking him.
“Oh, don’t be so—” He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. It was hectic, alright? I had to move fast because I was already so far behind.” Teff’ith makes as if to speak, and he plows over her. “Not to mention that association with me would cause problems for you.”
“With Alliance?”
“Yeah.”
“No worse than Sith Empire.”
“That—those times were different.”
“Why? No friends in Empire?” When he doesn’t answer, Teff’ith scoffs. “Afraid we kill your Commander?”
“I… admit I didn’t want a confrontation,” Theron says, then rushes to continue when Teff’ith moves to speak, “and even if I’d told you the truth, it was inevitable. If I got killed pulling my shots, that’s one thing. I couldn’t ask you to take the same risk, and I didn’t want to see anyone hurt.”
“Except you?”
“I—” His bristling causes his wound to flare up for a moment, and he exhales sharply through his nose. “I didn’t want to get hurt, I—”
“Just think it best if you only one who does?”
“Well, yes—no. I don’t know.” Theron groans, massaging the space between his eyes with his thumb. “You make it sound worse than it is.”
Teff’ith’s chuckle is dark, her gaze on the kolto tank he’s spent most of the last two weeks in, and when she finally looks back at him, she points an accusatory finger at him. “Told you to quit big brother act, didn’t we?”
“When have you ever known me to do what I was told?” Theron manages weakly, the joke falling flat even to his own ears.
“That why we make new rule,” Teff’ith says, and an uncharacteristic uncertainty takes hold of her. She seems to hold her breath a moment before speaking. “If you brother, you let us be sister.”
He frowns at her. “I thought I was.”
“No. Only let us be watched over." She crosses her arms, then, shifting awkwardly and focusing staunchly on the corner of the room. "Like you don’t need us to care.”
Maybe it’s the stress of the last few months, maybe it’s the excess of time alone with his thoughts, or maybe it’s the exhaustion—a lump wells in his throat, his eyes stinging, and it takes several swallows to clear it. Theron’s not entirely sure what to say, unable to tear his gaze from his own hands, the only sounds in the room the kolto tank’s quiet bubbling and the slight quiver at the end of his next breath.
There’s no anger left in Teff’ith when he turns back to her, but none of the intensity has left her, even as her posture is still a little too stiff. She seems to struggle to hold his gaze as much as he does to hold hers. “Agree?”
Theron nods slowly. “Agreed.”
“Good,” she says, She takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing; then, nervousness bleeding from her, she holds out her right hand, palm up.
“What?” Theron asks, glancing around for what she could possibly want.
Her look could wither a cortosis-plated droid. “Ran out of last meeting. Never paid us for tip-off.”
“Hey, I never promised payment for that,” Theron protests.
“Was understood.”
“No, it wasn’t!”
As they fall back on more familiar roles, Theron feels a piece of himself settle into place. In the end, he knows he’ll cave, knows a part of him doesn’t even mind, but in the meantime, he relaxes into the age-old argument, the room already feeling warmer.
Ira Tacita, Book I, Chapter VII, scene one: beginnings.
In which a Sith and a slave go on a lunch date, and unlikely choices are made.
“Wow. Now I feel stupid for not asking sooner.”
Idris raised his hands to her neck as she stiffened warily, and a moment later she felt the twelve metal prongs along the collar’s interior unlatch from her flesh with a teeth-rattling click. He lifted it away without touching her, and stepped back, placing it on her side of the table with the control stick – that he still hadn’t used once – next to it.
Vette reached up and gingerly felt the cuts and welts that the prongs and Knash’s repeated shocks had left on the back and sides of her neck – still sore, but mostly scabbed over in the weeks she’d had to put up with it. Hopefully they’d heal without leaving too much of a mark.
“Thanks,” she chirped, and as he stepped back around the table she sat down again, breathing a sigh of relief and reaching for her food. “I’ll try not to give you a reason to slap that thing back on.”
“I would have removed it sooner,” he said almost apologetically as he took his own seat, “but I couldn’t risk you running off before the final trial was complete. Thank you for your help; it’s a shame it had to be coerced.”
“...Huh.” Vette squinted at him over her sandwich, distrustful and puzzled by the sudden niceness. “Wasn’t expecting to hear that from a Sith. But then, you’re not like most Sith I’ve met.”
“How so?” he asked warily.
“Well, for one thing, you’re not human,” she pointed out. “Or ‘pureblood’ – even though you’re red.”
“Apparently, I have more Sith blood than most humans.” He didn’t sound terribly enthused.
“Is that really how that works – the whole red zabrak thing?” she asked boldly, letting her curiosity get the better of her. “I’ve seen a lot more of your people going free around here, at least – the Sith have something to do with that?”
“The first zabrak to join the Empire did so by treaty after earning the respect of the Sith in combat,” he said flatly, as if reciting a history lesson. “Those clans who agreed to the Empire’s terms were granted citizenship, and many of their descendants went on to share Sith blood, and the power that came with it. …And yes, the red skin is a result of that.”
“Well, that explains a lot.” Now more confident in her assessment, Vette took another bite of her sandwich and spoke with her mouth full. “Fancy reasoning aside, you’re really just another alien living at the whim of their lordlinesses, huh?”
Idris scowled at his untouched food. Then, while she chewed and the tension increased until she began to wonder if he was actually going to put the collar back on, he dug out a handful of credit chips from his pockets and pushed them across the table to her.
“You should leave.”
Vette swallowed and narrowed her eyes, looking at the money and the discarded collar next to it, then around the cantina. Then back at the Sith across from her. He looked away.
“Huh,” she said, very articulately.
“You have served your due sentence for trespassing and attempted grave robbing, and to imprison you any longer would be unjust. Our… arrangement… is therefore dissolved. There is a ship to Nal Hutta leaving in the next hour; that should cover your fare.”
“Hang on,” Vette said, and pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
If it had been any other Sith suddenly taking off her collar and offering her a ticket out of Imperial space, she wouldn’t have believed them for a moment. Just another sick fantasy playing out for their amusement that would only end in torture, with the cantina crowd an audience to ogle and jeer.
…But if most Sith she’d met were bloodthirsty tuk’ata hounds, Idris was a too-gentle, oversized puppy trying to fit into their ranks behind raised hackles and bared fangs. The way he was looking around the cantina now – with wide eyes, hunched shoulders, and large hands clasped on the table between them – made the comparison even more apt, and she barely suppressed a snort of half-hysterical laughter.
All right, Vette, be real here. This was a Sith – one who was young, weirdly nice, and honestly kind of pathetic, but a Sith nonetheless. And he’d already shown himself to be a chronic liar. She still didn’t know what motivated him beyond self-preservation.
She could do it. She could pick up the money and walk away before he had time to change his mind, leaving the past few weeks of torture and their uneasy alliance as a quickly fading nightmare.
But after everything she’d gone through, that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?
And with that, she finally placed why his expression was throwing her off. He looked just like he had when he’d agreed to duel the disgraced Sith Lord. Like he had when Overseer Tremel’s daughter challenged him.
Like he was about to do something he really didn’t want to.
Even the kindest creature can be forced to kill.
“…Is this some kind of twisted joke?” she asked, as a shiver ran up her spine.
And he immediately closed off his body language and went into defense mode. Vette raised her eyebrows and took a long sip of her drink, hoping her nervousness didn’t show.
“I prefer not to waste time and effort inflicting undue suffering,” he said coldly, leaning back and folding his arms. “…I thought you might have noticed by now.”
“Oh, I did.” It was one of many things about him that confounded her, though she was loath to admit it. She thought Sith being into suffering was, like, a job requirement. “But for all I know, you might have been told to test my loyalty, as one of those karked-up tests or something. And I’d rather not give anyone an excuse to fry me. Gotta cover my bases here.”
A long pause. Her heart was in her mouth by now.
“If anything, my master will most likely be... unhappy once he finds out that I’ve squandered his ‘gift’.” Idris bit his lip. “But I can handle that. You are the one I’m worried about here.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.” Vette rolled her eyes. “Come on, pull the other one.”
“...That’s it, though,” he mumbled at the tabletop, shrinking back into his seat. “I don’t want you to be hurt, and you deserve your freedom.”
Vette blinked.
Was he really being honest? The lying acolyte who hid behind half a dozen layers of hatred, anger, and self-centered apathy, finally telling the truth, and he wouldn’t even meet her eyes?
“...Okay,” she said, before she could regret her decision. She rewrapped her sandwich and stuffed it in her bags, finished her drink with an awkward slurp, scooped up the credits and counted them.
And then she walked away.
Idris didn’t move as she cast a wary glance back at him. He didn’t meet her eyes, or even say goodbye. But he didn't kill her horribly, either, so that was nice.
Vette walked up the stairs to the station’s inner ring, ignoring the looks the other cantina patrons gave her, and checked upcoming departures at a terminal on the wall. He hadn’t lied – the credits were more than enough for a flight to Hutta. And she still had the forged Imperial ID card she’d used for her Korriban infiltration.
The system might register her as a slave and alert him, but he’d already let her get this far. And she could always just stow away – which was a different kind of risky, but one she was more than used to.
She still didn’t know why he’d let her go. Her fear had faded, and now she was just plain curious.
Idris had sunk down with his head in his hands when she walked back up, fingers laced tightly around his horns. He lifted his head, looking genuinely surprised as she waved cheerfully and sat down across from him again. Then he frowned, and sat back up.
“Why are you still here?” he asked, face twisting as if the words bit him.
“I’m doing what I want,” she informed him brightly. “Why are you so grumpy?”
“…I really thought you wanted this, with how much you complained on Korriban.” Idris looked as if he genuinely wanted to disappear, and as Vette stared at him, he actually flickered in and out of visibility. She reached over and boldly snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he startled back to reality, dropping the half-formed Force cloak and replacing it with a half-hearted scowl.
“I did want to get out,” she said after a moment, “more than anything. I’m just not sure where I want to go now. Hutta is the ass-end of nowhere – no offence.”
She could take the flight to Hutta – make her way back to Nar Shaddaa and disappear into the underworld, running and hiding and stealing to survive, trying not to be enslaved once again as she searched for her former gang. But…
Out of all her options, there were much worse ones than staying. Working with a Sith might just be the big break she’d been looking for – a chance to rob the Empire blind from within. High-level access to Imperial records and facilities made the possibility of freeing other slaves, rescuing stolen artifacts – even finding the people she hadn’t seen in years – seem suddenly achievable.
Not to mention, it felt good knowing that someone so powerful had her back. The way he’d consistently protected her, in the tombs and beyond, was almost enough to make her trust him. If, for whatever reason, he ever stopped being kind, she would be out as fast as possible, but for now…
A mischievous grin lit up her face. “You know, I’ve heard there are some really sick ancient temples on Dromund Kaas. I’ve kinda always wanted to check them out. Legally, of course.” She winked.
Idris blinked.
“Sith credentials will get you into those kinds of places, yeah?”
“Yes, but… you want to come with?”
“Why not?” Vette leaned back and crossed her arms behind her head. Stars, it felt good to not have a hunk of electrified metal back there. “Hire me. Or don’t, it’s up to you, but we do work pretty well together, if I say so myself.”
His expression turned sour. “I’m not sure you understand, Vette; this is your chance to get out of an extremely dangerous situation. I suggest you take it.”
Arrogant, but whatever. “If this really is my choice, then I’m choosing to stay,” she said firmly. “I’ll see how I feel about it in a week, but for now, sticking with you seems like as good a plan as any. It’s, uh, how would you say it? Mutually beneficial. Yeah.”
Idris’ eyes widened once again as he realized she’d turned the tables on him. Vette smirked back. “Sounds like a plan,” he said at last. “I avoid Baras’ wrath, you land a job, and we both get to explore ancient crypts once we find the time.”
“Yes!” Vette pumped her fist. “You get what I’m about.”
“Keep the credits, though. And if you ever want out…”
“Yeah, you don’t need to say it again.”
“So, I’m not in prison or collared, and it’s sort of miserable weather out… what happens now?”
His face went puzzled again. “We’re in the middle of space. There is no weather.”
“That’s the joke!” She waved around at the cantina. “There’s no weather, but everyone’s just as miserable as if it was pouring rain.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Pairing: Arcann/F!Smuggler
Words: 4.700
Chapter: 1/4
Summary: When Arcann starts running late and refuses to tell his mother why, Senya sets out to uncover his secret.
The usual Tirall family drama ensues, with innocent bystanders getting dragged into it.
Though some may not be as innocent as others...
This is a short story that I started as a rewrite and expansion of my first attempt at fanfiction for Star Wars: The Old Republic. Very shortly after publishing it, my friend @blackberry-command-cap suggested that I have Rylan take in the friends of Risha aboard her Starship for the ending part of Chapter 1 in the Smuggler class story. We had quite a few discussions and I got a lot of new ideas to frame this new fic as an exploration of Rylan's resolve hunting down the treasure of pirate king Nok Drayen through his actions in the final leg of the great quest.
also tagging my moots @frauleiiin, @reigraceee, @vexa-legacy @thelys99 and @coruscanti-travelguide. I also give thanks to @lanabenikosdoormat for doing some beta reading for my fic!
I enjoyed brainstorming ideas for this fic and putting them together into a story. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much!
It had been a while since Rylan Hesper had last seen his family. He tried to visit them as much as he could, but the smuggler life, being hard as it was lucrative, limited those chances. The war veteran was as careful as he could in his dealings and tried to stay out of the way of the authorities when he wasn't working for them. His tendency to try to bury his problems still left him being pursued by turncoat clients and criminals, however.
Rylan was able to stay off their radar for the most part thanks to his childhood friend Kixi, a slicer who was the technician on his ship. She disappeared during a job two years before Rylan ran afoul of the pirate Skavak. He was able to track her down and free her from bondage serving a group of criminals on Coruscant. It was safer for Rylan and Corso to give her a blaster and make her way home to Mirial as things were too dangerous and the smuggler could not bear to lose her. Before she left, he told her that one day he'd make it back home and they'd see each other again.
-
That conversation rested in his mind as he took on a chance to score big and rebuild his life, gaining new security, finances and clout he longed for. Risha preferred to be secretive and that left Rylan scratching his head a lot, but even he couldn't deny it when she said that he stood to make a lot finding the lost fortune of the old pirate king Nok Drayen.
As the crew traveled through several desolate planets on their quest, the captain rest on a resolve.
"A big pile of loot from the galaxy's most notorious pirate king. Too big a pile of money for one to handle without their integrity getting arrested. I'd do right to give a share of it to all my crew and my folks back home. They'll all have their chance to join the celebration and break bread over over life's new frontiers!"
Rylan later felt homesick too as he ran jobs on Alderaan, rattled by civil but civilization thriving in the areas held on by the Republic. He was only so comfortable working closely with nobles, yet the Organas' resolve to protect their citizens was admirable to him. The planet was beautiful traveling through, too.
-
On their way out, the crew was turned around. They returned to Tatooine to rescue friends of Risha in danger from unknown assailants. Quickly as they could, they made their way to their location out in the Jundland. An abandoned Czerka mine shaft taken over by Sand People. Rylan fought his way through and found a Togruta being held at gunpoint by a group of assassins. Risha had went ahead and she was now also at the ends of their blasters.
He cursed it that she had went in first unprepared but quickly dealt with the armed men in charismatic finesse. The Togruta was then joined by another individual of the same species, who then shared an embrace together. It was no doubt to the Mirialan captain they were husband and wife.
The couple, names Audila and Juran, were happy to be alive but not too pleased to see Risha for reasons Rylan could not comprehend. She had always been secretive with him and never shared anything about her life beyond the Drayen quest.
"What has gotten into you now? You're always going off somewhere on some unknown escapade then we have to deal with your mess! This bantha poo has almost cost us our lives!" an angry Audila professed.
"I, I never meant for this to happen, Audila. We've known each other for years and I would never have any reason to see you hurt on purpose. My friends and I saw that you were in danger and we had to go help you." Risha tried to explain.
Unconvinced, the Togruta wife was suspicious there was a part her estranged friend was not admitting to. "Those killers were after us for a reason, Risha! Didn't you hear what they say? They didn't sound like some lowlifes, someone with big pockets hired those people."
"I have no idea why such people would target regular folks on an old dusty planet. We're used to riff-raff. These guys meant business." added Juran.
Rylan spoke up. "Look, I don't know what dealings Risha has, but it's clear this planet is getting too dangerous for you guys to stay. I've seen the horrors Czerka committed here and worse.
Risha vouched for the captain. "Maybe you can hear out my pilot friend here. He can more than handle himself. I think he told me he used to be in the military."
"I came here to save you guys. Would you and Juran like to come with me on my ship? I have everything to keep you safe. Even one of my crew is a wookiee, one would be wise to not upset him." offered the captain to the couple.
"Rylan's talking about Bowdaar, formidable warrior. Wookies are savage fighters but can be super loyal. You'd be blessed to have him on your side."
Trying to encourage her wife, Juran told her "The pilot came here to get us away from this wastleland, away from killers."
Audila seemed convinced. "All we just want is to live in peace without by scum who want nothing better to do then rip our throats out for dirty credits."
She turned to Risha. "I think we can still be cool because your pilot friend is doing a huge favor for us. He wants to give us safety on his starship until we can find a safer planet. You still owe us an explanation for what went on here once we're resettled, you hear me Risha?"
"I understand." she acknowledged.
The crew and the Torguta couple made it outside where their speeders we're parked.
"We're going to return home so we can pack our things. We'll meet you at the spaceport in Anchorhead soon."
-
The final stop before the crew could set their sights on Nok Drayen's riches themself took them back to Nar Shaddaa. Risha told Rylan that she could not explain much until they arrived. Important details still hard to be worked out she said. The captain deduced it had something to do with the mysterious man in carbonite they had been carrying around the whole time. He stepped out of the cargo hold to welcome their new guests onto the ship before leaving Tatooine.
Rylan checked on how Risha's friends were settling in. "You making yourselves comfortable?"
"Yes. The rooms on this ship are clean and well-kept. Even these bunks are so comfortable." noted Audila.
"You can thank the droid. I first got it when me and Risha started working together. Even cooks for the crew."
They sounded pretty satisfied. "I don't think he was lying at all." Juran told his wife. "The captain did a good job preparing his freighter for long travels."
Audila was content with the vessel they'd be bunking in for a little while at least. "Your crewmates seem nice and caring, too."
"Yeah, when I first found them, Corso and Bowdaar were both down on their luck. Just folks trying to make it through I helped when they were in trouble."
"They're good company I say," noted Juran.
His wife noted and then asked Rylan a question. "So, captain, where are you headed, next?"
He took a second before he gave his answer.
"It's been long and I don't know everything about Risha's ordeal, but we're trying to find the fortune left behind by some old pirate king named Nok Drayen. She's told me many stories about him. We're getting very close to reaching it."
Audila was curious. "It makes sense why she hired someone with capabilities like you. We still have our problems with Risha but we agreed to join since you're trying to help us. How did you first run into her?"
Rylan didn't hesitate to share his reasons for going after it. "I'm after it so I can start rebuilding my life. The life of a smuggler is rough but I've been dealing with a pirate named Skavaak who stole my ship, pawned away my goods and dumped her with all this stuff."
"That's so unfortunate." remarked Juran.
His wife agreed "This Skavaak sounds really nasty."
"Yeah, I could go on about him but this has gotten a lot more volatile because of him. He's a snake who knows how to charm his victims, break their trust and pocket the credits while he makes them suffer from afar. This has been a huge game of cat and mouse." explained the captain.
"I want to make sure you give us our word on one thing." Audila asked sincrely. "Will you promise that if you find this treasure you speak of, that you share a cut of it with us so we can resettle somewhere peaceful"
Rylan gave the couple a thumbs up. "I promise. That's the very thing I've been pondering these months I've been after it. All of my crew and my family back home on Mirial are bound to get a share of it if this works out. We just got one last delivery to make on Nar Shaddaa before we close in."
-
The crew was supposed to deliver the carbonite man to a mysterious client in a private medical facility in the industrial section of Nar Shaddaa. Rylan felt something was off about a high-tech clinic in such a dirty, run-down sector of the city. None of what Risha told him seemed to add up. The only other person in the clinic was a doctor who also seemed out-of-place. Part of the captain thought it was from his experiences with underworld labs usually belonging to mad scientists. This individual though was more humble, just there doing the job he was paid to do by his employer.
It turned out that the mysterious man was Nok Drayen himself, and Risha was her daughter! Rylan was of course taken aback by it but even he couldn't deny that the pirate king was alive all this time. The captain was given directions to an abandoned vessel off in a dangerous part in deep space called the Long Shadow. It was near a black hole and no spacers have been known to face its danger alive. Nothing could stop him now, Rylan thought. He departed while Risha stayed to catch up with her infamous father, a wise choice the captain mused, one that Juran and Audila would likely appreciate.
-
Letting Audila and Juran know of his success making the last delivery, he did not downplay that tracking down the treasure itself posed great danger. The captain had no intentions of pulling them into harm's way flying into the Long Shadow with them on board. He told them he had a place he'd know they'd be safe at.
Blaster drawn, he led them through a district of the city not too far from the spaceport.
"The leader of my old crew gave us this place before she disappeared. Name was Hylo Visz, she also fought in the war." revealed the captain.
Audila was curious. "How long ago?"
"About 7 or 8 years. Hard times, my childhood friend Kixi was also part of the crew. We worked well together and learned the underworld."
"Do you have any idea why she disappeared?" the female Togruta followed up.
Pausing for a second, the Mirialan captain hummed while trying to think. "I'm not sure exactly, Audila. Maybe debts or a feud she had with someone powerful. We weren't able to investigate. Kixi later vanished too but I was able to find her. She's alive and well now."
Juran reflected on his life situation. "Trying to make it through in the Outer Rim, even just scrape by is a tough endeavor. Your time in the military probably helped you a lot. I'd say we're lucky we made it together as traders on dusty old Tatooine."
"As I said before we're used to it but I knew it would sooner or later catch up to us." said his wife.
"Now that I'm in this ordeal," the captain commented in agreement "perhaps luck is playing a part in how I haven't been vaporized by some bounty hunter just yet. I know my wits and strengths but I've faced some of my toughest enemies yet going after this old treasure."
The smuggler led the couple into a side corridor between the buildings. Off in a backside corner was a door with a single light above it.
"He we are!" said Rylan. "Hylo entrusted this place to me and Kixi before she vanished. I still have the keys." He unlocked the door and walked in first, turned on the lights and let the couple inside."
The captain smiled in awe seeing the old place again.
"Welcome, Audila and Juran. I haven't stopped here in a while it's gonna be a bit dusty in here."
He looked around the safehouse. "And thank the Force, everything's still in place. Let me give you a little tour."
It had rooms for a kitchen, living quarters and a workshop with a small armory. Rylan showed the couple the rooms.
"This reminds me a little of our old place on Tatooine." shared Audila. "It was a bit austere of course but we tried to make things comfortable."
Her husband was impressed somewhat. "I never heard many good things about Nar Shaddaa but this is probably the safest place in the city."
Rylan nodded. "Oh yeah, Hylo grew up on this moon. She knew the streets. It was her who found this place originally."
"How long has this place remained untouched?" asked the female Togruta?
"It has been locked up for about two years. Kixi disappeared after we ran into trouble during a job and I've never been back until now. "
The captain paused briefly. "Anyway, please make yourselves at home. I'll entrust you with the keys and take care of this place while I'm gone."
"We really appreciate what you're doing to help us, Rylan. But please, don't be all heroic out there in deep space." Audila warned Rylan."
"Please take care of yourselves too. If I was you I would just stay here until I return. These streets are too dangerous and I need to know I can find you guys in a safe place."
"We will!" assured Audila.
Juran also spoke in a reassuring voice "Don't worry about us. We're going to lay low here until you return."
-
To the surprise of Rylan, the ship he found in the Long Shadow appeared to belong to members of the ruling class. It was a yacht of some royal house, reminding him somewhat of his time on Alderaan. He had to fight the droid security protecting the vessel as it slowly crumbled and broke apart over the abyss of dark matter.
The answer came clear as he approached the repository Nok Drayen spoke of. A holographic recording of King Arak Drayen III played. From his message, the smuggler learned the Drayens were the royal family of a planet called Dubrillion. The king once ruled over the world in the past. He locked away the family treasures to protect them from traitors who killed him and took over the planet.
Rylan had them in his custody after dealing with the main guardian droid, but there was an unexpected passenger aboard, Skavaak. The stowaway pirate had snuck aboard while Rylan was getting Audila and Juran to a safe place. The captain had no more patience for Skavaak. He made a huge mistake when he crossed Rylan on Ord Mantell.
The pirate boasted about how Bowdaar had huge lungs as a Wookiee and was quick to knock to incapacitate with knockout gas. His friends getting accosted was the final straw for Rylan. He faced Skavaak in battle, not afraid to show off his powertech armaments. The pirate tried to keep up, but was no match for the hardened veteran and Corso.
As the crew made their way back from the Long Shadow with their golden find in the cargo hold, Rylan had a sigh of relief. He didn't fight the truth that he pulled off a very dangerous feat. It was that he didn't see a point in being afraid. Everything he did to get this far all came up to the moment and he was going to see it through.
He thought too perhaps it was a good call he let the Togruta couple stay in his old safehouse becuase of how Skavaak stowed away on his freighter. The captain did not even bother to think what could've happened otherwise. Never was he going to leave them in a situation like the one he found them on Tatooine.
-
After the old riches of the Drayen royal family were recovered, Nok succumbed to his illness and died. It seemed unbelievable to Rylan that one of the most influential criminal figures in the galaxy could trace his lineage back 100 years to royalty. He knew it was true and even Risha wanted to investigate her family's ties to Dubrillion and restore her name.
Yet he felt it was best that was all left in the past. Rylan didn't mention this to Risha of course. He just offered her a place on his ship as a mechanic, carefully side-stepping the Drayen family's affairs and keeping them low on his list of priorities for the moment. Maybe one day she would ask for his help, but that was a story for another day.
Telling his crew to get the Drayen repository back to the ship and he'd meet them there, Rylan returned to his safehouse for Audila and Jorun with good news.
He knocked the door and waited for a few second before she answered.
"Rylan, it's you. Come in."
The female Togruta led the captain to the kitchen where her husband was sitting at the table.
"We were just finishing dinner, do you want something to eat? We're making soup and salad. You can tell us about the treasure."
"Sure. Thank you so much."
They all sat down to eat.
Juran spoke first. "We've tried not to leave anything out of place while we're staying."
"It's fine, I appreciate the compassionate gestures. You both were able to find everything needed to cook, right?"
Audila nodded. "Yes, we packed enough to last us about a week. Mostly whatever fruits, vegetables and canned or dry goods we had. Nothing too perishable."
There was a small, but shrill, shrap whistle. "Looks like the tea is ready." Jorun noted as he got up to retrieve the hot kettle from the burners.
As he poured the tea into his, Audila and Rylan's cups, the captain made his announcement.
"Me and my crew made it. We recovered the old pirate king's riches from an abandoned ship in deep space. Tough battle alright but it's now ours."
Audila responded in a positive. "Congratulations. You're still looking to split the treasure among us and your crew, right?
Rylan answered confidently. "And my family too. I thought that having all that wealth, it's too much for one person to handle for a while without going haywire. I'll sleep good at night If know if it's all going to a few good folks I know can be trusted to use it wisely.
"That sounds well-reasoned. It must be tough to stick to what you believe in spending many years dealing with the underworld." commented Jorun.
"Yeah, I think a part of what got me through was the people with me by my side." the captain explained. "Hylo, Kixi, now Corso, Bowdaar and Risha. Even I get to go back home and visit my family on Mirial sometimes. I've met others who helped me out along the way who were great, but have their own life paths."
Audila paused for a moment before speaking. "I have no idea what would've been if you weren't there for us on Tatooine. Don't worry about the thing between us and Risha. I'm sure you likely have some idea since you found the treasure but we aren't gonna pull you into it."
The captain felt the same. "I've seen it all when I was closing in on the treasure but I don't see any reason why I should be involved in whatever old dealings Nok Drayen had either. Let's just put it this way, it all belongs in the past."
"Where do you think you'll be headed next, Captain?" asked Juran.
"Back to Mirial. I miss my family, I haven't really seen them in a few months, at least since I ran into Skavak. Don't worry, that pirate is long-gone now."
Audila hummed a bit before she got back to Rylan. "Hmmm, we would be happy to come along. It would give us some time to figure out our plans for resettling."
The captain happily welcomed their company. "Of course, you're welcome to stay on with us! We can talk about getting everyone each their share of the treasure in time being. I'm going to be more glad to come home to my family and frankly, we all could use a reprieve from this trailblazing across the galaxy."
Once supper was over, Rylan helped Audila and Juran pack up their things before locking up the safehouse once again. Departing Nar Shaddaa, the old repository of the Drayen royal family was safely inside the cargo hold. Everyone was glad the great quest was finally over and looking forward to celebrating the find once the captain made it back to his homeworld.
-
In the weeks after the quest for Nok Drayen's lost fortune, the captain was commended for his efforts by Darmas Pollaran, the contact who help him get his ship back on Coruscant. He offered him a new business proposition. The meeting was supposed to take place at Port Nowhere, a space station frequented by members of the criminal underworld. Fighting off an attack by mercenaries working for crime lord Rogun The Butcher, Rylan learned from Darmas his enemy left standing after killing Skavak worked for the Empire in a plot to take over the underworld, trying to unite it against the Republic.
Darmas revealed that he was now working with Senator Dodonna, who presented the veteran smuggler a proposal to be commissioned as a Republic privateer by the Senate. Rylan would be allowed to continue running his own jobs and keep his wealth in return for helping the Republic fight their enemies. He accepted it without hesitation.
Making a hasty escape from the space station, the captain was knocked aside by an exploding grenade but a fighter told him to just keep going. Once back safely on his ship, Darmas mused to Rylan about the potential for power and money to be had in privateering, but the captain told him to not get ahead of things. With tensions rising across the galaxy, Rylan headed out on his first mission, to the industrial planet of Balmorra.
Audila and Juran would end up settling on the peaceful forest planet of Byllura. They were able to use their share of the treasure to finance the start of a new mercantile exchange business. Rylan was always appreciated around their home. Eventually, Risha would come around to fulfill her own promise to her friends to bring them to light about what happened on Tatooine.
