A/N: Just a short little ficlet that was inspired by the lightside conversation choices one can make with Kemral, that poor kid who tries to save you from Vemrin. As always, please read, review, and enjoy! :)
The first time he saw her, she barely glanced at him.
Darth Baras' chambers were dimly lit, his trophies displayed in a gruesomely chilling tribute to the Dark Lord's prestigious power. Fear was a sensation you could taste on the back of your tongue, as bitter and heavy as Durindfire. Klemral could scarcely control his legs from shaking, his trembling grip on the hilt of a scavenged vibro-blade a silent testament to the terror that coursed through his veins with every quickened heartbeat. He had cast his gaze numerous times over the other gathered acolytes, nervously calculating his chances of success against his rivals for Darth Baras' favor. With a little luck, he considered that killing one of the lesser known disciples and acquire the necessary shards in order to complete their task. He had looked over them again, scowling at some of the more eager faces and suppressing the urge to sneer; none of them, aside from Vemrin, had stood out from one another, himself included. Their combined strength fell flat and dull in the face of the Dark Lord's exhibited accomplishments.
But she...she glowed.
Her silvery eyes were alight with excitement, with hunger...and with power.
The strength of the Force within her was palpable, strong enough to reach out and travel up his spine like a warm, silken caress. It swelled and ebbed in harmonious waves around her, tendrils of it ghosting over his skin, pleasant heat trailing in its wake sensuously. So different and yet so similar to the potent energy swirling around their master. Her posture was poised, yet subtlety impatient, avidly listening to rumbled instructions. Honey brown curls fell in loose ringlets down her back and swayed slightly as she shifted position. Her perfect, softly pink lips were gently parted as her eyes intently focused on the lord behind the desk. A soft flush, of anticipation perhaps, swept across high, finely sculpted cheekbones, a sight that Klemral could not help but to drink in.
She was irresistibly intoxicating, capturing his once wandering attention and retaining it. Even, Vemrin, her proclaimed rival and self-declared murderer could not stop glancing at her, a dark desire plain in his cerulean eyes. She was fiercely alluring, the pull of her power magnetic. She attracted fear and respect as easily, it seemed, as any Darth, easily outshining any and all acolytes present at the academy.
Klemral believed she had to be one of the most beautiful creatures in the galaxy.
And one of the most dangerous.
The second time he saw her, she smiled at him.
The Tomb of Tulak Hord was undeniably treacherous, shyraks, rebel slaves, and hostilely programmed droids more often than not effortlessly dispatching even the most accomplished acolytes. Klemral was hardly an exception, though he had the Force-blessed sense not to venture beyond the entrance to the valley. From near a large, rough boulder, he watched, and waited, as rival after rival fell to blaster fire, fang, and venom. Each he would approach upon death and in each he was sorely disappointed, none possessing a single shard for their trouble. The heat reflected from the red sand blazed up to where he crouched, harshly stabbing at his eyes and prickling sweat across his skin.
He scowled, anger and frustration mingling with the blazing heat. Too weak in the force to attempt cooling himself and too agitated to channel his emotions constructively, Klemral merely swiped against the damp brown locks that clung to his forehead stubbornly.
That was when he spotted her.
It was almost as if she had learned to grasp water, so fluidly did she wield her blade. Men and machine alike fell at her feet, metallic death cries beginning to echo off the stone cliffs surrounding the tomb. He saw that hunger again in her eyes, and a savage glee as she smoothly spun away from the clutching claws of one unfortunate droid, smoothly ducking beneath the awkward chop of an inexperienced slave. He'd heard the rumors, of course, how Overseer Tremel had attempted to rush her through the acolyte training in an attempt to not only replace, and eclipse Vemrin, but also to curry favor with Darth Baras.
Klemral could admit, to himself, at least, that the Overseer could not have chosen a more worthy adversary for Vemrin. Well, perhaps it was more accurate to think of Vemrin as worthy of her. He had spent months training in the Academy, and he had seen many promising initiates stride through its dark halls, proficient duelists and Force users.
And yet he doubted that any of them could have taken her.
Perhaps it was his awe of her, clouding his judgment, causing him to overestimate her abilities, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He felt drawn to her, compelled to observe as she darted through the crumbling ruins, rivulets of blood dogging her steps.
It was then, just as she was about to disappear into the gaping darkness of the furthest tomb, that she turned her face back towards the sun, towards him. Despite the distance between them, he could feel her gaze, eyes of mercury watching him in their turn. He swallowed hard, unable to look away. His breath caught in his throat as her lips curved into a knowing smile, as if she could read his thoughts.
And without a word, she disappeared into the gloom.
The third time he saw her, that smile was still playing around her lips.
Except now he was completely at the mercy of it…and her blade.
The tip pressed painfully into the tender flesh of his throat as he knelt at her feet, a consummate reminder of yet another failure. This one, however, was going to cost him more than mere political or social standing. His hands clenched into fists at his sides to keep her from seeing their quivering, his dark eyes snapping up to hers. They were unreadable, and he could not decide if he was grateful for that, or resentful.
The pressure against his throat eased suddenly and he blinked in open surprise when she sheathed the vibro-blade against her back. The honey colored strands of her hair tumbled across her shoulders as she tilted her head at him, one hand coming to rest at the curve of her waist. A delicate brow arched and he hastily staggered to his feet. Explanations clamoured on the tip of his tongue, but as he met her gaze for a second time, he could not give them voice. He was speechless, watching as that knowing smile became more amused, but without the mockery one would have expected. It was that lack of scornfulness that finally loosened his tongue and where he was once unable to speak, he now found himself unable to stop.
It was only the gentle pressure of three shards pressing into the palm of his hand that ceased his nervous chatter. That, and the warmth of her fingers curling around the back of his hand. The Force echoed through that touch, making a shiver want to chase up his spine. Stupidly, he blinked down at the stone pieces he now held, his mind scrambling to process the unnatural kindness she was affording him, searching for some plausible, logical reason she could have to surrender her hard work to someone who had just ineffectively attempted to kill her. Surely she must be gaining something by this. She couldn't possibly lack for personal motivations...could she?
He lifted his head and searched her face, abruptly realizing that there existed nothing in her expression save a quiet understanding that he did not comprehend. Her other hand came up and carefully covered his fingers over the priceless shards, generously offering him what he had not been able to achieve on his own. His chest constricted as his fingers flexed involuntarily beneath her warm touch.
It was only later that it dawned on him that what he had seen...was compassion.
The final time he saw her, the world had changed.
He could no longer only see varying degrees of blackness dancing across his vision. The sweet brightness of her soul, a soul that resided in the most unlikely of hosts, had blinded him to any other color, save perhaps the auroral shade of her eyes.
Blood seeped from between his fingers where he clenched them against his belly. The stone beneath him was cold, but their chill was swept away as his head was suddenly cradled between warm hands. Weakly, he struggled to sit up, to keep his eyes open. Darkness was beckoning to him and he valiantly tried to resist its call. He wouldn't go back. He'd finally found a beacon with which to navigate the murk and he'd fought with everything he'd had to keep it from being extinguished.
It had been a foolish thing. Probably the most foolish thing he'd ever done. She hardly needed some coward from a backwater planet like Balmorra to defend her from scum like Vemrin. Hadn't he seen what she was capable of? Perhaps he had seen more than she would have guessed. Perhaps that was what had inspired him. He would have done anything to preserve that gentle look she had given him, the life she had bought for him with her own blood. He had seen the nasty wound on her arm from her second trip into the tomb; a wound that he might as well have made with his own blade.
His cheek rested against something supple and his eyelashes fluttered. Slowly, his eyes focused and he blushed despite himself when he realized that she had drawn him up to allow his head to rest in her lap. Emotions he was unfamiliar with shimmered in her gaze, yet they made the burning in his stomach lessen. He could feel her power frantically working against nature, trying to pull him back from the threshold he was so close to crossing. Her lips were continually moving, and he knew that she was calling his name even though he could no longer hear her voice.
A final strength flooded him and he reached up with his other hand to run it through her beautiful curls, enjoying how silky they felt against the pads of his fingers. He found the back of her neck and he pulled her face down towards his own.
Her lips were soft and warm against his, tasting of spice, and a bittersweet hope. As his mouth gently moved beneath hers, he felt something give deep in his chest. The sensation of her palm cupping his jaw was reassuring as her thumb stroked across his skin. To him, she was the final light in the dark, a powerful star that had drawn him away from the depths that had threatened to drown him.
And when he parted from her, his last breath gently caressing her cheek, Klemral knew that it had been a gift he had never deserved.