Mandalorian Skies
In the beginning she had been known as Naahla Le Lynuar, third daughter of Rurak Lynuar and child of the southern grasslands and white water sea of the planet Shilli.
She remembered the pale verdure of the groves that claimed the outer reaches of her village, Sa'shi, and the rough feel of the grand wizened sycamores that stroked the long, pale crown of her lekku when she wandered across the land in honeyed sunlight. She could recall the light scent of cherry blossom and lemon seeds that freshened the wind by the twin rivers she used to play by as a youngling, and of journeying all the way to the White Sea itself, if only to float among the waves and sleep in the sand of silver-grey when her tribe were too preoccupied with their traditions to care.
And, amongst all her memories, she remembered the many eves she had spent gazing up at the thousand-thousand stars shimmering in the dusk, the stars being far too far away to see as clearly as the lilac planet Balnab that dominated the sky, but close enough to feel the magic of other worlds ignite the lust of adventure in her heart.
It was that innocent curiosity that had began her descent from the light of the Togruta people, away from their teachings and traditions, and into the deep intricate binds of darkness.
By the night of her fifteenth year of birth, her father had granted her the title 'Lady of the Sa'shi' and honoured her with a mate worthy of any Togruta, one who she would wed and later bed on her eighteenth year of birth.
Though, as she stared into the city of Mandalore from her wing in the Citadel many years later, her dark brown face softening beneath her feathered mantle of black and red, while her blue eyes glistened in the many lights of the new world, she smiled, not in despair, only in cruel, honest delight.
Her tribe had burned in the harsh wildfire of a mercenary onslaught. She remembered how the fierce flames danced on and on, she made herself remember and smile when the last of the huts turned into nothing other than ash in the veld.
Her father had been the only one to beseech her captor for her freedom, only he was taken back by his people, who allowed such a thing to happen, if to save their petty lives.
Whether her father, brothers and many sisters yet lived, she did not know. All that mattered most in her younger, harsher years was her survival. Then it was her training… into darkness… into the Force.
Her fingers were cold against the scratched glass of the royal bedchamber, leaving a fogged white print when her hand curled into her chest. There, clipped onto her mantle was a broach of dead crystal and she quietly thumbed the sharp corners and smooth faces in absent thought, her mind drifting into the irregularly labyrinthine design of Mandalore's streets.
She half wondered why the inhabitants continued to pass through their city without a single weep.
Should they have not felt the death of their governess?
It had taken some pondering on the foreign worlders before she had come to the conclusion that they, the Mandalorian, were not as attuned to the ways of the galaxy than others of her kind had been, and so could not feel the impact of such a death without having first witnessing it.
They are blind, senseless beings with no true concept of the cosmos, or the Force.
Her people had been different. They were close, connected, like a hive. The Togruta were not able to sense the distress of family members from vast distances per say, but unlike others, her tribe had been blessed with an affinity to the Force, and her lineage in particular allowed her family to sense the wrongness in their siblings. A part of themselves always fell sour when one in their proximity fell ill. It brought them closer together, and drove her away.
Thinking of that, she could not help but pity the Mandalorians.
Their duchess has been murdered not an hour before her arrival. Her delicate body still lay dead on the marble floor of the council atrium, dressed in mournful silk with her skin fading to the pale shade of the stone itself. Even then, not one of her people had wept for her passing.
If only they knew, but then again, Laahna wondered, her new name still seeming foreign in her thoughts, would they have cared either way?
She sensed the presence of another enter the bedchamber, the pull of the Force tugging on her inner self in a somewhat pleasant, near otherworldly way. Like longing.
The Togruta continued to gaze into the land below the Citadel until his presence had shadowed the brilliance of the city lights. She then quietly turned, with her blue eyes flicking over his tall frame in the dark like the reflection of moonlight on the sea, outwardly cool and composed without betraying any of her intentions.
He seemed older than when she had last seen him; broader shouldered, taller by the mechanical enhances bound into the flesh of his abdomen and, by the length of the many horns crowning each end of his skull, far more sinister.
Yet despite his strong mien, he was also far more gaunt than the last year that passed, evidenced by the definitions of his rib bones and clavicles, bound under the faded markings etched into every layer of his leathery skin; the shades reminding her of fire and ash.
He seemed weathered but not shattered, as if a piece had been ripped away, though the Dathomirian Zabraks were known to be a broody sort, and so it was often difficult to tell.
"Your battle with Pre Vizla was a success, I see," she whispered, beckoning to her surroundings with an elegant wave of her hand. "I trust your newly apppointed leadership of the Death Watch has ended in your favour?"
"Ah, Laahna Le," said he, clasping his hands behind his back; a steel hoof crept forward, clattering against the marble in advance, "so gracious of you to grace me with your presence. It has been a very long time."
"It has, hasn't it? I'm afraid my stay will be less longer still. I've come for one night and day, then I must leave Mandalore. The outer systems call to me, and I shudder to leave them unanswered. Yet still. This place, this palace you have founded for yourself, is strangely beautiful, do you not think?"
Her bare feet began to pace along the stone steps of the balcony; a sweep of black veil drowning the reflections of starlight that glazed the floor in her passing. Her cuffs were long, her mantle longer still, yet as she paced while overlooking the city, she could not help but feel powerful, like the city belonged to her and her to it.
How she wished it was so.
She faltered by his side and quietly folded her arms. "You've done well for yourself, Maul. You have come far from being a Sith Lord."
A ridgidness had caught his back, reaching up to the heavy hunch of his shoulders. "Careful. I will hold my anger for my care for you, my dear, but I would advice caution when speaking of festered wounds."
Laahna Le chuckled, then gave a small nod. She left her position from the overlook to inspect the bedchamber a little closer, sliding her hands along tables adorned in various imported fruits with wine left idle in goblets, to the escritoire nestled in the centre, layered in many various tomes and teachings. Though, they did not belong to Maul.
Her focus drifted from the ominous scribbles and cluttered parchment to the quilted bed itself, kissing the long, velvet drapes with her fingertips before settling on the edge of the mattress, one thick thigh crossing over the other.
The Togruta folded her arms, raising her breasts over her leather vest, then curled a hand under her dimpled chin. "Old wounds may heal in time, if you let them. You harbour so much resentment in your heart that you cannot see it unravel you. I have heard whispers in the black markets of your ill doings. Your brother, Savage, and your reputation are proceeding others. There are bounties worth two thousand credits alone. I fear you have lost your way. I also fear that you have forgotten happier times… that all memories are becoming dark and twisted. I have to wonder. I am not an old wound to be added to your collection, am I, Maul?"
The ancient Sith raised a thick arched brow, tilting his golden gaze from the ampleness of her thighs to her face. His red lips curled back sourly. "And why would you think you were that, my Laahna? Perhaps it should be I asking that of you. I have tried to contact when time affords me, but I get no answer."
Her soft features creased only a little, but she was sure he could sense the despair in her chest, choking her voice to a quiet sigh and whisper. "As have I, but it is difficult for me when my work entails killing men for credits. Always travelling, never resting to see the splendours of the worlds I visit."
"Ah, well the solution is clear. You know what you must do."
She raised a slender brow, inclining over the bed. "Hmm?"
"Kill them faster," said the older Sith, smirking lightly afterwards.
"If only I had your intellect, Maul, I'd be wealthier than the senator himself."
"Stay by my side and perhaps you will."
She hesitated for a moment, shifting her focus to the tiled floor, sensing her decision was in the cracks. Time passed by on broken toes before she graced him with an answer. "You've asked this before of me and my answer was no. Yet I have missed you. It is weak to say such a thing and embarrassing, I know, but it is true. I have missed your brother and the feeling of the world bowing before our feet. The lust for the dark side, by my ancestor's spirit, it's tempting."
Maul gave a knowing nod, crossing his arms over his chest. "It is more powerful than we could ever know. I'll admit, I'm surprised the call hadn't claimed you sooner. You resist, even now."
The Togruta frowned. "I'm no Jedi."
"No, not anymore and you will never be again. But you don't spill innocent blood. You don't kill for the thrill, for the hunt, only for wealth or vengeance. Though," he paused, raising a finger, "vengeance, that I understand. Today was just the beginning of my vengeance. I cannot even explain the delight I felt witnessing the master Jedi crumble to his knees and clutch to the last breathes of his dead duchess. Oh, the loss in his eyes, the despair! It was… thrilling."
"I saw her as I passed. Was she worth killing, if to break the hopes of one Jedi?"
He bowed his head and closed his eyes, permitting the darkness to hide his emotions from her, but she saw the flicker of his brows, the narrowing of his lips, as if reminiscing on a memory. And when his head lifted, a hunger had caught his eyes, dilating them to point that the pupils had engulfed the golden rings entirely.
"Oh, it was worth it and more," he grinned, reinacting the experience through his hands. "I would sacrifice everything he loves if it gave him a mere whisper of what he did to me. Even now, I feel the pain of his lightsaber cutting through my body like a burning rod through liquid metal. The fires… the heat… the darkness… they burned, on and on, never quenching."
The grin Maul had began to fade as did the hunger, until his heightened bloodlust became little more than a flicker of sorrow. Unable to meet her gaze, the ancient Sith turned his attention to the overlook and leant against the glass, staring out into the city with an arm braced over his crown.
"Before my brother found me, I had lain in darkness for years and years and years. I never told you what happened to me down in that rotting pit. It is my wish that you never know. It had been so long and my path had been so dark. Darker than I could have ever dreamed it could be. I did things that would taint the very image of me in your mind. Hah, you would only think of me as a monster, and not who I am.
"Always remember, I am Fear," he whispered, curling his hand into a fist, "always remember, I am Hunter, always remember, I am Filth, always remember, I am Nothing, bahhh!" He snarled, thrusting himself away from the window to the plates of food, where his arms smashed into the table, shattering the cutlery into many shimmering pieces.
He punched and punched again and again, growling, snarling and shrieking until his skin had bled and blistered from his knuckles. Then, when his body gradually succumbed to rationality, he held the table at the oaken edges and bowed his head low, as his body heaved. "Darkness, was my world. My mind lay troubled in shadows, where once it had been my comfort, now it was my captor. I crawled, I begged, I pleaded, but no God ever came for me. I was alone."
Laahna felt a painful pulse tug her heart through her chest. She tried to dull the feeling, but the ache burned on and on. It hurt for him. "I never knew you went through that. I had always wondered what happened to your legs but never thought it was my place to ask. Though, despite your past being the way it is, it should no longer trouble you, Maul. You're free and sane now."
"Sane?" he chuckled, so darkly that it sent a chill down her spine. "I was never sane. Never."
He relinquished the table and walked over to her, sweat upon his brow. "All that kept me going in that godforsaken pit was revenge. The knowing that one day I would escape and enact my wrath. And finally, finally, I have him, chained and bound in these walls, all alone, all mine."
"And what will you do now that he is in your custody? Kill him?"
Maul scowled, disappointed. "No, no, no, do you not see, my dear? That would be mercy. No, he deserves far worse. He will die one day but not before all that he holds dear has been taken from this world. When his eyes grow dull and lifeless, when his body has wrinkled and weakened, when his faith in the Force has faded with age and he begs for death, only then will I consider such an act, but not before driving my darksaber through his stomach and tearing his gut in two."
The Togruta found herself frowning even more, slowly shaking her head. "I never considered you to be that low."
"Is it low to crave what you can never have? You will never understand losing a part of yourself that will never heal. I will always have my scars. These legs, cold and machine, will always be apart of me. But I lost more than just my legs. I lost my life. I was apprentice to the most powerful being in the galaxy once. I was destined to become… so much more. Even in my early years the entire galaxy trembled under my command, and now my name is but a whisper in the darkness, one I doubt even children fear anymore."
"Always, I am filth," he whispered, lowering himself onto the bed and laying his head in his hands. "Always, I am nothing."
He did not weep, for he was far too proud, but he was like the face of a cliff, strong against the elements, yet just like each time the onslaught of the shore clashed against the bay, each year, just a little more of him was swept away.
Revenge will be his downfall. He will stand along the shore in utter fearlessness, but drown in the thick currents of pride. My love will never even see it coming.
Her touch upon his cheek was a gentle, wary touch. It coaxed him from his anguish, his head rising and cheek nestling into her palm. For once his guard was down, as his golden eyes flickered back and forth uncertainly, searching her face for any sense of mendacity. He really was wary of her.
Her thumb caressed the sharp point of his chin, then his lower lip. Maul took in a nervous breath, to which she, in turn, placed her other hand over his heart. It pulsed against his chest hard and healthy.
"Be with me tonight," the Togruta smiled. "Forget your regrets and revenge. Forget all the troubles the Jedi master has caused and for once, be alive."
He smirked, reaching up to affectionally cup the left lekku tail that folded down from her crown like a thick braid of ivory. Maul followed the paler markings with his nail, committing the curls, the flicks, the folds and freckles to memory. "Where have you been, my dearest, when I could use you most?"
Laahna Le gently rose from the mattress, draping the floor with her mantle and skirts. She took his hand and began to walk, leading him to the side of the featherbed where she approached his muscled chest and laid him down on his back.
His gaze upon her was bright, dazzling - brilliant amber flares that could pierce the inner motives of any who would dare tremble before his feet. Though, not that night. That night he was the one vulnerable and unable to contemplate her reasonings.
Laahna sensed it in the minor twitching of his fingers when his palms closed around her waist. She sensed it in his shaky exhale when her tongue licked the outer shell of his ear and his shudder of ecstasy when she bit into his shoulder not too kindly.
For one moment his being was palpable and lax, like he was floating on water, gently following the guidance of her current. The next, he was alight in the flame of his deepest desires, basking in the pleasure of her clever fingers.
Her white and blue horns grazed his chest when she kissed him. He rose and fell like a tide, her lips and hot breath following the map of flame and darkness of his markings, halting only when her touch met the crisp cold of metal imbedded into his abdomen, where the inner circuits vibrated and the cogs churned each time he moaned.
Kissing a path to his heart then neck, then nose, her tongue saught entrance passed his lips, and he, delirious with lust, greedily accepted.
She smiled when he tried to reward the pleasure she gifted to him with her own, but a light tap on his hands and a bite on his neck soon ended his selflessness.
Let him feel alive for just one night, without worry, just pleasure.
When their lips met and passion ensued, neither remembered the past discussion. They only cared for their mutual enjoyment; their small taste of divinity. Once more his hands danced across her velvet flesh and ample bosom, tweeking the sensitive buds before reaching up to her neck and undoing the clasp of her mantle. With the fabric shed, he raised himself to her height, snatched her thigh with one hand and held her shoulders close with the other, all the while nipping the sensitive skin of her neck, enticing a moan and whimper from her reddened lips.
"I have missed you," he purred.
Her response was breathy, unfocused. "As… have I with you."
"Stay with me. I sense your regret each time you slip from my grasp. You choose to slay bounties with your Setting Sons, but we both know your talents are wasted with them. What you need is work far more bloody, worth a destiny, in fact."
"I will always be yours, Maul," she panted, placing a chaste kiss upon his brow. When he attempted to capture her lips she fell back to trace the sharp curve of his jaw with her forefinger. "You know I cannot. I can see where your path will lead, further into darkness with more attention from the Jedi. I cannot be seen near them."
"You fear them?"
She chuckled darkly. "They are a powerful order, one that hasn't survived all these centuries solely by being honourable peacekeepers. They are dangerous and I do not have to be a seer to know any conflict with them will never end well."
Laahna noticed his disappointment and kissed his cheek. "I will be there when you need me, but you cannot ask me to fight them. I'm sorry."
"You're no coward…" he muttered, gazing distantly over her shoulder, "but I understand your reasons. I have always been destined to destroy them. Perhaps I always will."
"Destiny can change, if you will it. Join me. Join the Setting Sons. There is enough honour and glory for you and Savage. You will see more of the universe than you ever dreamed. You will have challenges even the once great Darth Maul would have had trouble rectifying. Love, lust, adventure. All may be yours, if you pledge yourself."
Maul swallowed thickly, glancing down; catching the hem of her bodice and slowly tugging the lace loose. "We are too stubborn to choose a different path, my Laahna."
"Yet here we are."
He gave a small nod, resting his forehead against hers. "Here we are."
Late nightfall eventually fell upon the Citadel, hours after the moans of pleasure had quietened to exhausted sighs and even quieter mews of sleep. The Togruta lay nestled in the embrace of her lover for a long time, far past the stroke of midnight. Yet sleep did not claim her as it did him.
Laahna instead focused on the gentle rise and fall of her lover's chest, counted the steady rhythm of his heart as if a lullaby, and listened to the subtle groan he made when the chill of the chamber had caught his sleeping form unawares, causing him to seek further haven in her warmth, folding his arms around her lower back with the quilt wrapped firmly over his shoulders.
What he dreamed of, she could not tell. Only that it was a tranquil dream that brought no fear to his being. He was content, perhaps for the first time in years. That thought alone saddened her.
Nimble and quiet, Laahna relieved herself from the embrace of her lover and the comforts of the feather bed to tiptoe over several steps to the balcony, where the city lights still shone, though not nearly as brightly as before. She could just about see the stars trailing over the skyscrapers on the horizon, where the depths of the sky had taken on a honeyed shade, blending further up into blackness.
Shuttles glided to and from Mandalore, some carrying exports of cargo from other galaxies, others simply minding their own way. She briefly wondered to which adventure they were headed: to the blackmartkets to deal in illegal trade, or to simply patrol the streets for a passenger. All were exciting to her, in their own way.
For a moment she allowed the silence of the royal chamber to clear her thoughts, breathing in the cool evening air and exhaling a light cloud that disappeared along the glass of the window. She glanced over her shoulder to where her love lay contempt, soundly within the slumbering realm and at peace.
It was an odd word to describe his state, but it was true. He had not stirred since their love-making, not once. He just lay half concealed within the velvet quilt, his horns hidden in the many pillows plumped up against the silver headboard and his face, despite the harsh markings, the utter depiction of serene.
Always filth, she played in her mind like a worrying tune, always nothing.
He would never tell her how he got so low, she knew. She doubted it was a story his brother, Savage, would tell either. No, both would carry it to their graves, however far or close that was to the future.
Yet she continued to mull over his mantra, spoken by him when pain wracked him most. It probably meant nothing, merely a way to describe his past so she could understand. But the words seemed familiar to her, as if she had heard them once before, from the tongue of an old maddened friend who she had clearly forgotten.
Memories are never clear, she mused with a sigh. But for most of us, they're all we have. And when they're truly gone, a part of yourself is lost as well.
From the window she sensed a presence, not unlike her own or that of her lover, only slightly brighter. She closed her eyes and followed the link with her thoughts, imagining the many corridors and halls of the Citadel, her inner self gliding through the atrium where the throne lay bare, past where the body of the duchess had lain before it was swept away from the marble, and down, down, down to the very heart, where darkness had swallowed the lower tiers of a small port, save for one shuttle-craft that had yet to depart. She sensed chains deep within, rattling against iron columns.
She sensed the Jedi.
Whether he knew of her intrusion, she did not know, but he made no reaction to it. Instead, he lay in the farthest corner of his prison, surprisingly far away from the small hole of light that cast the centre of his chamber in a silver glow.
The rebels must have left him there until they were ready to leave for the Mandalorian prison. She sensed the pilots in the fore-end of the craft and the guards settling into the cockpit. None were the wiser to her presence.
She drew further into his cell, wishing to know the feelings he caged; the thoughts he locked away. Only a few were allowed to slip, his inner strife shimmering within his tears.
There was sorrow and there was dispair. There were memories she could not see, only feel. She felt the laughter between two old friends and the heart wrenching ache of death.
She knew that type of love. She had it herself: fierce, selfish passion that could make or break the will of the person it latched onto. She sensed it in the Jedi in waves, like a beacon. Yet she also sensed no darkness in him.
The Togruta frowned. There was no anger. No resentment for what her lover did to him. Only acceptance and grief. He mourned his love, the duchess, but did not harbour feelings of revenge. The thought alone worried her even more.
Maul was right to hate you.
Relinquishing her connection, Laahna Le left the crisp coldness of the royal chamber to return to the loving warmth and embrace of her lover. She quietly parted the covers, slipped inside and snuggled up to his chest. From there she lay her head in the crook of his neck and smelled the scent of leather and ash, two scents that were unmistakably him.
Perhaps she would stay with him after all, at least until the Jedi in the heart of the Citadel had been dealt with.
For she feared the nights to come, sensing they would be long and full of terror.
...
I've been watching Star Wars The Clone Wars again *sighs*. Even though there is a lot of emotion portrayed in the series for the character of Maul, I wanted to portray a situation where it shows just how much despair he has after Obi-Wan Kenobi essentially ruined his life, and how even though he is strong, there are moments where he almost gives in. Plus I love writing romance so that was the inspiration for this one shot.
This is during the episode where Duchess Satine has died at the hands of Maul. This is a few hours ahead where Maul has had time to come to terms with what he has done yet Obi-Wan has yet to leave Mandalore to go to prison, though we all know how well that goes to plan xD