Author's Note: This fic grew out of the "Into A Bar" challenge on DreamWidth. My prompt was "Thane Krios walks into a bar and meets... Han Solo." I intended to write a one-shot, but it got out of hand fairly quickly. I hope you enjoy!
Ten of Sabres
Chapter 1: The Evil One
"When the Evil One appears in a reading, he signifies entrapment. There may be no escape. Violence, anger, fear, temptation—any or all of these may plague you at this moment. Only by staying true to yourself and your ideals will you overcome him."
—Lunira, The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future
My hands are bound, my head fuzzy. Blood trickles into my eyes. The guard's fingers dig painfully into my arm as he jerks me forward. I stumble, dizzied by my injuries and the stench of this place. It reeks of sweat and grease and sex and death. It's all I can do not to vomit.
How in Amonkira's name have I gotten myself into this mess? I'm better than this. How could I have walked into such an obvious trap?
I'm brought before my captor's throne, yanked to a halt directly atop what I know to be a trap door. He taunts me, gloating over how he's broken me. Perched by his shoulder, his pet monkey-lizard screeches with laughter, a shrill, mocking sound that scrapes at my already shattered nerves until my fingers twitch with the overwhelming desire to strangle the repulsive creature. The entire court joins in, their cackling beating at me, drowning me.
I pull at my restraints to no avail, and the assembled crowd finds this even more amusing. "What do you want of me?" I finally snarl. My self-control, my discipline, has nearly deserted me. I find I don't particularly care.
My captor's thick, gluey voice booms throughout the chamber as he reveals what he would have me do. I can only stand there, stunned, as the laughter of the court crashes over me in waves.
With no other choice, I agree to his terms, and he orders my bonds removed. His mistake. The instant my hands are free, I snap the neck of one guard, snatch his blaster from its holster, and shoot the other dead before the first body hits the floor. I turn the gun on my captor.
But he remains unmoved, blinking languidly at me as he speaks into the comlink clutched in his absurdly tiny hand. "Kill the boy."
The words are like a knife to my gut. "No!" I cry. I drop the blaster and fall to my knees.
Laughter. Laughter fraying the last threads of my sanity. Tears spill down my face, and I do not care who sees.
"I know, Chewie. It's not like him to be late."
Chewbacca growled anxiously.
"Yeah, I hope so, too."
Han Solo glanced around the cantina, trying to look casual. Showing nervousness in Mos Eisley was just asking to get jumped. But the message he'd gotten from his contact, asking to meet him here, had been less than reassuring. And after going dark for as long as he had… Han's hand drifted down toward his blaster as he scanned the room again.
The cantina was, as usual, dim, crowded, noisy, and smelly. In the far corner, Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes wailed away on "Mad About You" for what must have been the eighth time that evening—something in old Figrin's face made Han suspect he was going to stop taking requests before much longer. At the bar, Wuher swept a couple of glasses out of the way as pair of brawling Twi'leks slammed into the countertop, lekku flailing. The other patrons just let them fight it out.
When one finally drew a blaster, the sound of the shot momentarily startled the cantina into silence. But it only lasted a moment before Figrin struck up the band again. The surviving brawler grudgingly tipped Wuher to compensate for the mess, and unceremoniously dragged the corpse out the door. Business as usual at Chalmun's.
"Captain Solo. Thank you for meeting me here."
Han jumped, and his own blaster was in his hand a split second before he recognized his contact sitting across the table from him. "Damn it, Krios! Don't sneak up on me like that!" he snarled.
"My apologies. In a profession such as mine, a certain stealth becomes… habitual." Thane dipped his head, ever the gentleman. He stood out here, and not just because he was the only Drell in the joint. Everything about him—the way he moved, the way he spoke, even the way he dressed—usually exuded an easy grace that would have been more at home in the upper levels of Coruscant than a seedy dive like this. He looked up at Chewie. "Hello, Chewbacca. It is good to see you again." His voice was strained, his smile wan but genuine.
Growling, Chewie stood and stomped around the table to tower over Thane, who calmly maintained eye contact, brow ridge raised. They just stared at each other for a moment, Chewie looking menacing and Thane utterly unmoved, until Chewie suddenly yanked him out of his seat and into a crushing hug, warbling an enthusiastic greeting.
Han had to smile. The big lug had always liked Thane.
Though being smothered in Wookiee affection clearly made him uncomfortable, Thane endured Chewie's hearty embrace for a few moments before gently but firmly extricating himself. He coughed once and straightened his jacket as he reclaimed his seat, pulling his dignity around him like a cloak. He didn't speak for a long moment, seeming to gather his thoughts before getting down to business.
Han took the opportunity to study him. He'd worked with Thane fairly often in the past, passing him any information he had on whichever scumbag the assassin was hunting at the time, giving him a lift now and then, even occasionally smuggling him into and out of places he couldn't infiltrate on his own. In return, Thane would send him any jobs his targets left unfinished. He was unfailingly polite, professional, and he paid handsomely. But he never spoke of anything personal, always keeping an emotional distance that sometimes made Han wonder if he ever felt anything at all.
And that was fine. Despite Chewie's exuberance, they weren't exactly friends. What relationship they had could at best be described as a mutually beneficial partnership. Two career criminals with a solid respect for each other's skills and a willingness to pay for each other's services.
On the occasions that he'd hitched a ride aboard the Millennium Falcon, Thane had mostly kept to himself, preferring to spend his time reading, meditating, or meticulously cleaning his weapons. He'd always maintained an air of quiet competence, a deliberate serenity, that seemed utterly impenetrable. He never even seemed to be in a hurry, let alone upset by anything.
But today… something had rattled his cage severely, that much was obvious. He stared down at his hands, clasped so tightly on the tabletop they actually trembled. His jaw clenched, and his inner eyelids blinked rapidly. His usual cold confidence had entirely deserted him, and Han had the uneasy feeling he was getting his first real glimpse of the man behind the mask.
"Krios…" Han glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned forward across the table, pitching his voice low. "You okay, buddy? You don't look so good."
Thane drew a deep, unsteady breath. "Captain Solo… I require your assistance in a… a personal matter," he said stiffly. He still didn't make eye contact, setting off even more alarm bells in Han's head.
"I get the feeling you're lookin' for more than intel and a ride, this time."
"Indeed. And you will be compensated accordingly, of course." Thane swallowed hard. "Forgive me, this is not an easy thing to ask." He spread his hands flat on the tabletop as if bracing himself. "You are aware that I was trained under my people's Compact with the Hanar, and that I left the service more than ten years ago. What I have not told you is why."
"I bet I can guess. A woman." Han sat back, a crooked smile spreading over his face. "Am I right? It's always a woman."
"A goddess among mortals," Thane agreed. "I met Irikah when she stopped me from completing a contract. She saw my targeting laser and stepped in front of it, glaring back into my scope, how dare you. Her bravery and selflessness captivated me, and I—" He stopped abruptly, his eyes losing focus for a moment before he shook his head once, sharply. "I won't go into the details. Suffice it to say, I pursued her, we fell in love, and I left the Compact so we could be married. Our son, Kolyat, was born not long after."
Han grinned. "I never had you pegged for a family man, Krios. Good for you."
But the way Thane's entire body tensed, his hands curling into fists, made him regret his words immediately. "I took great pains to keep my work from putting them in danger," Thane ground out, his voice full of barely restrained guilt and pain. "But I failed."
When he didn't elaborate, Han asked, "What happened?"
Thane hesitated. "I took a contract on a gang of Gamorrean slavers here on Tatooine," he said finally. "My employer only specified their leaders as my targets, so I left the underlings alive. However, I would find out later—too late—that they had been working for a… mutual acquaintance of ours. One Jabba Desilijic Tiure." He hissed the name as if it were a curse.
Han swore. Jabba the Hutt was the last person anyone in the Outer Rim wanted to piss off.
Nodding once, Thane continued, "I don't know how he found them, but Jabba sent more of his men after my family. He meant to capture them both, but… the fiery spirit I loved so much in Irikah was her undoing." He bowed his head, his next words barely audible over the din of the cantina. "She fought back, and they killed her. And now… now Jabba has my son."
Chewie snarled in sympathetic fury, one hairy fist slamming into the tabletop and making the cups rattle.
"I went to his palace alone to rescue Kolyat," Thane said. He closed his eyes, and all the tension drained out of him, as if he hadn't the will to sustain it any longer. He looked suddenly exhausted. Defeated. "But Jabba was expecting me, having anticipated that I would attempt exactly that, and I soon found myself dragged before his throne. There, he promised to release my son to me—if I completed a contract for him."
"A contract?" Han leaned forward again, dread knotting in the pit of his stomach. "Who does Jabba want you to kill?"
Now Thane did meet his gaze, and there was something dark and desperate in his eyes that made Han suppress a shudder. "You."