Disclaimer: I don't own KotoR or anything from it. Just my own interpretation of it.
Author's Notes: This is my first and only Exile/Handmaiden fic and I think it's one of my more well-written ones (you're free to agree/dispute me in a review). I've never been a superfan of this pairing, but this oneshot came pretty easily to me. No idea why. Hope you like it anyway!
Does contain a little "oops" moment that's à la Mass Effect and for anyone who's wondering, I haven't forgotten about either of my kotor fic series. Or any of the other things you guys voted for.
Love and Acceptance
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Brianna's hands sliced and chopped through the air in strikes that were as quick and deadly as those of a knife. Strike, parry, counter, repeat. The movements were as familiar and monotonous to her as the ticking of the hyperspace drive, but they were enough to preoccupy her for now. Besides, her technique was far from perfect and perfection was what Atris demanded of her. Nothing less would do.
She must meet her mistress' standards, whatever and however long it took. She must prove herself just as capable as any of her sisters. Her sisters, who could master a technique in half as much time with half as much effort. Her sisters, who were better than her in every single way...
As she thought of her kin, her concentration slipped and she made a mistake that might have been fatal on the battlefield. Frustrated with herself, she pushed the thoughts aside and started her sequence from the beginning with renewed vigour.
"Has anyone ever told you you look cute when you purse your lips like that?"
Handmaiden stopped abruptly. The Exile stood at the doorway to the cargo hold, leaning casually on the frame and flashing her a lopsided grin. His posture was deceiving; although he seemed to be slouching, she knew he could sink into a battle stance at a moment's notice.
The female soldier flushed and told herself it was only from exertion. "How long have you been watching?"
"Only for a minute or two." He stepped forward so that light flooded his features: intelligent blue eyes under a mop of messy black hair. A plain enough face to any passing stranger, but distinct enough to engrain itself in Handmaiden's mind. "I've rarely seen you do anything but fight."
"Excellence must be earned," She intoned. Her mistress had quoted it enough times that she knew it off by heart.
"Is that all you did on Telos? Strive for excellence?" He asked with polite curiosity.
"We serve our mistress. Whatever she requires, we provide it for her."
"You don't do anything for fun?"
Fun? "There is always work to be done. Any spare time is spent on training."
"I see." His voice contained a hint of sadness. "Do you always use 'we'?"
She nodded slowly. "My sisters and I. We all pledged ourselves to Atris."
"And yet you look different from them."
Handmaiden blinked in surprise. Outsiders usually didn't notice, subtle as it was. Unless he marked her face as closely as she marked his...but that shouldn't matter. "Yes. I honour the face of my mother..."
As difficult as it was for most outsiders to recognize, the difference between her and her sisters was all too apparent in both skill and appearance. Her sisters barely talked to her. Once, she had even walked into a room full of their laughter that hastily stopped when she entered. When she asked what they had been laughing about, she received a haughty "nothing" that left her wondering if she was the butt of every joke. As if being called "the last of the Handmaidens" wasn't humiliating enough.
She supposed "honour" the face of her mother wasn't exactly correct. Many a time had she cursed the woman, blaming her for what must be all her faults and shortcomings that she had passed on to Handmaiden like the blood that ran through her veins. Maybe that's what had gotten her killed. But if she was so incompetent, why had her father followed the Jedi into battle? The answer to that question had kept her awake many a sleepless night and she was no closer to finding the answer now as she had ever been.
"Are you alright?"
Handmaiden snapped out of her reverie to see the Exile watching her concernedly. "I am fine. Was there something you needed me for?"
"I just wanted to talk."
"Talk." She didn't think she could talk to him for long without giving away something too personal. The strange thing was, she didn't feel like she would be uncomfortable talking to him. Maybe she even wanted to talk to him. The possibility of the latter unsettled her.
"Just a normal conversation," he urged, sensing her uncertainty. He offered her an encouraging smile that sent a thrill to her heart.
"No," she responded so swiftly that she had to correct herself so as not to offend him. "My meaning is that words can be hollow or false. True expression is through battle, not speech."
She noticed, with relief, that his grin only stretched wider. "If that's the way you want to play it."
"Are you ready?" The Exile called from the other end of the cargo hold, where he'd taken up position. He shivered slightly in his underclothes.
Now it was Handmaiden's turn to grin. He'd called to her with the same cocky confidence that she'd beaten down handily when they first sparred together. His movements had been clumsy and slow, but they had both improved significantly since then.
"Ready," she answered, advancing without pause.
He matched her blow for blow without trouble. Neither gained nor gave ground, causing a stalemate. She probed his defences for an exploitable weakness, feeling him doing the same. But each time she thought she'd found a way in, she found it seamless. Impenetrable.
They weaved in and out of complicated patterns that seemed all part of the same motion. Their bare feet moved so lithely and gracefully that they almost seemed to be gliding. An onlooker would have been mesmerized by the duel that was so perfectly, evenly matched it appeared choreographed. They were dancers and the floor was their stage.
It was in that blissful moment that Handmaiden truly saw her partner for the first time. The moment all physical layers peeled back to reveal the Exile's soul underneath.
She saw his passion, so strongly rooted in his nature and his beliefs and so powerful as to drive every stroke of his arm. She saw the weight behind it: a burden that both imbued him with strength and caused him to struggle beneath its load. A burden that was a part of him, much as he may not realize or want to accept it.
And because this sight was so awe-inspiringly beautiful, her concentration once again slipped and she let her guard down.
A second later, she found herself flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm so sorry...I didn't hurt you, did I? I just got caught up in it all and I –"
She laughed breathlessly, feeling the sweat cling to her face. "That's a good thing."
"Here." He extended a hand that Handmaiden took gratefully.
As he pulled her to her feet, she had to grab his arm to regain her balance.
Their faces were mere inches away. Up close, she noticed that his eyes were endless, like staring into the depths of a great ocean. And yet she could still see herself reflected on its sparkling surface.
It seemed like the inevitable was about to happen. Then she cleared her throat and stepped back, shattering the perfect moment. Her gaze fell to the floor.
"I can't," she said in a small voice.
The remark was more to herself than anything, but he answered her anyway. "Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Look at me."
She didn't want to; it was too easy to lose herself in his gaze. Too easy to lose herself to him.
He touched her face with his hand, letting his fingers trail down her cheek to pull up her chin. His touch was light. Gentle. But she was as compelled to respond to it as if compelled by gravity.
He whispered softly, "I could stand here for an eternity and never feel tired because my hand is drawn to the touch of your skin. I'd never feel lonely because you are the answer to my heart's desire. I'd never feel hunger or pain or sadness because standing here, so close to you, is all I could ever want for in this world and I'd never leave you if you only asked me to stay."
At last she met his eyes and saw the truth in them: that she no longer had the strength or the will to deny herself the thing she wished for most in this galaxy. So she clasped her hand around his and held it to her cheek.
Her word was only a whisper, but it was enough. "Stay."
She kissed him lightly at first, then with a passion that matched his own. The Handmaiden sisters always said that Brianna fought with too much passion in her heart. That if she could only remain more detached from the battle, her technique would greatly improve. But her passion allowed her to love and be loved; in this test, she bested all of her sisters.
Everything in her life on Telos had been a test: every training exercise, every mission, every disapproving look from cold eyes. Up until now, she had been struggling to pass – struggling desperately for approval.
But she did not have to do anything but be herself for the Exile's approval. He accepted her for exactly what she was because he loved her. And she was all too glad to return the favour.