By the rivers dark
I wandered on.
I lived my life
in Babylon.
And I did forget
My holy song:
And I had no strength
In Babylon.
By the rivers dark
Where I could not see
Who was waiting there
Who was hunting me.
She was not sleeping.
He felt her energy rising and falling like a violent tide, foaming with frustration. He punched in some co-ordinates and then swept down the hall, black robes swishing against the floor--over there, he felt it, and turned to a bare room bridging off the bedrooms. Quietly, muffling the waves of sound creak by creak, he slid open the slick metal door and leaned against the frame, taking in Mara's form twisting and diving in an intricate attack combination against an invisible foe.
She had cast her shirt off; it lay haphazardly piled next to the brim of the mats. He took in the expanse of smooth skin stretched taunt over muscles--her hair, darkened with sweat, clung in curls to her heaving shoulders. She was wearing a simple undergarment: a band around her ribcage with a strap strung across her neck to support her breasts--full, he noticed, the pale swell beneath her collarbones as elegant as the rest of her. She had on loose-fitting imperial pants and was barefoot. The soles of her feet made angry slapping sounds across the mat.
He was stunned, as when he had first seen Leia cast in a hologram on Tattoine. For the room's dimmed lights shone off her hair, and her eyes sparkled damp with a determined exhaustion--such lively eyes, really. And her lips were darkened--full, red, angry--her cheeks bushing too. She looked so alive, and he felt her channeling the force with a dark desperation with her blows. She was beautiful.
"You could take her."
Was that the Emperor? Was that himself?
You could.
And then a flash: her eyes widening in surprise, lashes trembling, mouth open, a cry--"You could--"
She stopped fighting and stood breathing heavily in the centre of the room. Her eyes were closed, black crescents fluttering over her cheeks...
No.
Luke walked out of the room, trembling, feeling as if a path of nightmares had opened before him. He went straight to the edge of his bed and sat there, head in his hands, for a long, long time before falling asleep. A dark world in bloom...
He was still so curious.
When Mara awoke it was late. She dressed quickly--a forest greet jumper, comfortably clinging to her skin; she felt so much less restricted than in bulky Imperial robes. Her head was clouded, and dreams she couldn't remember lingered in her thoughts. Braiding her hair quickly and efficiently, she stalked to the kitchens.
Apparently Skywalker had slept too; he was eating fruit at the table, straight-shouldered in a black shirt. His movements were slow and lazy--he hadn't slept well. She wondered what had kept him up. "Good morning Luke." She filled a glass full of water and sat down across from him, crossing her legs casually on the chair and perching her elbows on her knees. "How'd you sleep?"
"Well," he stated. "That colour suits you." His eyes were staring faraway, and a troubled look had settled upon his face.
"Thank you." She sipped her water, nervous before him--why did he elicit these anxieties? "I suppose you'd like to fly today?"
He smiled lightheartedly, and she felt more at ease. "Only if your highness would permit me, of course."
She tapped a long nail against her chin: "Permission granted."
He grinned, then left for the cockpit, the breeze from his robes toying with red tendrils fallen loose, framing Mara's face. She rummaged and ate, glad that the day had started on a good tone.
They'd land before dusk.