~Lux's POV~

"Lux, dear, please slow down!" His mother laughed as Lux ran across the carriage again and again, peering out at the city, a place he would rule some day. "Let him run! You see that, my boy? There's your kingdom," Lux's father cried in his same deep voice. Lux looked up into kind green eyes and grinned. "All mine?" The four year old asked impishly. "One day," his mother assured him as his father picked him up and set him down again on the seat.

"Lamar! Lamar!" That wasn't his name, but somehow he felt as if he should answer. "Can you hear us? Lamar!" There was something pressing into Lux's back, and his sides and neck and all over. He couldn't move. He groaned as his vision split into fourths.

Where is my kingdom? My parents? He wondered woozily as a faint twinkle of light appeared overhead, down a tunnel he was not sure should have been there. He succumbed to darkness.

"The other boys have been making fun of him again! We can't just let him go through such indignities!" His mother argued. Lux, sitting against the door, listened intently. "And yet we can't do anything against it, my dear," his father replied, and Lux felt hurt flit through him. He had expected his father to be on his side.

Swiping away another tear, he curled inwards another bit, still stung by his friend's hurtful words. "Why in the blazes not?" His mother demanded. "We are not regular parents, remember, my dear. We are more, and every move we make is watched," he reminded her.

"That doesn't mean we can't raise our a child!" She scoffed. "No, it means we can't raise our child like everyone else would raise theirs. Besides, just as we are not normal parents, never will Lux be just another normal little boy. He is more."

"I can be!" That statement ripped out of his mouth like a dying man's last breath. It tore itself from his heart; that had always yearned to feel the same burdens and troubles as every other heart, instead of the extra it was forced to bear.

It was ripped from his mind; that argued against the boundaries placed between him and most other people. His mind argued that everything as possible. And it was ripped from his soul, where Lux Bonteri thrashed and wiggled like an eel underneath Lamar Rai, demanding his freedom.

"Lamar! Hold still, please!" A familiar voice pleaded. Lux realized that his body was thrashing, fighting away the chains and leather straps that held him down. "No!" he would not be captured! Where was he? Who were these people? His head hurt, he felt panicked but did not know why. "Hold him down! Anesthetic, hurry!" Someone in the distance ordered. Then he felt a sharp pinch in his neck, and succumbed to their will.

"Who are these mysterious guardians of peace and justice? Who is to say that one day, they will not attempt to want repayment for their deeds?" the man on the holo-vision asked.

"Oh, fools they are, the lot of them. Don't you agree Mrs. Bonteri?" Lux's tutor wondered as he poured them another cup of tea. "The Jedi have been around for centuries and never asked for anything in return for their help but that temple of theirs. Why all this fuss?" his mother agreed.

"What are Jedi?" Lux, being seven as he was, curious with all things. "People that, for now; have nothing at all to do with you, dear. Now drink your tea."

"He's lucky, General Damara. With his wounds, he ought to be dead. As it is, he lost something great," that voice was on the other side of a thick and choking fog in Lux's mind. His ears heard the sounds, but his mind was too numbed to think on it. He listened, uncomprehending.

Memories were flashing, one by one, before his closed eyes. They weren't in order, was the first pathetic thought he could think. "What do you mean; something great?" Another voice, and past the fog something niggled at his brain that he knew the voice. Lux did not think on it.

He wanted to stay here, in numbness. Here, nothing was hot or cold, wrong or right. It was just there, and Lux didn't have to care whether it was there or not.

He felt something move away from some part of his body. Lux could not tell which part it was. His body seemed to have compacted so that he had no limbs and no separate entities with separate names. He was just there; and something, for some reason, felt missing.

A gasp. "Good…..!" A string of curses in some language Lux did not know. He let go of the focus it took to listen and turned back into the fog with gladness.

"My goodness, darling, not only are you young but entirely too skinny! I need to get some meat on you!" his mother cried in her teasing tone as Lux walked in.

Smiling, he settled next to his father on the couch as his mother examined a pretty young girl about eleven years older that Lux. The young woman smiled graciously and blushed with girlish innocence.

"On Naboo, our meals consist mostly of vegetables," she explained, meekly. "Then we need to get you some meat, miss Amidala," his father laughed, putting an arm about Lux.

Lux buried his face in his father's long and giant arms, that seemed to be able to hug the entire perimeter of the world and still have room to spare. Safe and warm in his father's arms, he looked forward to their guest.

"You can try some of my beef stew from my experiment today," he offered. She gave him a kind and sparkling grin. "Can I, now?" She asked. His father made a face at her and shook his head slowly. His mother, behind the girl, did the same, both wearing faces of mild panic. Lux scowled. "It is not that bad!" he defended, undeceived, as he nudged his father in the hard-packed stomach.

"Yes," both his parents corrected in unison. "It is, Lux." The girl laughed.

"He has a fever now, boys. His body is trying to fight back, I think it best just to let him sleep," the fog was lifting. Lux attempted to pull the warm rays about himself; cover himself in the numbness, but that option was not to his body's liking. It wanted him to wake. Lux fought it with all the determination he had. "He saved all our lives, sir," his brain made out a name.

Maxell, and shards and pieces of some puzzle he had not been cognizant of fell into place. Lux ignored this. "We owe him a debt. Just let us place these here," a ruffling of some vegetation. "Oh, alright," The fog was lifting. Lux ran away from the fog, once so thick, that was loosening, trying to fight deeper into its warmth.

"Here, Lux, do it like this…There you go, son! You're flipping flap-jacks like a charm!" Lux rolled his eyes as his father held his arm, expertly using his own strength to manipulate Lux into flipping the small pastry.

"Why, come look at this, dear wife! The boy's finally learning!" he bellowed across the room. Lux's mother looked up from where she was rolling dough and smiled. "You're doing it, you old fool," she pointed out. "See!" Lux protested. "I can do it, father! I'm a big boy now!"

At eleven years old, one would have thought he would have discarded his impressive whine, but Lux often did surprise people with it. "You can't even blow on your soup without turning it nasty, boy!" One of the kitchen maids squawked. That emitted the entire kitchen staff to burst into laughter. Lux poked out his bottom lip in fake hurt; he knew they were only teasing.

His father's chest, firm and steadying behind him, rumbled with laughter. His mother giggled a ways away. Suddenly, the doors to the kitchen burst open and into the room walked Lux's tutor, and also his uncle. Tears ran down his face and his green eyes, so like his older brother's twinkled with anguish.

"She's dead!" he burst out, hysterically. The entire room fell into silence. "Geoffrey, who…?" His mother started towards him, question unfinished. "Mother!" But his uncle was looking straight at his father, eyes unwavering and angst. "She's gone," he sunk to his knees. "Oh, sweet, merciful Lucifer, she's dead!" Lux didn't drop the flapjack, but his father did.

And it seared into the burner and burst into flames.

"Hay, Lamar? Can you hear me?" A whisper, so soft it could have tickled his ears. "Hay, boy! Didn't I say to go?" A shout, loud enough to ring his ears. For some reason, though, Lux wanted to hear. He wanted to hear what this person had to say.

Lux imagined reaching up, and grabbing whoever was speaking, and listening to whatever they had to say. He needed-wanted-to know. His eyes remained closed. "Yes?" did he say that? Or did someone else? It didn't sound like him, the whisper was hoarse and dry and desolate.

A shocked silence followed that voice-whoever's voice it had been- before someone cleared his throat. "Oh. I didn't think you'd hear me. I…I wanted to say…Thank you," who was he again? Why was he there? Before Lux could wonder, he was pulled back. He found this time he was less willing.

"I say we join Dooku's Separatist movement. It can't be any worse than the Republic," his mother said. His father only nodded; he hadn't been the same since his mother died. Now he was more reserved, and aloof. Slowly, something inside him, something that had once been loud and vibrant and brilliant, was breaking. Lux watched it break, and felt something in him bend, too.

"Will he be alright, do you think?" Lux remembered he didn't like that hissing voice. "He's a strong lad. He'll be just fine," he was pulled into the thin fog one last time.

He was bored. Lux was not normally bored in his pursuit of knowledge, but this tutor, his history tutor, absolutely bored him half way out of his right mind. Couldn't he do anything besides just stand there and drone on and on about this king who lived in this time period who did this and then died this way? He was repeating this exact information over and over again only with different generations.

Sighing, Lux wished his father were there. He could have explained why his mother got him this precise tutor and why said tutor was so famous when all he did was drone on and on. But his father, like many of the men on planet, were fighting as a commander in the Clone War. Lux wondered what his father were doing, and if he missed him…

Suddenly, his mother screamed.

His wish having come true, his tutor went dead silent. Lux jumped from his chair by instinct, and, leaving his history teacher there to wonder in silence, bounded out of the room. Why had his mother screamed? What was wrong? In what seemed to take forever to reach, he finally came upon his mother's room, where a number of maids had come to surround and comfort her.

"What happened?" Lux demanded, breathless as he hung unto the doorframe. His mother was seated on her bed, back erect and face an emotionless mask as always, but there were tears shining in her eyes, and a hand covered her mouth in shock. Slowly, she turned her head towards Lux, with even more deliberate slowness, turned the note in her hands so that Lux could see the stamp on the front. It was the stamp of the Separatist's insignia.

They only sent letters if…

No.

"Father," he choked out, half in question and half a plea for it not to be true. His mother shook her head, mutely, and looked back down, quiet as he had ever seen her.

All that had once been bright and bold and loud and brilliant about her seemed to have fled, leaving only this cold and remote shell behind. Lux felt his heart quiver, then shatter, then fall. He dropped to his knees and covered his mouth, same as his mother, to hide his scream.

The scream that now burst forth from his mouth and made several dark shadows above him jump. Lux shot upright, more in alarm than in old anguish. He did not remember having consciously wanted it, but suddenly his eyes snapped open and all thought escaped his mind as severe dazzling light and several bodies became clear.

"Ah!" he gasped out, covering his eyes as pain registered as well, shooting from the fingertips of his right arm to the rest of his body.

He fell back down unto soft and billowy pillows. "Careful, son," said a kind and elderly voice. Lux remembered having heard it before. It was the voice of the man whom had ordered the anesthetic's for him.

A firm and wrinkled hand gentle laid itself on his left shoulder, pushing him down. Lux let his eyes flutter open again to see the camp physician grinning down at him. "You took quite the beating, youngster," Lux was told. "What…?" He swallowed the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"What happened?" He asked groggily. He had a feeling that he should know what had happened-and that something new had happened since that event-but could not grab at the faint memory.

The doctor chuckled softly and turned to a young nurse, standing beside his bed, who gave him an admiring grin. It was only then Lux realized that he was without his shirt. He blushed and quickly snatched the covers up to hide himself, the nurse only chuckled at his modest attempt and walked off, shaking her head at his silliness.

Lux exhaled with relief when she was gone. "Don't you remember?" The doctor continued; unaware of Lux's embarrassment. "It was a training drill; how to deactivate a bomb. I told the general that the bombs should not have been truly armed, but no; he said," here the doctor bravely rolled his eyes at the general's decision.

"It would give the boy's a reason to step it up, and it was simply supposed to cause a small explosion, and only of goo. Someone, though, added just a tiny bit too much powder to the explosive and when that boy, what was his name? Cent? Maxell? Oh, well, anyway, when he failed to stop the bomb before it was twelve seconds away from blowing, you took precautions like a smart boy," for some reason he seemed to think intelligence and good reason were more than merely related. Lux knew plenty of genius's who had no sense. Ahsoka was one.

"And told the others get out while you defused it the long way. I suppose you did not get it in time. It blew, boy, and the explosion bashed up the entire room! Do you know what saved those fifty or so odd cadets from death?" Lux shook his head, amazed by the story so far.

The doctor grinned. "You. It seems you spared just enough time in those seconds before the explosion caught you to run and close the doors, putting yourself straight in the line of fire. That closed door saved the lot of them from total extermination. You, my boy, must be pure magic to have survived. You should be dead. You've been out-cold for three weeks, all the same," Lux inhaled sharply. Three weeks? It had felt like three minutes.

Moving forward, the elderly human put a strong hand on Lux's shoulder. "You're a hero, Lamar. The General has awarded you with the soldier's gold medal of courage, and bought you your arm," his… Arm? Lux's confusion must have showed on his face, for the doctor suddenly scowled and shook his head, taking away his hand.

"Lamar, I…" he sighed and looked away, saying no more. "Move the sheets, son," he whispered. Heart thumping in his chest, Lux obeyed. He had not noticed the fact that he could not feel his right arm, now he did; it was because he didn't have a right arm anymore.

The entire thing, from shoulder to fingertips, was gone. In it's place, sparkling silver metal glowed in the shape of an arm. Lux felt vomit slither up his throat. He stared, disbelieving.

"You must have landed on it when you were thrown by the explosion. It was completely crushed; beyond repair. We had to amputate it. I'm sorry, Lamar," the doctor whispered, and his voice sounded very far away. "The price of justice is very, very high, Lux," that was what his father had said.


~Ahsoka's POV~

"I'm glad you've finally come to your senses, baby girl," if Ahsoka heard him call her that one more timeOf all things, I am not your baby girl, she thought furiously, though she keep her face stoic. Behind her, the drunk and wobbly Bloodshot followed, as, just like Ahsoka had compared him to a few weeks before, a dog on a chain.

Then, Ahsoka had felt no shame at the idea of leading another being to his death. After all, nearly three months of being an assassin working for drug dealers had made her hard. Yet now, leading the man who was soon going to be her dead boss, Ahsoka debated whether she should.

This wasn't right, she knew it wasn't, and vomit slithered up her throat.

She was leading a man to his death, true, not an innocent or virtuous man, but still a man. Who was she to take his life? You are a Jedi working undercover, trying to stop the flow and distribution of illegal drugs, a virtuous and worthwhile cause, she reminded herself firmly.

But does that give you the right to spill his blood? Is it still right to kill and abandon morals if it's for a cause? Ahsoka groaned aloud unconsciously, and wished Anakin were here to explain. "I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away for long," Bloodshot continued to persist, his eyes staring contemplatively at her hindquarters.

Blasted drunkard did not know she was only leading him to his death. "I've wanted you for a long time," she didn't even attempt to sound convincing, and the statement was as flat as a tables smooth surface. Bloodshot, drunk as the fool was, wouldn't mind.

He grunted and let out a high-pitched giggle of mischief. "You wouldn't be the first, baby girl," she rolled her eyes and continued with her anxious thoughts. This was murder; would she really be able to carry the burden of death on her hands? But what else could she do?

They were already half way to the landing point. Maybe he means to kill me, too, Ahsoka brooded, having already planned for this. It would be a great deal easier if he did try, then Ahsoka would kill him out of self-defense and hopefully Bloodshot would get killed in the fray, too.

Blast! A Jedi does not think such things! Ahsoka scolded herself, frightened by her own malicious thoughts. Jedi do not take lives so lightly, Ahsoka, but they had, and the Jedi now did, because of the war. Was it still wrong then, if you did what you must for war's sake?

"I see you followed up on your promise," Ahsoka jumped, startled out of her thoughts by a loud and obviously pleased voice. Startled, she looked up to a top of a shadowed building, where whomever she was working for stood in the dimmed light. Ahsoka's head spun. What could she do? What should she do?

What would Anakin do?

This thought, a mere second's thought, did nothing at all to help. Considering that Anakin was an unorthodox Jedi who set his own rules, followed his own rules, and if it took disregarding the Code to ensue those rules, well, then he wouldn't think more than twice about it, maybe not even that; and thus was a very bad example to follow in anything but war and military tactics. Dispensing of his memory, Ahsoka switched to his opposite, Obi-wan.

"I will do as I must, Master Yoda,"

But blast, he was no help either! That blasted saying of his pointed to death and murder, the barve. "Of course. Do you have my money?" She even sounded like a cruel hearted traitor. Nervously, Ahsoka turned around to look at Bloodshot, who was surveying the sky with distress, as if some wonderful divination had just spoken to him.

"I do. He's drunk?" Her boss rasped out with a small laugh. Ahsoka stepped out of the way as Bloodshot gasped and reeled backwards, nearly colliding with her in his conflict to find the speaking entity.

"Can't you tell?" She remarked dryly. "Alright, lets get this over with. I've got my girl waiting for me back at headquarters," he grunted, swinging down from the building casually. Ahsoka's heart was beating in her chest.

She could not rely on Anakin anymore, nor any of the others. This time, Intrepid was not there to tell what the Jedi way would dictate, nor Anakin there to advise her what would be more merciful, or Lux to grunt out some random reply that would inspire a great idea.

Ahsoka had her own knowledge, not examples from theirs. In war, all you had to do was avoid a mistake that had undoubtedly already been made. This was not war; at least not the kind she was used to fighting, and Ahsoka had to make her own decision with her own feelings not tainted by past teachings or advice or the Code.

It was all her, all now. She could not lean on Anakin's teachings or her hundreds of examples to follow, merely herself. She had to be her own Jedi, not one the kind who depended on those before her to set her way. She was setting her own way now.

The human male walked up to Bloodshot, still reeling; only now he was going in circles like a full-fledged dolt. Ahsoka's breath hitched in her throat. All me, all now. It was cowardly to take out an unarmed man, and Bloodshot was most definitely unarmed as the human pushed past Ahsoka, blaster raised.

She summoned the force, and decided, not taking her time to think about it twice. She had to trust herself, and if this was a mistake, well, then, she would face the consequences later.

Just as the blaster was raised, pointed directly as Bloodshot's skull, a humming green blade crackled in the night, and then was gone, leaving not one, but two dead bodies on the cold ground. Instead of deciding who she would let die, Ahsoka had evened out the scores.

She had killed both of them.

Leaving the two bleeding bodies there, she vanished into the night, mask still in place. One side of the mask smiled, yet Ahsoka's heart wept. Her first decision that had been untainted; and it had been hideous murder.