Hello for the thirty-eighth time, my fellow readers and writers. From the start, I would like to thank my two reviewers...Namely, Master Crane, who has read and reviewed for who-knows-how-long, and the one other individual: HallovveenGirl who seems to be on a consistent reviewing pattern. So thanks a million you guys! You were the only ones out of all the people to read this story in the recent past to review. LET THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL YOU MYSTERIOUS LURKERS OUT THERE! Here, we have another big information giver of a chapter-which also happened to make me super sad while I wrote it-so try not to breeze through it too quickly or you might miss some little details. Oh...I also feel the need to mention that the stuff that happens in this chapter and the following chapters-specifically the certain hostile situations between species-never happened in the Clone Wars, or any other time in Star Wars history...I'm just havin' a bit 'o' fun with the concept, so please no flames! Enjoy and review if you want to see more of this story!
Chapter 38~Bleed
I am going to murder her...Were his thoughts as he raced against the dawn. She is dead...
The sun was rising for too fast in Grievous's opinion on Uvena Prime, which was the next world that the Republic was going to try and "convert". Two of his spies, the most trusted ones he possessed, had informed him of it, and he had moved quickly to secure a stable aerial position above the planet to prevent an enemy invasion. The problem was, that the Shistavanens, the canine race that occupied the said planet, were extremely antagonistic to outsiders...plus, Athela had gone missing.
After all these months, one would think that she would know better...He growled loudly, annoyed more than anything. She would go off on her own after he had specifically told her not too! The nerve of that woman sometimes! And now she was going to get herself killed and Grievous would be blamed for it. Of all the insolent beings in the galaxy...he had chosen not to take her life and brought this upon himself!
It had been about four to five months since his startling discovery, and he still hadn't said anything to her about it. He had been able to tell that she was guilty though all through the passed time. For instance, when she spoke to him, she never looked him directly in the eye. And, sometimes, when there was no one else around, they would discuss tactics-most of which he decided, since she was obviously so uneducated in that particular field-and she would put forth an effort to stay as far away from him as she could without making clear what she was doing. Unfortunately for her, Grievous was very talented at picking up things like that from all his years in the military. In any case, he had a few choice words to express when he found her. Hopefully she hadn't gotten herself into a problematical situation, because the Shistavanens didn't take kindly to any form of unfriendly contact. At least she was unarmed; he still refused to give her any weapons, being the wary sort he was. The cyborg himself never left his lightsabers off his person for long, however, knowing full well the consequences such a foolish action could bring. Yes, he had learned after so much time that traveling about in a vulnerable state proved vastly dangerous. Thus another reason he had to chastise Athela when she turned up.
Grievous encountered not a single inhabitant of the planet as he ran through the dawn-lit jungles, avoiding rocks and fallen trees just waiting to trip him up. Who knew what would happen if that were to occur. He could just picture it: the moment he fell he would find himself surrounded by those the offworlders referred to as "Wolfmen", as a result being required to kill them all, and in one fell swoop murdering any chances he had of fulfilling his given mission. And that was his conclusions when he was in a positive mind frame. Everything just went down hill from there. He had no guards with him-having left them behind thinking it was a shrewd move on his part-and the territory was getting more and more unfamiliar. It was nothing like the scouts he had sent out described; he was beyond the protected Confederacy barriers. Small, curious animals appeared every so often, possessing large eyes in comparison to their bodies and harboring a distinct rodent-like look to them. They struggled to get out of the way of his sharp feet, but he hadn't the time to notice or care.
Then, as if they had appeared out of nowhere, there were two enormous dog creatures running on either side of him. He could hear their ragged breath and their feet pounding along the ground, loping on all fours. Claws larger than Grievous's ripped up the earth behind them-jaws with monstrous teeth bared when they looked his way. They both wore crude garments, lengths of cloth fastened around one shoulder that hung below the waste. He stopped, and the two Shistavanens slowed, approaching him in unison. One, a gargantuan male with black fur, raised himself up onto his hind legs, meeting Grievous's height. He locked gazes with the general, black, soulless eyes equally enraged. Grievous, not wishing to make the circumstances any more unreceptive than they were turning out to be, raised his hands very slowly, signaling his peaceful intentions. He dared not reach for his lightsabers. The dark Wolfman's nose twitched as he seemed to sniff the intruder, his face furrowing afterwards. He looked to his comrade, whose fur wasn't as dark, and the other male crouched down lower animalisticlly. From him came a deep, growling voice, more gravelly than that of the cyborg.
"You have no scent..." He said with difficulty, flexing his wicked fingers. "What is your business here?"
Grievous stood his ground, unperturbed by the ferocity of the second Shistavanen. "I come in the name of the Confederacy, in hopes of including Uvena Prime in the growing list of worlds under the protection of the Separatist Armies. I am their General and Supreme Commander."
He was studied intently, an air of disgust coming over the two. "There is much pride in your voice..." And before Grievous could breathe a sigh of relief, "That is considered an insult to our race here..."
"I am looking for someone." Grievous said sharply before further explanation could be made. The brown-furred canine stood up next to the black one and communicated something in an odd barking noise. "What did he say?" He snapped, just as biting.
Both of them growled at the supposed intruder, vicious in every definition. But all the same, the one who spoke basic elucidated. "Is the one you seek a woman...?"
"Yes." Replied Grievous in somewhat of a grumble, not wanting to admit it fully, even if they wouldn't care. He still had a reputation...
"Foeh said that she has your voice...And that she is not far...But whether we lead you to her is up to you..."
Grievous wouldn't risk it. He had to find her quickly. "What must I do?"
Athela knew it had been an imprudent effort when she had left the base under cover of darkness. She wanted badly to prove herself; to show the cyborg that she wasn't as hopeless as she seemed to him. With wanting to go home so greatly, she had decided to take matters into her own hands and try to confront the so-called Shistavanens without the company of Grievous. It was suicidal, she told herself over and over, but it would also score her some big responsibility points. Well...it was also partly because she enjoyed being out in the fresh air so much, it made her think irrationally. Being cooped up inside the tedious command ship for month after month had taken its toll on her. She loved the feeling of the grass, and the atmosphere of the jungle planet, so close to that of her homeworld. The sounds of the birds and forest creatures had truly brought her back to life...if only she didn't have to return with Grievous. The lively environment had renewed her ache to go home, and her actions reflected it more than she could ever realize. It had been fairly easy, getting past the guards. Droids were dumb enough as it was, and with her instinctive flair for moving silently, it was far easier then doing so on the ship any day. The notion of even trying to escape-even though she was planning on coming back-after what had happened the last time would have sickened her, naturally, but something felt right about it, so she acted on impulse.
It had all gone so fast from there on out. She had been moving rather quickly, scared that the sun would be up before she reached wherever she was going, when suddenly she had been encountered by a dozen or so natives, all large dog-like things that stood much taller than she. One, and only one, had known basic, but it was broken and confusing. They had understood her quite well, but didn't grasp what she was trying to do. To them, apparently she had looked like someone who was sent to kill, and not to make peace. Try as she did, she wasn't able to convince them, and was hence escorted to a small commune in which all of her captors lived. They took her into a house, or so she assumed, made primitively of some sort of dirt. Without fear, she had faced the head of the group, surprised by her own boldness. He had been by far the largest and most brutal looking, but as far as first impressions were concerned, he didn't meet them fully. His name, she had learned, was Brayzah Fon. His fur color was gray, tipped in silver, and close up it was clear that he had lived a long time. Unable to speak basic-which Athela had predicted far back-there had been brought out a translator of sorts, turning out to be the Shistavanen she had spoken to earlier when she had first been confronted. It was a long process of stating and restating the facts, but finally something had seemed to click. Athela had at last effectively done something right for the Confederacy. If only Grievous had been able to see her then!
And then the general had showed up, as if by some telepathic call.
Seeing him made Athela lose most of her happiness, because he looked a degree of livid that she had only seen him look on one other occasion: when he had been punishing her for attempting to run the first time. When he saw her, he stiffened to a great extent, and his fingers started to move excessively. He was flanked by two Shistavanens, one black as night, and one a dark brown. It looked as though he had wound up in the same predicament as the Kaleesh woman had. Athela watched, and the black canine raised a hand and gestured vaguely in her direction. Grievous nodded, and they both backed away from him. He stormed towards Athela so rapidly that she hardly had time to react, until the pain she was expecting never came. Brayzah Fon had emerged from the darkness of the simple structure behind her, placing himself in between the general and his assassin. A series of barks, growls and whines followed, and the translator hurried to process what was being said. Slowly but surely, it was explained to Grievous what had happened in the early hours of the morning, but his anger only declined a small amount. Athela, finding a safe point to step around the Shistavanen clan leader, approached Grievous without considering him, and stopped in front of where he stood. She waited to be recognized, either in good or bad context, but no such regard ever came.
"I did this for you..." She said at last, raising her head. He was unreadable, and waited tolerantly for her to continue. "I..." Athela fought to gain composure. "I wanted to prove myself..."
All of the dog creatures around the two of them observed in haunting silence, some on two legs, some one four. The young ones remained in tight bunches, but were fascinated all the same. It was obvious that their interest in the exchanges between both intruders went further than it had originally appeared. They viewed the scene with black eyes unblinking, and large ears straight. While the smaller female offworlder shifted her weight from one foot to the other incessantly, the larger, mechanical being was motionless, his demonic golden eyes fixed on his co-conspirator in a stare that hid not his disbelief. After many tense moments devoid of sound, save for the regular chorus of birds in the gigantic trees surrounding the settlement, the taller one turned without a single word and took an abrupt and unexpected leave, not looking back.
Taken aback, Athela had no clue what to do. She wasn't sure how long she remained in the Shistavanen camp, but when the time came for her to leave, she was presented a gift for her efforts. The native people sympathized with her, although it was not the most common thing for them to do. They were a poor race, much like the Kaleesh in some ways, and had nothing ornate to give her, but when Brayzah Fon, the clan leader gave her a sizable, green, glass bottle full of some type of indefinite hard drink, she had no intentions of refusing. Immediately upon stepping foot out of the commune, she raised the bottle to her mouth and took a large drink. The liquid burned her throat, but she didn't care. Athela walked aimlessly through the jungle, her mind going from grim possibility to grim possibility. As the minutes ticked on, her vision blurred, and she sank down onto a log, placed the bottle on the ground beside her, and dropped her head into her hands, shutting out everything around her. However long she had been in the camp was long enough for the sun to begin to set, which said a lot considering that when she had arrived it was only past dawn. Sighing deeply, she continued to bide her time, very bleakly at that, until the green bottle, once full, was almost empty. Rising to her feet, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of her reward, the best thing that had come of the whole exploit, and little by little made her way back to the Confederacy's ground base.
Grievous's reaction crossed her restless deliberations often. All she could see was that retaining look he had had in his eyes when she had confessed her rationale for doing what she did. Or...not? Of course not! She did it solely for herself. The cyborg had nothing whatsoever to do with it! Not knowing what he was thinking was bad enough, but having to face him again when there weren't so many onlookers made Athela feel like everything she had accomplished had been a complete waste. So that was what he had in mind then...to not bring it up before the coast was clear, then let her have it. She pictures what the pain would be like, worse than before presumably. If he was truly angered to a point of abuse, there was only one way to deal with it.
She had to go and see him on her own.
I should have told him about myself by now...But it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway...Athela thought, taking a drink from the bottle for the last time as a delirious tear slowly slid down her face.
The sounds of the planet at night had lulled Grievous into a restful trance, which was after all what he was supposed to be doing anyway. Much like what had been on the last planet he had been ordered to, he had found himself a chair and decided to unwind for an hour at the least. Strange...for one who always wanted to be moving around. In the part of his mind that was still alert, he wondered what had become of Athela. After finding out that her intentions were not to try and run away again after all, he hadn't known how to react. At the thought of her, he began to ponder when exactly he was going to tell her that he knew that she knew, if the concept even made logical sense. It was like something there, at the tips of his fingers, and he could not reach it physically nor emotionally, lest he cause further harm. The feeling was horrible-because there truly was no feeling. Grievous should be able to experience something in being aware that he was within a foot of her some days, that all he would have to do was..
What was that?
It felt as if someone had dropped something in his lap. His eyes were closed, and he did not want to open them, but if it were important...
Cracking one eye only just, he tilted his head downward to see what it was, and his breath caught in the remains of his throat. She was draped across him, an expression of complete and utter obliviousness plastered all over her face. One hand had managed to find its way up onto his massive shoulder, and there her fingers stayed to provide support, and in the other hand, she held a large empty bottle. She was slobbering drunk, and Grievous felt responsible for it.
The mere awkwardness of the situation would have naturally drove him up the nearest wall, and then he probably would have started beating her up again in attempt to knock some sense into her inebriated skull. But, somehow, seeing her so defenseless struck a chord in him, and he let her remain where she was, uncomfortable or not. She peered up at him with a bemused sort of look, the kind that he would have expected from one of the half-wit operatives back up on his ship, and he back at her with something near to pity. She really did look terrible, like she had been losing sleep and mentally suffering with something. Her eyes were dulled, in that they were drained of their usual verve for life, and the sarcastic way she had about her was all but dead. Her hair was a mess, and fell all over her face in a tangled nest of sorts. It hit him hard. It shouldn't have. But it did. He lifted a hand to her head and roughly cleared the hair out of her eyes, something he would never have been caught doing under normal circumstances, and then he removed the bottle from her grasp. Helplessly trying to retrieve it from him when he had done so, Athela whimpered and shifted, her arm falling from his shoulder and wrapping around her own self. She nearly fell to the ground, but found a hold on the center of Grievous's arm, where the armorplast converged together. It was sick, watching her behave the way she was; not in a disgusting fashion, but in an emotionally distressed way. Cold or not, the psychological blow it had on him was tremendous, though he did not show it.
"I clearly made a mistake," he stated grimly, "in leaving you there on your own..."
Athela laughed blearily. "S'okay N'jaere...You wan'ed this anyway..."
Once again, his breath caught. His neck stiffened, and his talons moved against the ground agitatedly. She had known who he was? She had known who HE was? That was impossible! Even with the little Grievous remembered, it dawned on him that he had never left her the opportunity even once to come in contact with the man she spoke of! And so the only thing that he was able to produce from his vocabulator was a very strained, "What did you call me?"
She went on to explain, gesturing wildly. "Done ask stupid quesions tha' you done have the answers to, General Rahkah...I know you better than that..."
Knowing how serious this had become in a matter of moments, Grievous caught both her wrists in one large hand and held them above her, staring at her with a half-angry, half-desperate look in his eyes. "I am not who you think I am. Look at me-I bear no resemblance whatsoever to that man!"
"Your buddy General Sheelal? Of course ya do...Your him...or are you Rahkah...?" She looked around her in puzzlement. "Who'm I then?"
At the use of the name that he had so long ago renounced, Grievous was surprisingly able to keep his tone even.
"I can tell you that I am neither. And you, right now, need to go get some sleep."
Appearing like she would melt away if she left, her eyes filled with tears and she clung to him like a child would to a parent. Her head rested against his torso and her whole body began to rack with sobs. He did nothing, and let her go. It had to wear off eventually...didn't it?
"I know you! I know you!" She shouted, slamming her fist into him weakly. He chose to ignore the droids who paused to stare in the distance. "I needed you and you weren't there! You were never there! Why couldn't you make more of an effort for me? I thought you felt something! And now look where its got me!" Pressing the side of her head harder into the left side of his chest plate, her arms coiled around his back, and in one last imploring try, she said, "Don't ever leave me again! Don't ever walk out that door again!"
The skin around his eyes creased with anguish. So this was what he had done to her...
Shaking his head, unable to share her sorrow, he remained resentful; cold as ice. "I am in no position to make those kind of promises." He said in a low voice, his words drawn together with sinisterness, and forsaking any shred of compassion he might have had previous to that moment, he bolted to his feet. Athela had no way of preparing herself for it, and hit the ground hard, reminding Grievous of a similar time many months back. Looking around unfocusedly, she whimpered again, and stayed where she was. "So..." He went on, hulking over her. There was nothing left to hide, she had just admitted in a indistinct way that she knew about him. What was there to hide, then? "You have lied to me...All. This. Time." The words each ended callously. "All this time..." He repeated, slower, "...you have known who I am and said nothing?"
"No! No!" Athela cried, her fingers clenching and unclenching in a panic. "I've never done anything to you! You can't kill me now!"
"Is your true name Athela Erihdiy?" Grievous went on, regardless of her unwillingness to answer and evidently powerless state. She said nothing, miserable where she lied. He growled deeply and kicked her hard in the side. Athela winced and her arms circled around her skull. "Is your true title what you claim?"
"I swore not to tell!" She screamed, "I swore to the elder! I swore I'd never tell!"
He kicked her again, hard enough to move her and draw blood at the same time. He didn't care. "Answer the question!" By that moment in time, his bodyguards had arrived on the scene, hearing their master angered. Other battle droids ambled up as well to see what was causing the commotion, and watched unresponsively as the woman on the ground curled into a tight ball, dry heaving as blood poured from the cut in her side. "ANSWER THE QUESTION!" Even some of the inexpressive machines recoiled at the mere volume at which their general spoke. He raised his hand with the bottle in it and smashed it down onto her. Green pieces of glass flew every which way, many remaining stuck in Athela's skin. She shouted things frantically in her own language, just as both of Grievous's fists found their mark on her exposed shoulder. The sharp coverings on his hands tore open her flesh effortlessly...
"You never learned how to let go!" Was what she had said in the Kaleesh dialect, and he grasped the meaning perfectly well. He paused in his endeavors, temporarily caught somewhere in the past; somewhere that he wanted desperately to bring to mind, but found he couldn't. When Athela discovered that he had momentarily stopped, she gazed up at him faintly, looking worse than she had when he had injured her before. There was so much blood around her..."You never learned..." She said, her tearstained face tormented. "N'jaere told me what happened-it hurt...I never knew." Grievous had been about to strike her yet for a fourth time at the mention of his nemesis, but at her declaration, he couldn't. Everything she had said had been in her own language, leaving the droids confused, every one of them. Glancing up at his alleged soldiers, the general could not form the words to express what he wanted to say. His actions were the closest things to words he had-he needed to know why he couldn't understand what she was talking about.
"Is Athela Erihdiy your real name?" He asked for what he hoped to be the final time, the first bit the droids could actually comprehend. To them, he was simply continuing on with his brutal interrogation, standing firmly upon the blood-splattered earth. To him, it had become more then just that.
"I...I...I can't..." She mumbled, still unaware of what she was saying.
"No. You will tell me." Stated Grievous determinedly, quiet enough so that none of the onlookers could hear. "And if you do not, I will carry on with my prior, hostile methods and force the truth out of your sorry mouth."
Athela went pale, mouth in a taut line at his threat. Her eyes lit up with horror, and she breathed so swiftly it was like she had recently ran a great distance without rest. It was most implausible, but she actually stood, hunched over, but on her feet nonetheless. Struggling significantly, she straitened her back, and with one hand, ripped the large fragments of glass from the other arm without so much as a stray curse. Blinded by inebriation and adrenaline, she crushed her fingers into fists, looked Grievous strait in the eye and told him what he wanted to know. "Only...partially."
"What now?" You may ask...Well, my friends, I'm debating on several ideas. One of them has to be put in the next chapter, but I am at a loss of what to do. A year or so ago, I thought that what might happen was an ingenious idea, but now I'm not to sure it'll work out. It's all dependent on you. Review and the mystery will hopefully be revealed in chapter 39...I want all of you mysterious people to review! Seriously! ANONYMOUS REVIEWS ARE YOUR FRIENDS! The next update is dependent on you...