:: Chapter Forty Three ::

'Don't let father get under your skin, brother. You and I will always have each other, I won't let you fall.'

Words spoken by Thexan during their journey to Korriban echoed in Arcann's mind while he stood in the center of a room he hadn't set foot in for nearly five years. Thick layers of dust covering every piece of furniture in a silvery shroud to claim Thexan's belongings for itself and carry them into the forgotten realm.

For too long had Arcann felt ashamed to visit here, to allow himself to remember and honor his brother but now he prayed he was ready to take a step forward onto new territory. Confronting the past, his own feelings and all that came with it.

He drew the curtains aside to welcome a few rays of sunlight into the room and pushed open the balcony doors. Breathing in the fresh air before he began his work of restoring the room to its former glory with the hope his humble labor would help him reconcile with the past.

Pausing at every memory he uncovered and held in his hands, allowing emotion to wash over him while contemplating the ways in which he could move forward. Working so diligently that a single day easily blended into the next and by the time he'd finished, three days and two nights had passed while his prisoner grew restless in her cell. His sudden absence leaving Eliza more troubled than she cared to be.

In part, she ached with concern for a man who far from deserved it, and missed his presence as a welcome reprieve to the monotony of her days in lockup. Yet, the other part hoped he had dropped dead somewhere in the Spire so Zakuul's rule would be overturned and she might find a different means of securing her own release.

'Perhaps I went too far, I shouldn't have asked him to show mercy,' she pondered quietly in her cell while the man at the other side of the wall slept. Snoring like a wild animal for hours on end and slowly driving her mad.

'Not even worth it,' another thought teased with resentment.

There was no connection with Jace Malcom. He despised who she was without caring to know her and she had quickly realized the sham of a father he was—Theron deserved better. Still, that was a thing for Theron to decide should he ever get the chance and it had been for his benefit that she'd pleaded for the Supreme Commander's life in the first place.

'And now I'm paying the price for it… Where are you, Arcann?'

It was ridiculous just how much his absence bothered her and ignited a war between her common senses and this nagging feeling that had crept into her heart. Growing familiar with one of her greatest enemies came with unexpected consequences, Eliza realized, showing him as a man and human being now that she'd stood so close to his point of view.

'Maybe this was a fool's errand from the very start…'

A consideration that further solidified in her mind once Arcann did show up and caused her a mild case of panic.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking me?" asked Eliza when he cuffed her wrists together before her and led her away from the prison block.

Even Jace's eyes followed the pair with curiosity but Arcann refused to answer. He kept mute while he escorted her to the elevators, during the minutes it took them to reach the high rise of the Spire and while wandering the many hallways. All the way to a set of double doors where he finally paused.

"I prefer privacy," he spoke a simple answer that didn't quite ease her mind.

The door swung open and with a hand at the small of her back, Arcann ushered her inside. Welcoming her to the Throne room on Zakuul—the one she vividly remembered from her vision when Vitiate first transferred his essence into her body.

"Privacy for what exactly?"

"Our conversations. They aren't for the Supreme Commander to know."

"Oh." A small sense of relief came over Eliza. "No, I would agree."

Bright blue hues lit up as Arcann activated one of the many features of his throne to display a holo-map of the galaxy, showing all sectors currently patrolled by his Eternal Fleet. Deep red dots littering Imperial Space and the Core Worlds.

"You once confronted me about the fact I'd carried on my father's war, and said there is always another way—what would you have done in my position?"

"I already told you—you could have attempted peace negotiations, provided aid and resources to make amends."

"No, your Empire would have retaliated. You weren't afraid to chase us all the way to Wild Space despite our display of strength when we assaulted Korriban. Am I wrong?"

"No, but—"

"So what choice did I have? After my father killed one of your leaders and took others captive? Which course of action would have prevented a new war at that point?"

"I…" Words failed her and Eliza rolled her shoulders in a shrug. "Perhaps war was inevitable but… what about all the other things you've done?"

"Such as?"

"The Scions, for starters. Your mother told me about them."

"Zealots elevated to a position of power by my father. I believe no cult, no fanatic, should ever have that much sway and power over a ruling body, to be revered. It's a dangerous thing and I did not care for their whispers of prophecy."

"But to kill them?"

"They would have been living martyrs had I captured them instead. People would still be on the streets today calling for their release, creating chaos and protest all over Zakuul. At least with their death, their martyrdom ended quickly and everyone moved on."

Eliza could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck when he came to stand behind her and one hand clasped her shoulder. "They were no one to you, why do you care so much?" he asked in return, his tone softened.

"People's lives aren't yours or mine to play with." She spun around to face him. "I'm just trying to understand why you've made the choices you've made. Why this treaty with the Empire and the Republic? You don't need their resources, I've seen Zakuul's wealth."

"No, I don't, but without their resources, they can't rebuild their forces to mount an attack. Simple strategy."

"Strategy? Great. So, why ask me all these questions if you've already got the answers?"

"I was trained in the arts of war. Mastered every tactic to subjugate entire worlds, and nothing else."

"Meaning?"

His answer clung to the back of his throat, held there by uncertainty while Arcann led her away from the throne room, back out into the hallways. Walking in silence and Eliza kept a close eye on him. Not out of distrust or fear but she desperately wished to dissect the workings of his mind. The multiple layers that made him the man who'd ruthlessly pursued her but who'd neglected to actually kill her, thus far, choosing her for his company instead.

"Where were you, the past three days?" she asked.

"I had much to consider, alone, and work that required my attention."

'Work?' Eliza dreaded to think who'd fallen this time, or which planet he'd attacked.

"I'll show you," he offered and a set of gilded double-doors opened up before them, leading into Thexan's room.

A room easily six times the size of her own cell, inviting in its creme-white, muted-golden, and ebony color scheme and she looked on in awe. Directly to her left stood a wooden console table with carvings illustrating an expensive design. A large mirror hung above the console and further into the room, against the far left wall was a fireplace, a small side table, two wingback chairs and beyond the fireplace another door.

On the opposite side, to her right, a dresser and a large wooden desk made to match the ebony console table. Stood at the far back was a massive, four-poster bed in front of a set of wide open, unobscured windows offering a majestic view to the balcony that lay beyond the room and the city of Zakuul in the distance.

"You… built a bedroom?"

The innocent frown she wore caused Arcann to smile behind his mask and removed her handcuffs, feeling she posed no threat to him here. "No. This was my brother's room, I hadn't visited here in years. It required a lot of maintenance to restore and I spent the past days finally facing…"

"Oh." Pleasant surprise twinkled in her eyes. "Our talk, it helped?"

"Yes. I—yes, it did."

'Say thank you,' he was reminded of his manners but struggled to push the words past his lips.

Instead he watched with intrigue while Eliza explored the room. Her feet carrying her forward, slowly and with grace and while she inspected every detail with her eyes, she never laid a hand on any of Thexan's belongings on display. Arcann appreciated that.

"It looks… wonderful. I'm glad this helped you."

"So did you." It was as close as he could get himself to expressing gratitude.

A gentle smile accepted his thanks until her eyes caught a glimpse of a leatherbound journal resting on top of one of the nightstands, reminding her instantly of Lord Scourge. Leading her to touch back on their earlier conversation, her drive to uncover his motives.

"Why did you keep my husband imprisoned for so many years, and subject him to those horrors?"

For a second he felt caught off guard but he answered, "His immortality."

An explanation no different from the one Jarak had given. "You have no idea what you were bargaining for, the consequences."

"I am aware," he corrected. "Jarak's research and experiments aimed to find a formula that would grant immortality without those consequences you speak of."

"Mm, I see. All the benefits without ever paying the price but why would you want to be immortal?"

Arcann closed his eyes—his reason being a particularly sensitive one—while Eliza pushed further.

"You would be bound to this galaxy forever. Alone, empty and should you ever tire of your existence, there'd be no escape. You would never be able to reunite with your brother in the next life. Stuck in a prison for which there is no key."

His voice softened to a whisper, "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me, please?"

It wasn't the thought of him reaching immortality that concerned her, there were ways around that. Option one being carbonite and the second a Sarlacc pit. Heck, the third a combination of the first two just to be certain, if it ever came to that, but she wanted to know why. Why this was so important to him that he'd torment Lord Scourge and give up the freedom of living.

'It's none of your damned business,' was his instinctive thought but he swallowed hard to curb his temper.

The absence of any response from him hung thick in the air while Arcann stood suspended in hesitation. Half an eye on the mirror and his own reflection, the mask and armor that covered him.

"Please?" Eliza asked a second time and approached him with a cautious step.

Still he said nothing but now his hands reached down to unbuckle the belt around his waist, allowing the layers of his tunic to fall away slowly and reveal his chest. An act that would have caused Eliza to frown or feel alarmed if it weren't for her growing curiosity and captivation while the tunic slid down his arms and dropped to the floor.

Arcann didn't dare look at her now, afraid of her reaction. Keeping his eyes on a single focus point right by his feet while he moved to unclip his mask and show his true face at last. The one that haunted his nightmares and had him convinced he was rotten—not only on the outside but within.

"This is why…" a crack of emotion and fragility rang in his voice when he spoke.

His complexion had turned a few shades paler than it normally was and the one good hand holding his mask trembled, just a touch but enough to indicate how uncomfortable and nervous he felt.

"It hurts," Eliza made the observation and drew nearer.

His cybernetic arm, while made of superior technology, sat awkwardly compared to the rest of his body. A thing that went unnoticed while in dress but now, with his torso bare, it was clear to see. Fully encased in a black, lightweight metal that covered the wirings, energy cells and artificial neurons that helped his arm function. Connected to the remaining stump of his own shoulder with several bolts piercing flesh and bone—the source of his pain.

It pinched his tender skin, leaving it reddened in some places while other areas had whitened out from being pulled too tight. Raw and rutted, and just above the cybernetic arm sat another scar but this one a full ring tracing his shoulder. The result of a previous prosthetic, one of a lesser quality, affixed to his body on the battlefield immediately after amputation.

"Every second of every day," he lamented and it was only now that she noticed the warmth and depth of his voice.

Freed of the mask and purer than it had ever sounded before, almost inviting, and Eliza looked up to meet his eyes. To see the scars on his face.

A craggy landscape that mapped the suffering he'd endured. Starting at the base of his neck and branching up to his chin, passing the corner of his mouth to leave its mark just above his upper lip. Divaricating higher to cover his jaw and cheek, teasing across his nose and further up corrupt his eyelids. Extending to his left ear and the side of his skull until it reached his scalp and faded.

Arcann caught her looking and felt the heat of her breath on his face. Too close for comfort and he put one foot behind him, resting his weight on the heel when he felt his instinct to flee kick in. He held himself and waited for the inevitable—a hint of disgust on her face, a downward arching of her lips in displeasure. Expecting her eyes to no longer watch him but instead gaze at a focal point beyond him so she'd no longer have to witness his repellant disfigurement.

But Eliza was unpredictable, and he should have remembered so. Quite gently she reached out, the padding of her index finger hovering just a hair away from his cheek and he met her eyes again while she tried to gauge his reaction. Finding nothing but acceptance and compassion in her gold-tainted blues compelling him to stand still while she brushed her fingertip down the side of his face. Taking in every bump and indent before she cupped his cheek in her palm and smiled.

A warming gesture, one that almost pierced his heart until he suddenly snatched her wrist. "What are you playing at, Outlander?" he snarled, suspecting a ploy.

There was no way any person would ever be that tender and caring to him. To touch him without repulsion. It had to be a trick but Eliza kept calm even while her hand experienced a slight loss of sensation due to his strong grip.

"You look better without the mask, why do you hide?"

Her words sounded incredulous and yet, he detected nothing but honesty. How was that possible? She hadn't even flinched, or broken character, but reluctantly he let go.

"It's hideous and proof of my weakness, my failure in battle."

"No. It proves that you're a survivor. That you fought a difficult battle, faced agonizing injury but lived. It's a testament to your raw strength and should be worn with pride for all to know and see."

Arcann stepped back, not out of discomfort but in astonishment, and furrowed his brows. Could she be that skilled of a liar? He couldn't help but question and yet, no matter how he tried, he found not a hint of deception in her words or actions.

"I have scars of my own. Not quite like yours but I treasure each of them as a reminder of the fact that, while my enemies cut me, I stood victoriously and survived," she told him when she noticed his surprise. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Perhaps not for you," he said sullenly.

"Hrm. Anyway," Eliza continued, "is this your reason for chasing immortality? What did you hope it would do for you?"

"I'd hoped it might…" His voice trailed off and he felt foolish for his own, likely naive, motivations. "Restore my appearance, take the pain away. We have surgical droids who can achieve much but the severity of my scars is something not even they can fix."

"Is there no pain medication?"

"Those dull my mind and senses, lull me into false relaxation. I refuse."

"Arcann…"

A gentle sigh puffed past her lips. Gone was her scheme to earn his trust and manipulate it for her own benefit—she genuinely cared for the man standing there with his literal scars laid bare—his unexpected and very private revelation beating her walls down in rapid succession. Now understanding his pain and the desperate notion immortality could somehow mend his deformity.

It didn't excuse what he'd done, nothing ever would and she knew that but at least now, she understood. He wasn't the psychopathic monster his sister had been and he hadn't waged a callous war. Most of his moves had been carefully planned and were not solely driven by a need for destruction and terror.

"Immortality will not heal your wounds, it will not fade your scars," she told him to her own regret, knowing better.

"Your husband?"

Eliza nodded. She'd caught more than one glimpse of Lord Scourge's old battle scars back when he'd still been immortal. "It'll only prevent new injuries but what's already there stays with you."

Arcann bent down to retrieve his tunic, his hand shaking and he struggled to slip it back on. His body silently raging in disappointment now that his last sliver of hope had been crushed and Eliza stepped in to help him. Easing his cybernetic arm into the sleeve and gingerly sliding the fabric over his aching shoulder.

"Can I see?" he asked when she finished, needing to know she hadn't lied. "Your scars."

"Yeah…" She bunched her shirt up to just past her midriff, right below the base of her breasts to expose the several stab and blaster-shot wounds that had left their mark on her body.

Taking a closer look, Arcann sunk down to one knee and let his gaze trace her skin, followed by his fingertips when he examined the freshest scar.

"My sister?"

"Hmm, yes. She got me good…"

"You almost died that day."

"I've almost died quite a few times," a soft chuckle escaped her lips.

Almost as if in a trance, Arcann nodded. Only vaguely while his index finger slid toward one of her older scars, studying it with intrigue and when his breath caressed her skin, he noticed the small flutter of her stomach.

"And this one?"

"Oh, that's where Theron shot me."

His head jerked up so abruptly in surprise that he almost lost his balance. "What?"

Again she chuckled, a twinkle in her eyes and she casually shrugged.

"Theron? The one you're… whose child you're…"

The confusion on his face was quite entertaining to her and Eliza lowered her shirt. "Yes, that Theron. It's a bit of a story."

"I believe you have a great many of stories," Arcann considered.

In all their time thus far, they had mostly spoken of his past and traumas and while she had shared the occasional snippet about her life, he understood little of it. Curiously enough since it had been his goal to know and understand her when he'd first brought her in, after grilling her about his father.

He rose to his feet and strode past her to open up the balcony doors, inviting her to step outside, "Join me and tell me more?"

"No tit for tat this time? How about a decent meal?" Eliza tried to push her luck, even while she was grateful to spend more time with him and away from her cell.

A smile teased on Arcann's face and for the first time, she could actually see it. "Fine, but no dessert."