The Beast paced in her small tower room. She still wore her spattered tunic and the sour smell of ootoowerg clung to the air. At any other time she would have demanded a hot bath and immediate decontamination of her clothes, but she was oddly loath to scrub away the reminders of her strange dinner. Her wonderful, strange dinner.
She couldn't remember the last time she laughed. In fact, she was surprised she even knew how.
Bah! This was his fault. That…farmer. The killer of the Peace. Her prisoner. Her Master's prize quarry.
The man who saved her, when he could have freed himself by letting her die.
And earlier tonight…
The look on his face when the blubberbird egg salad hit him square on his jaw flashed across her memory. She snickered, and then clasped her hands over her mouth. There was no one to hear her, of course – she flashed a glance at her comm display, reassuring herself the glassy reflective surface remained blank – but still. She didn't smile. She didn't chuckle. She certainly didn't—
A gale of bubbly laughs burst free. The White Workers covered in green fire sauce! The butter dripping from K'gworth's moustache! Potts, trying so desperately not to react! The farmer, with that inviting smirk on his lips, threatening her with mutual food fight destruction!
Dinner had been…the only word that came to mind was "fun." A foreign concept, to be sure. But one she wouldn't mind repeating. Just to see if the feeling could be replicated. She had her doubts.
The Beast yawned. It was late. She should get some rest. She had no idea when her Master would contact her, but it would behoove her to be as alert as possible when he did. She raised her arms to remove her tunic, and caught a fresh whiff of stale ootoowerg. Perhaps next time they could forego the throwing of the dishes part. She yawned again and fell across her pallet, a smile edging its way across her face.
She jolted awake a second later. Next time? What was she doing, thinking in terms of "next times?" She commanded the farmer's presence at dinner only to ensure he would not be malnourished when presented to her Master. The boy was nothing more than troublesome prey, to be disposed of as soon as commanded…
…wasn't he?
Sleep eluded her for most of the night.
The bright sunlight streaming across his face woke up Luke. He stretched and looked around for the breakfast tray, usually placed at his bedside by now. The space was empty. A grumble from his stomach reminded him it was empty, too. He'd definitely spilled more food than he had eaten the night before.
"Looma?" he called. No answer. That was fine with Luke. A nephew of Owen and Beru Lars could never be comfortable lying around while others waited on him hand and foot.
In his exploration of the castle, he had yet to find the kitchens. No time like the present, he thought, and hurriedly dressed in the fresh tunic and form-fitting trousers he found hanging in the wardrobe. His clothes from last night had disappeared, much to his relief. He didn't envy whoever had been given the food-stained and smelly clothing to wash.
Before he exited, Luke snatched up the loose bedpost. The bedroom was spacious enough as bedrooms went but the furnishings weren't conducive to lightsaber practice, even when the "lightsaber" was a long, thin cylinder of wood. He hoped no one would notice the curtains covering the far left window were now lopsided. Perhaps after breakfast he might find a gallery or a ballroom or someplace a bit harder to damage.
Hoping to add to his mental map of the castle, he set out in the opposite direction from his previous tours of the castle. He passed room after room, each one more colorful yet absent any sign of recent occupation than the one before.
A faint hum drew his attention. Was that a lightsaber? Or did he just have lightsabers on his mind? He followed the noise through narrow corridors and expansive hallways until he stood before two imposing wooden doors. He'd never seen this part of the castle before. It appeared older than the part that held his bedroom, as if built at the same time as the dungeons far below. The walls and floor were irregularly cut blocks of stone, rough and grey. The coved ceiling soared above him, supported by buttresses. Metal brackets placed every so often must have once held fire torches for light.
But for all that it reminded Luke of the dank cell where he found Han, Leia and Chewie, he didn't feel the oppressive presence of the dark side. Well, except for the presence of the Beast on the other side of the door. He felt her in the Force, loud and clear.
And heard her. Yes, that was definitely the sound of a lightsaber. He pushed against the wood and the door swung silently open. The sight in front of him caused him to stop short.
The room was vast and empty except for the Beast, alone in its center. Her red-violet blade was a dizzying blur of arcs, feints and parries. But the woman wielding the weapon possessed most of his attention. She wore a simple, close-fitting dark tunic over black leggings, her bare feet flexing and pointing as she spun, crouched and raised high on her toes. Her red-gold mane was tamed in a braid that swayed with her movements, escaped tendrils clinging to her forehead and flushed cheeks. Eyes closed, she seemed to be moving to music only she heard.
Luke knew with a certainty he had never seen anything – anyone – so graceful in his life. He breathed as shallowly as he could, not wanting to disturb her and cause the picture in front of him to disappear.
Out of the corner of his eye, Luke caught a glimpse of Looma, half hidden in the shadows of a far corner. The Gaulian tossed a globe-shaped training remote into the air, iasers firing from all ports. Luke dragged his gaze away from the Beast long enough to note the scattered remnants of previous remotes, cut into small, metallic shards. He held his breath as the remote dove toward the beast, bright arcs of green light aimed at her chest. She easily deflected them, her blade dancing through the air.
It was not a fair contest. A few swift strokes of her lightsaber and the remote lay in two pieces at her feet. With her back to Luke, she shut down her weapon and wiped her forehead with her tunic sleeve.
"'allo!" Looma turned and waved at Luke.
Luke waved his arms crisscross in front of him, in what he hoped was the universal sign for "Shh! I'm not here!" but apparently Looma never learned how to interpret it. The Gailian smiled even broader. "Bonjour, monsieur!" he called.
The Beast's head came sharply up. "Who are you…?" She whirled to face Luke. "You." Her yellow gaze glowed in the sunlight streaming through the tall, narrow windows, pinning Luke in place. "How long have you been there?"
"Me," Luke said with a nod. "I, um, sorry to interrupt," he said, putting down the broken bedpost the heat rose in his cheeks. The polite thing would have been to announce his presence right away. If Aunt Beru were still live, she'd be very disappointed in him. But this castle and its inhabitants were so far out his realm of his experience, and the chance to observe the Beast in her natural setting, as it was…he forgot his manners. "I was looking for breakfast."
"Zut alors!" Looma exclaimed. "The food tray, I 'ave completely forgot!" He clasped his hands together. "I will bring it to you, tout de suite."
The Beast narrowed her gaze at Looma. "Forgetfulness is unlike you."
He gave her a wide, innocent smile. "My Mistress commanded me to 'elp 'er with 'er exercises, I cannot disobey."
She regarded him, her gaze thinning to mere slits. "Don't think I don't know what you are doing. You may go."
Looma pointed his right foot and bowed deep with a flourish of his arms, a cheeky gesture that caused the corners of the Beast's mouth to upturn. When she turned back to Luke, all traces of amusement were gone. "You cost me my sparring partner."
Luke indicated the broken remotes. "It seems you did all the damage on your own."
She strode toward him, stopping only a few feet from his position. Dust motes pirouetted in the sunlit air between them. "That was just the warm up. Looma's moves are patterned on one of the greatest Jedi the Old Republic ever saw. But I take him down, ninety nines times out of a hundred." She stepped closer.
If he wanted to, Luke could reach out a finger and trace the path her freckles took across the bridge of her nose. "And the one hundredth time?" he asked.
She smiled. There was no mirth in it. But nor, to Luke's pleased surprise, was any malice present. "Care to see how well you fare against me, farmer?" She reached inside her tunic and drew out his lightsaber, tossed it to him.
He caught it easily. It felt so good to have its familiar weight in his grasp once more, especially since there were no angry canines hoping to have Skywalker stew for dinner present. He looked up. "Aren't you afraid I will best you, escape the castle?"
"Aren't you more afraid you won't?" She caught his gaze with hers, the challenge clearly visible in the golden depths.
He gave her a thin-lipped smile of his own. His blue blade ignited and he held it vertical in a salute. "After you."
They took their positions in the center of the empty room, circling warily. The Beat attacked first, a lightning strike of grace and strength. Luke parried, turned. His riposte put her on the defensive, her blade moving furiously to fend him off while finding a weakness she could exploit.
The Force swirled around them, its energy cool and hot, light and dark. She drew her energy from deep reservoirs of rage and hate, her anger scalding, He'd sensed the same taint on Bespin as they escaped. On Dagobah, in the rotted tree Yoda bade him enter.
In that tree, Luke had seen himself as a Beast. The Lord of the Beasts. The memory made him fight harder, his blue blade hacking. She matched him and more, her red-violet blade forcing him to back up, retreat. The Force simmered around them, oppressive and heavy. The voices he had heard in the dungeon started up again: Give in to anger give in to hate strike her down it's what she deserves take her power for yourself -
No! He leapt into the air, the Force powering his legs, and landed softly behind the Beast. He reached deep down for his own reservoirs, for peace and calm. He held onto images of Leia and Han, of Chewie and even Threepio. If he fell to the dark side as Yoda had warned him against, they would be next on the Emperor's agenda.
The Beast turned to face him, her blade poised for the killing blow. Luke brought his weapon up just in time. The blades met, plasma crackling. The stench of ozone permeated the air.
As soon as one advanced, the other parried and riposted. Locked in a stalemate, neither one able to find a definitive opening.
Luke grinned. The Force flowed through his limbs, from his grip on the hilt to his booted feet, seeking purchase on the uneven ground to jump, pivot and move.
The strain showed on her face. She gasped for air. But she wouldn't yield. The tiny portion of his mind not concentrating on the duel marveled at her tenancity.
Caresses
"'Allo!" Looma's voice boomed from behind them. "The food, it is getting cold!"
The unexpected disruption gave Luke the opportunity he needed. With a twist, he managed to disarm her. Her lightsaber arced through the air. It fell with a clatter to clatter on the ground. She grunted in surprise, rubbing her wrist.
He saluted her once more, and shut down his lightsaber. "So that makes one for me, and—" Something hit the back of his knees, hard. His hands and knees crashed into the stone floor with a bone rattling impact. "Oof!" A bare foot landed on his back, forcing his air out.
"Never think a fight is over until you are sure it is over, farmer." The Beast's low voice tickled his ear. "And never leave yourself exposed to an enemy." She straightened up, still keeping her foot on his lower back. "I believe the score is one for me, and—" She let out a short exclamation of surprise. With a sudden movement, Luke rolled out under her foot. One soft Force push and she was on her back. He scrambled to pin her down, his knees bracketing her thighs, his hands keeping hers immobile.
"You mean, never leave yourself exposed to an opponent who has the Force," he said. "And grew up in a farming community where fistfights after the chores were done doubled as entertainment."
She glared up at him. But the fire in her gaze did not burn. He expected her to struggle, but instead she relaxed in his grip. "Nicely played," she said. "I thank you for the lesson." And she smiled. A real smile. "That was…fun." She said it as if the word were foreign to her.
He grinned at her. This close, with sunlight highlighting the gold sparks in her hair and a flush tinting her pale skin – and a smile warming her usual frosty exterior – she wasn't beastly at all. Quite the opposite. He loosened his hold on her hands. "Thanks for being an great sparring partner. It's the best 'saber practice I've had in a long time. Not since Master Yo—" He bit back the rest of his words.
What was he thinking? She wasn't his friend. She was his captor. His enemy. Nothing more.
Wasn't she?
Her smile disappeared as quickly as it appeared. With a flick of her wrist, she called her lightsaber hilt to her and held it with the business end pointed at him. "Are you going to get off me, or...?" Her thumb hovered over the ignition stud.
"Oh. Sorry. Of course." Heat suffused his cheeks for the second time that morning. He struggled to his feet, and reached out a hand to help her up.
She ignored it, rising from the floor in what seemed like one graceful movement. "Your weapon," she began.
"Right," he said, and reached to unclip it from he had hung it on his belt out of habit.
"No," she said. She kept her head turned away. "Keep it."
"What?" Shock rooted his feet in place. He didn't think he could move if he wanted to. "Aren't you worried I'll use it to escape?"
She scoffed. "The walls of the castle contain cortosis ore, impervious to lightsabers. Even if you managed to break free, we're surrounded by the forest. The ysalamiri keep the Force at bay—"
So that's what those strange creatures are called, Luke thought.
"—And the vronskrs in the forest would take care of you. You wouldn't hurt Looma or K'gworth or Pottz, and I," she paused and tapped her lightsaber hilt again, "can more than take care of myself."
Luke nodded. She was completely right. He might as well keep his weapon.
"Thank you." His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he still hadn't eaten. "Looma said the food was getting cold, so I better go."
The Beast raised her hand. "There is one condition."
"Isn't there always?" he said under his breath.
She flicked her braid over her shoulder and caught her lower lip in her teeth, just for a second. "I command you to practice with me every morning at this time."
Luke allowed his grin to fill his whole face. "My pleasure."