Knights and Eros Bound

Chapter 26

Anakin and Schurke strode purposely through the dimly lit streets of the settlement. They were unmolested as they passed. They had abandoned any pretense of being anything other than what they were - Jedi on a mission - and their very bearing, their deportment, left no room for doubt. Only a fool would attempt to accost them this night.

As they entered the dimly lit cantina, the patrons unconsciously shifted in their seats even as they outwardly ignored the two men.

"Where, Schurke?" Anakin asked softly as they paused at the door. He knew Schurke was more attuned to Kam's whereabouts, and just like on the battle fields, Anakin trusted him implicitly.

"Through that door," Schurke murmured. "And she's not alone."

"Gris," Anakin agreed, and he furrowed his brow in consternation. "I don't sense anyone else, though. Droids perhaps?"

"It wouldn't be like her," Schurke replied. "Not the Gris we know, anyway."

"All the more reason to keep a look out," Anakin finished for him. They made their way carefully through the crowded, smoky room like two small ships passing through a calm sea. When they reached the door, they hesitated again.

"Do we knock, or…" Anakin began, but the door opened before he could finish.

"Kam!" Schurke cried as, heedless to any danger, he dashed through the door and to the reclining chair in which Kampher lay. When he reached her, he pulled her close and cradled her languid form in his arms, whispering her name over and over again.

Slow, sarcastic applause echoed through the room from behind.

"Recklessness isn't usually your style, Schurke," Gris purred. "That's normally Anakin's domain. You're damn lucky you're not dead."

"He doesn't have to be lucky, Gris," Anakin replied coldly. "We've always looked out for each other."

"Why, Gris?" Schurke asked angrily as he stroked Kampher's head and face. He wore an expression of such cold fury that it sent a chill down Anakin's back. "Why?" he asked again.

Ignoring him, Gris gestured for Anakin to sit down. "I'd offer you a drink," she said. "But somehow I think you'd refuse me anyway. No matter."

Anakin carefully walked over to the couch where Kam was slowly coming around.

"Schurke…" Kampher mumbled into his chest. "S' time to go home I think…"

"We'll get you out of here soon." Schurke promised her, and he gently kissed her forehead.

"If you are quite finished…" Gris said with a dramatic sigh. "Or I can just leave you for a while. Maybe you could even get poor lonely little 'Toboo' involved this time…"

"No more games Gris," Anakin snarled. "Tell us what you want!"

Wordlessly, Gris slinked across the room and over to a cupboard. Anakin was on his feet in an instant while Schurke covered Kampher's body with his own.

"Please," Gris intoned, rolling her eyes. "I would never harm any of you. Poor Kam is just the victim of circumstances. It was the only way I could assure that you would come together." She flashed a smile too wide to be genuine.

"Schurke…" Kam whimpered softly. "Let's just go home… don't like this at all…" She murmured something else in Schurke's ear. Something that sounded to Anakin like 'buy me time'… Schurke nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Wait." Gris interrupted coolly. "If anything, I'm sure you want at least some answers. Master Aliéné, for example…"

"He's dead," Anakin said shortly, following Schurke's unspoken lead. "But you knew that before you left." Here Anakin paused, considering. "Why did you leave, Gris?" he asked softly.

"Padrone Aliéné was weak!" Gris snapped, ignoring his question and with all pretense of good humor gone. "He couldn't handle the power… the gifts of the darkside!"

"There are no 'gifts' Gris…" Schurke answered sadly. "Only suffering and…" here he paused as realization set in. "And madness…"

Gris turned away from the trio. "Only for those who can't, who won't treat it with the care it deserves!" she said sadly. "Master… Aliéné, he was too impatient. He rushed things…"

"What things, Gris?" Anakin asked smoothly, trying to keep his focus away from Kam. She was obviously up to something, and he knew that he had to keep Gris' attention away from her. "Surely it's not as simple as that."

"It's not!" Gris replied angrily as her self-control slipped another notch. "The Order has taught us that there is no anger, no hatred! They are wrong!"

Anakin reluctantly conceded the point. "Yes," he said quietly. "We've spent the better part of three years seeing this."

"But anger and hatred have made the Separatists strong!" Gris snarled.  "They use hatred as a weapon, convincing the populaces that the Jedi blindly serve a Republic that has abandoned them! That the Jedi are only the Republic's tool of subjugation!  For each peaceful Jedi, each friend we have sent out… how many have been returned to the Temple torn apart by the masses that no longer believe that the Jedi truly have their best interest at heart? The enemy knows and exploits our… their weakness!"

Anakin snapped back. "We do our duty, Gris."

"Is our duty to die senselessly for a lost cause, Anakin?" Gris answered coolly, her eyes again dancing with amusement and madness.

Anakin recoiled as if slapped, but recovered quickly. "That's no excuse Gris… we are Jedi, not monsters!"

Gris shifted tactics. "Are the innocents that are slaughtered daily monsters Anakin? Surely you would call those that attacked your wife..."

In an instant, Anakin had ignited his light saber and pointed the blade at her throat.

"Do not speak of her!" Anakin snarled as he lunged towards her, Gris however, remained undaunted and unmoving.

"Are you never afraid, Anakin?" she asked, an oily tone creeping into her voice. "Afraid that someone will, perhaps steal her away? Take her very life?"

Anakin glowered, and lowered his saber. "No harm will come to her as long as I draw breath," he said, his voice as cold as ice.

"Ah," smiled Gris. "But as long as you refuse to give in to your rage, you deny the power

 that the dark side can give you…You are afraid!"

Anakin trembled, unsure. She was mad, that much was clear but Gris was speaking the simple truth. He was afraid of the power it gave him and yet …

Before he could retort or even gather his thoughts, Kampher suddenly pushed herself up, weaving unsteadily on the couch. Her eyes closed as she reached out her hands in an attitude of supplication. The room was silent but for one whispered word.

"Gris…"