A Lot to Forgive
Amber Penglass
An Atton/FemExile Snippit
Summary; Atton has an experience similar to what the Exile went through on Korriban, specters and memories from his secret past making him face just how much the Exile has to forgive...
Warning; Rating for language and gory-ness.
"One more, guys, I'm sure of it- we've got to be getting closer."
"I feel it too, Atton," Mical agreed, rather unnecessarily Atton thought to himself. Aelyn, their darling Exile In Residence, had chosen him to lead the group, not the Jedi-wanna-be in that ridiculously girly Mata-something robe.
Nevertheless, there was something to be felt. Up ahead, beyond the dark doorway that blocked their path, power was building. Dark power, power like those patches of crackling lavender energy Atton had stumbled across near those two ancient terminals. Power that Atton hadn't quite been able to pull away from…not quite… Some habits died hard, and some didn't die at all.
But this power wasn't a mere 'patch.' It was bigger, badder, and it…it was…
"What in the name of Seven Clans…" Mandalore, behind him, raised his blaster and swore colorfully as the walls around them began to warp, then melt…melt? The power Atton and Mical had felt had begun to seep from beneath the door, and it was affecting the fabric of reality itself…
"Atton, quick…" But whatever it was that Mical wanted done quickly, Atton never found out. As suddenly as the world around him had begun to shift, it snapped back to normalcy. Atton tensed…power like that didn't just vanish…
Unheard by him or anyone else, an old woman's voice whispered, :Ah, so not so much the fool at the moment…Some wisdom has been gained, I see. But how far will it take you…:
The next voice to permeate the deepening shadows, however, Atton did hear.
"Atton?" It was a soft voice, deceptively so. Atton whirled, one hand flicking on the double-bladed, golden-orange lightsaber that had so recently replaced his beloved blasters.
"Aelyn?" He blurted incredulously at the red-clad form suddenly revealed by the receding the shadows, revealing just her face, arms, chest… her eyes, staring at him with such confusion. His own eyes widened, suddenly, as the shadows retreated just a bit further… "Oh, no…" he breathed to himself, taking in the familiar, heavy black metal chair his exile was strapped to, the rends and tears in her favorite Norris robes, the blood that soaked the edges of many of those tears. An alien emotion wrapped around his throat and heart, and squeezed, suddenly making it hard for Atton to breathe, or to swallow, or for his heart to persuade blood to flow to his brain…
"Atton, what's going on?" Aelyn Drae's voice floated to him on a wave of exhaustion, confusion, and no little tinge of annoyance.
"You're not real," Atton decided suddenly, vocally. "You're with Visas and Mira, in Iziz, rescuing the Queen. You and the Girl Squad."
"I was," Aelyn retorted. "It went better than expected, and we got back earlier. Thought I'd come help. Now I'm here. Are you gonna untie me, or not?"
Swallowing harshly, Atton flicked off his 'saber, but keeping it handy as he neared the specter that looked like Aelyn, sounded like Aelyn, acted like Aelyn… But was it Aelyn? Atton had lived around Dark Jedi, Sith –hell, he'd half been one! - long enough to know that this sort of illusion was right up their alley.
Sure enough, the moment Atton came within touching distance of the battered Jedi, the darkness around them shifted, solidified, forming a far, far too familiar set of four grimy walls. He closed his eyes, briefly, desperately begging for this nightmare to go away.
But it didn't go away.
At the sound of the formerly non-existent doors behind him opening, Atton opened his eyes and turned, not at all surprised by the new changes his surroundings had wrought themselves into. A familiar form entered the torture chamber, one in severe black garb and menacing dark silver mask.
"Has she broken, yet?" A distorted voice emerged from behind the mask.
"Almost there, keep your pants on," Atton's voice replied, without Atton telling it to speak. "I've had a long week; you promised me a little compensation. And if I've chosen to take that compensation in taking my time with this one, are you gonna try and stop me?"
The silver mask turned, and hidden eyes bore into Atton like a pair of blaster shots. Automatically, even knowing that this wasn't more than a memory-induced illusion, Atton threw up his mental shields of emotions. The eyes turned away, gazed at the wheezing form of Aelyn behind Atton, then gave one brisk nod, turned, and left.
Atton turned away from the door, clenching his newly black-gloved hands in frustration. Why this memory? And why had the Powers That Be replaced whatever Jedi had been his victim that day with her? To make him feel more agonizing guilt at what he'd done, what he'd been?
Atton's horror increased tenfold in the space of a tenth of a second when he realized that he was moving, without telling himself to move, towards Aelyn. He couldn't stop the menace that slipped into his gait, or how his right had reached out to gentle, almost affectionately stroke one finger down Aelyn's cheek…right over a gaping, bloody gash. Aelyn hissed and jerked away, causing more pain elsewhere on her beaten person. His lips curled into a smile that he didn't want to display, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe it from his face.
"What next?" he murmured. Aelyn glared at him.
"Snap out of it, Rand!" Aelyn hissed.
Atton blinked, hauling himself back into control of his body, jerking his hand away from Aelyn's face.
"Having trouble…controlling…" He managed to grunt out the words, pressing his knuckles to his right temple, his brow furrowed in frustrated concentration.
"Let me help," Aelyn's voice penetrated his confusion, and he sensed no little amount of Force persuasion behind her words. It helped that he wanted her to force him to let her help… Slowly, bit by bit, he fought the shadow of his former self that had taken up residence in his body, slowly forcing Jaq out of Atton…
And when he opened his eyes, he realized just how literal his fight had been.
Standing beside him, clad in full black Sith Assassin gear, was Atton- Jaq, before encountering that nameless Jedi woman, before Nar Shadaa, before Aelyn…
"Oh, hell no…" Atton muttered.
Jaq leaped at him, his Sith Warblade suddenly in hand. Well, that was one thing he'd improved on since then… Atton's golden 'saber leaped to his hand, both beams of light lancing forth from either end of the hilt. He met the specter of his former self blow for blow, kicking out and lashing out and rolling out of the way. Sometime during the fray, he'd managed to maneuver the fight behind Aelyn's chair, and managed to swing one end of is lightsaber in a perfect arch behind her, severing the plasteel ties that had bound her hands-
At least, that had been what he'd intended to do. But suddenly, his saber was gone from his hands, and the darkness slipped in around him once more. This time, though, when it receded, it wasn't surprise and revulsion awaiting him. No, instead, flat out horror and outrage.
"No!" He shouted at himself, at Jaq, whom held a small vibrodagger to Aelyn's face, slowly dragging the tip of the shimmering metal along her soft flesh, a thin ribbon of red blood following the tip's movements. Atton tried to block out the realization that this ghost was echoing the exact same movements, the exact same technique that the real Atton had used, once upon a time…
"Now aren't you glad?" Jaq grinned. "Glad that, at least, I didn't do this to poor Shireen before I…let her go…?"
"Oh, God, no…" Atton breathed, knowing he could do nothing to interfere. The transparency of the images before him had at last confirmed what he'd known all a long- it was just an illusion.
But oh, irony- how real an effect illusions could have. Atton fell back against one of the supposedly illusionary walls, horror seeping into every cell of his being. He remembered Shireen. The things he'd done to her, to break not only her, but her Master through their Force Bond…
What killed him the most, inside, though, was the sheer lack of life that now glazed Aelyn-ghost's eyes. It was the same look he remembered in Shireen's Master's eyes, before he'd gotten bored with her and had 'let her go.'
"What happened to you, Atton?" Ghost-Aelyn whispered, using Aelyn's voice, but not her tones. It was a broken voice, a defeated voice.
"Atton?" The specter inquired. "Who's Atton, sweetheart? The name's Jaq. So, you've finally gone in, eh? Who was Atton, hm? Lover? Thought Jedi were supposed to give up all that lovey dovey stuff. Now that's one thing we Sith have you, sister. We can have a good fuck when we want one."
Aelyn's imposter said nothing, but Atton swallowed harshly. He wanted to look away when Jaq finally sighed deeply, at last completely bored, and took from his belt his short vibroblade, and ran Aelyn through…
Again…
And again…
In the shoulder, in the other shoulder, piercing one thigh, then the other, through the stomach, across the throat, then finally, having failed to elicit a single scream from her, right through the heart.
Blood bubbled from Aelyn's mouth, but just before the last trickle of life fled from her eyes she turned her head, looking straight at the real Atton, and those blood-glossed lips moved, forming words he remembered hearing in the Refugee Commons on Nar Shadaa, when she'd confronted him in the privacy of a rank-smelling cargo hold…
"This is a lot to forgive, Atton… But I'll try. For you, I'll try."
The light faded from her eyes, and with it the room around her. Atton sank to the ground, no longer supported by the wall behind him, as it had vanished with the rest of the room.
By the time he registered Mical's hand on his shoulder, Mandalore was firing round after round, and the Sith Lords and Assassins were all around them…the Master making shallow offers of power through the dark side…
Atton hardly even answered before he fell into auto pilot, leaping, twirling, slashing, hacking, stabbing… All second nature. Killing. A habit. Didn't even need to think about it…
By the time the Sith Master and Lords were nothing but bloody piles of black fabric at their feet, Atton was breathing harder than ever, blood splattering his shirt and vest and favorite drexl leather pants. Mical was looking at him oddly, while Mandalore was salvaging a few credits from one of the Sith's dropped belts with one hand and slapping medpacs to use with his other. Normally, Atton would have been right along with him…
"What happened, Atton?" Mical asked after a moment, laying a hand on his shoulder, a hint of Aelyn's softness in his voice. That undid him. He jerked away, swearing furiously and deeply shaken.
"Nothing," he growled. "I don't want to talk about it."
Mical didn't press further.
Aelyn, though, he knew would notice, too, and she wouldn't leave it alone… Licking dry lips, Atton absently watched Mandalore and Mical search the ceremony room for anything of importance.
He'd…he'd tell her…he'd have to tell her. Something, at least. But could he bear, to share what his own memories had produced? Granted, it had been the dark power of this place that had dragged it out of him, but it wouldn't have done anything like that if the memories, the emotions, hadn't been there to work from. Right? Right.
Atton's gaze landed on the cooling form of the arrogant Sith Master, the one that had tried to seduce him to the dark side, and had done a pathetic job of it, in his opinion.
Right. So, plan A, 'I'm upset because some guy tried to pull me to the dark side and I almost gave in' it is. She doesn't need to know why I'm really all shaken up…she's got enough on her plate.
Right.
She'd said it herself; she had enough to forgive already.
Right…
End.
You know, this may end up being a series… I love writing Atton. And the exile. As I play the game (again) I keep getting so many of these little snippits popping to mind. This one came to me after Aelyn, my character, got off Korriban, out of the caverns, and I thought, what if Atton had gone through something akin to what Aelyn faced at the hands of the Malek and Republic ghosts? What would his torment have been? The answer was obvious, and dying to be written, so here ta-da! Until next time!
-Amber Penglass