The Price of Freedom
Disclaimer: I do not have any affliation with the Star Wars saga or George Lucas.
Spoilers: None
His bushy dark brows furrowed together, as he stared down toward the mess of species that had in their own haste prowled about the city, in their ant like mannerisms. He was the future King, and they were the ants that would serve him and abide by the rulings that he would unleash onto the lands no matter the opposition from any including the woman that was his bride. He had things to take care of, primarily his wife of a year.
She had called opposition to his decisions on more than one occassion. Prompting a strong and steady hand to smash against her fragile face and stomach, leaving them raw and tender. The last time he had hit her, he had drawn more blood than what he would have liked, but she had learned a bit more than what she had before. She had embarassed him, before not only the principle court of Arkellia, but his father who had beckoned him to act wisely when it came to the woman that was to bear his heir to the throne.
The blood had caked his bronzed fingers. He had displeasurable stared down at it for a moment, at the fresh blood that sat on his fingers, soaking the light curls of hair on the lower sections of his fingers with the human fluid. He had lightly kicked her abdomin, before he had bothered to even had to the refresher to clean the blood before it could stain itself any further into his flesh. It was the one thing that his father had aptly taught him, that blood had a habit of staining and it was best to remove it quickly before its tinge could harken any curious eye to its source.
The Nubian woman glared at him, her warm brown eyes, the feature that had most attracted him to chose her as his bride and future Queen of Arkellia did not move, except to remove herself to her own bedroom quarters. That was the way that she had demanded it, he had only been allowed into her chambers once and that had been through the use of force.
She had given a scream, biting him hard when he had gently dragged his finger over her cheek and down her body to the area that appeased his sexual desires the most. She had given a fight, but after time he had been able to fufill his desire, tying her tightly to the bedroom post. She cried out more than once, the pain and torture of his body against her own. Screaming that death would be a kinder touch than any that he could provide for her.
After that he had never been allowed back into her chambers, not that he had not attempted it. She had been smart, fastening the chamber doors with codes and locks that even in his own quest of knowledge could find no suitable information about. The few times that he had been in her company without the social glare on them, was when he beat her around. Used her as the punching bag that he craved, if she refused to mother any of his children that would be viable for the throne.
He did have children, seven in fact. Four boys and three girls, each with the look of his royal genes passing through their them, to give them his fine looks. They could never be his heirs. Bastards, children of paupers, that was all they were. They were not suitable candidates for the throne or lineage of the Ekert line and Arkellia. According to the Order of Lineage, even if he were to die heirless, only the proper son of his next of kin, being his brother Kevi's son Oni could take the throne.
The idea did not suit his pleasures, though the woman in her own ravelling beauty had denied him that right more than once. Warning him that if he ever laid another hand against her flesh, that she knew of men that would tear his flesh to pieces. That had not stopped him once, and her threats had remained idle. The only promise that she had so far been able to keep was that of never producing an heir. Refusing all rights to act like the wife of the crowned prince of Arkellia, and he had heard the whispers run through the court that he was no longer man enough to get an heir.
He had smiled down at her body, the way it slumped against the floor, as she timidly continued her undaunting glare, before attempting to remove herself from the black marble floor. He gently brushed his hand over her long, dark curls before striking her with the blade that in his quest for cleanliness had discovered sitting promptly beneath a few sheets that she had stored in her refresher room.
"Are you not going to give me the pleasure of a scream?" He had questioned, as she slipped away in to the dark touch of death. She had shook her head, proud and unabolished by the fact that he had killed her, before the white yolks slid back beneath her eye lids, as her blood pooled about her body.
He had sobbed lightly into the soft, feather pillow that in its decor held the cartoon images of Jedi, men like his father that he had often heard whispered in stories by his mother and other people that in their oblivious nature were charged with temporary child care. Leia remained still, shifting slightly in her bed that was adjacent to his own, unbeknowst to his cries of fear.
He had slid gently from the bed, that could hold no more than one other person if tightly squeezed into, and passed the door that the man Obi - Wan Kenobi, he had heard his sister giggle to him as she told him of the story in their special language. Obi - Wan had remained asleep, though his father had often spoke of how the man that had aged into his forthieth year had the stealth of a cat that never slept. Perhaps, he had thought as he passed by the room, the old master had needed some sleep and found for once that he could as the bed was comfortable compared to the rustic designs that his father complained openly about one evening after dinner, while speaking to his mother about the enjoyable relaxation that his father had wanted spend in bed.
He had gently knocked at the door, that his parents in their leisure rested. He could hear the soft grumblings of his father, as his father made leeway out of the bed to broach the door, careful not to wake the form of his sleep mother who had changed into a soft lilac night gown, the one that she had purchased not even a week before, in an excited tone that his father was to return home to them.
"What's the matter, Luke?" His father had questioned, staring down at the heavy dew drops that hung in his eyes. Luke had bowed his head, staring down at his bare feet, as the soft sobs grew heavier. His father had gently brushed as his hair, understanding without words the troubles of the dreams that had taken his son on an secret adventure.
"Can I sleep with you and mummy, daddy?" The boy questioned, hugging his body tightly against his father's leg that was clothed in the dark silk pyjama pants that he and Leia had purchased together with the few credits that they had earned through a series of small jobs that Jar Jar had given to them, before he had left them with a contigent of orderlies who were mean and witch-like.
Anakin nodded, his strong muscular arms wrapping about the child that in holopics, if there had been any taken of him would have proved to be nearly identical to him at the early age of three, cradling him for a moment or two like Padme if she were awake and conscious of their son's emotional torment. Luke had after half an hour or so eventually calmed, falling asleep against his father's bare chest. Anakin had smiled for a moment, before he himself was whisked back into his own dreams of light and darkness.
Author's Note: I will explain this chapter for those who might not get the idea of the italics. The italics part is Luke's vision of the future where his mother is forced to live a nightmarish life being Ropa Ekert's wife. I will be back soon with my next chapters for Back to the Future and The Price of Freedom, though I cannot date when it will be, hopefully soon. :).