The night breeze greeted Daven as he walked through the back ways of Coronet's Blue Sector. The winds were much calmer and more pleasant than they had been atop the skyscraper; they were not quite warm, but a small comfort to a doomed man all the same.
Vader's presence loomed ever closer, but Daven wasn't heading directly towards the Sith Lord. Instead, he walked through a narrow alley and remembered the last time he had set foot on this planet. He was a fifteen year-old Padawan, proud to be at his Master's side as the elder Jedi shared with his pupil the wisdom he had gathered regarding the world of Corellia. His Master probably hadn't realized then that the advice he had given Daven would come to save the boy's life a decade later.
Master Jedi Farani had not lived to see the galaxy's plunge into darkness – he had died only a year after Daven had completed his trials. The young Knight was partly grateful for this – the noble Jedi would never be forced to watch the extinction of his people or be hunted to the death – but Daven missed his guidance terribly. It was in times like these, as he strolled alone along familiar paths that reminded him of happier days, that he ached for his mentor the most. The Jedi were dying, more and more frequently each day, and Daven could often feel their souls become one with the Force in peaceful, eternal rest.
Leaving him alone; one of the last of a fading race. His moments spent with Nyssa had lessened the pain, to his surprise, and she had somehow managed to become a welcome detraction. She was still a challenge, even if their skills were not on par, but he should have known that their galactic gallivanting wasn't going to last forever.
He had assumed that she would get the best of him eventually; after all, he was out gunned, out equipped, and out shipped easily by the bounty hunter. Daven just didn't want to quit so soon. He had seen so little of the galaxy, so little of life.
And now Vader was going to kill him. He could only hope that it would be a quick death, because he knew that there was no way he could best the Sith Lord, as far greater Masters had fallen under his blade. Perhaps he could fight honorably and die with dignity.
A small chirp from the ground in front of him caused Daven to pause both mentally and physically. He squatted down to behold a baby kathmouse lying in his path, curled into a tiny, furry ball. It couldn't have weighed much more than a dozen grams. Daven guessed that it was probably about five centimeters long. Its gray fur shook in fear at the human's massive foot.
"I'm not going to hurt you, little guy," Daven whispered, putting the Force behind his words. The mouse looked up slowly, and stared at the Jedi with curious black eyes. His terror forgotten, he ran away, disappearing into a dark corner.
"Be like the kathmouse," his Master had once said when Daven had first encountered the little mammals. "They are quiet, peaceful, and unobtrusive. They take what they need to live and nothing more. They only fight others when there is no place to run and no other options left."
"That is cowardly," Daven had commented.
"No, that is intelligent," his teacher had corrected. "What sort of Jedi Knight will you be if you are always running into fights that you cannot possibly win? Ha! A dead Jedi Knight, I think!"
Daven had been embarrassed at the time of the conversation, but now he looked back on it fondly. He had taken his Master's suggestions to heart and had, for the most part, played the role of a kathmouse over the last two and half years. He fought only when needed and ran when he could.
Not very noble, no, but what good was he dead?
He made the decision then. He was going to avoid Vader and try to make it to the shipping yard for that morning departure.
He stood and brushed his trousers off, feeling for the Dark Lord as he did so. When he sensed the ominous presence, he headed in the opposite direction.
A half an hour of jogging through alleys, jumping over fences, and blending in with crowds in the more populous sectors led him ever close to the docking yard. But Vader must have been aware of his dodging because the Sith still remained a dark cloud hovering in his mind.
Great, he was just going to have to be chased around the docks in circles all night.
"You are by far the most spineless Jedi I have ever had the displeasure of meeting," the mechanical voice hissed a few meters behind him.
Daven stopped and swallowed harshly, his breath creating a slight fog in the night air. His fear, a most basic instinct, threatened to bubble to the surface and overtake his body. He called upon the Force, nearly begging it to calm him, before he turned around to greet his purser.
The Sith Lord was exactly as expected – cloaked entirely in black, dark cape flowing behind him. His breath mask was formed into a menacing, droid-like shape, with two red eye screens peering out. A group of flashing lights on Vader's chest clearly marked out a life support system, and Daven couldn't fathom how a thing like the Sith could have received enough injuries to warrant it.
"Spineless?" he asked, amazed at how steady he managed to keep himself. "I prefer 'cowardly' or even 'pathetic,' since I do take great pride in the curvature of my back. 'Drone' works well, too, but that's not really a very appropriate in this case. Well, what, with your suit and all … it probably applies more to you than me, you know? Ah, no offence …"
His smirk was victorious as Vader continued to stand and stare numbly at him. Daven would have had Nyssa raving and attacking with that nasty little vibroblade she kept hidden in her right boot, but Vader didn't twitch. For several minutes the two just stood motionlessly.
Daven didn't bother to ignite his saber or make the first move; it wasn't in his character to be aggressive. Let Vader strike, he would defend.
"You are unwise," Vader finally spoke coldly. "You come before me and make jest, leaving your defenses lowered. You certainly will pay for your stupidity."
Daven shrugged. "Better late than never."
At that, Vader lit his saber and ran towards Daven, using the Force to propel his mass even faster. Daven gripped his weapon and powered it up mere milliseconds before the Sith's blade came crashing down upon him.
Amber met with crimson, causing bright, multicolored sparks to fly chaotically through the night sky.
Vader was strong, unnaturally so even for his height and size, and Daven found himself being progressively pushed back. The Sith was quick despite the heavy suit and constricting mask, and Daven soon understood exactly why the Dark Lord had taken down so many Jedi.
He blocked and parried Vader's blows as best he could. Vader appeared to strike almost randomly – a jab to his mid side there, a swipe from the left here – but his confusing motions had a natural grace and order that showed that the Sith did indeed act with forethought.
His swings were wide and offensive rather than the defensive stances Daven practiced, making it appear as though Vader was being driven by the characteristic rage of the Dark Side. Perhaps Daven could use the Sith's rashness to his advantage.
He relaxed his mind, calling on the Light Side to give his muscles the extra strength he needed to push Vader back and allow himself some breathing room. The Force filled his body, dulling his sharp aches and clearing his perception.
He struck forward with all the vigor he could put forth, causing Vader to take a few measured steps back. Daven's blows were short and tight as he kept his saber close to his body, leaving very little of his form exposed for the Sith to exploit.
"Are the rumors true?" Daven asked, puffing his words out as he drove his blade against Vader's. When the Sith didn't respond, the Jedi continued. "They say your parents abandoned you in a Naboo swamp, where two malfunctioning droidekas found you and raised you as their own."
Daven had to pause in his narrative to block a few more aggressive attacks. Sweat dripped from his brow as Vader swung his lightsaber in a wide arch, attempting to decapitate his opponent. Daven moved back gracefully, allowing the blade to fly harmlessly by a few centimeters from his chest.
"They say that a Gungan scout found you," he said through gasps of air, "and tried to take you back to civilization. But you … you believed that you were a droid, so … you built a droid suit to wear when you met the queen. They all thought you were crazy, but you could speak fluid astromech!" His smile was wide when he had finished recalling the humorous anecdote.
Vader said nothing in response.
"Nah, I didn't think it was true." Daven tried to sound courageous, even though he feared that the droideka joke would be his last. "Too bad. I was really hoping you could teach me how to beep the Corellian anthem. Wouldn't that be gonzo?" He raised his amber blade and stiffened his two-handed grip on the hilt.
Vader attacked, aiming for the young Jedi's midriff, but Daven saw the move coming and blocked with a graceful uppercut. These motions were followed by similar combat as each tried to wear the other out. Daven studied the Dark Lord and waited, planning his move.
Vader was clearly perturbed; he must have assumed that this Jedi would make for an easy fight. He was growing impatient as well. He struck loosely, aiming yet again for Daven's head. The Jedi dodged the crimson blade, and saw his opening. He brought up his saber and sliced into Vader's right underarm.
It should have been a lethal hit, but the Sith armor protected its owner. Daven's blade still dug into Vader's skin, if not as far as it should have, and the Dark Lord immediately let out a growl and vented his pain and rage through the Force.
The hate felt like a wave of murky water, throwing Daven off balance. He took a step back from the raving creature before him. Other emotions followed the hate – anger, pain, fear, jealousy.
The jealousy surprised him at first, but then, as he experienced the feeling deeper, wisps of images appeared before his mind's eye. They were of him, actually, as a younger Padawan, towering over another's view. His fiery auburn braid was looped over his ear, but he brushed it back with his hand dismissively as he clipped a practice saber onto his belt.
Daven had extended his hand to help the one that had fallen before him, but it was not taken. His pleasant smile faded, replaced by a blank look of confusion.
As he stared at Vader, he tried to match his own memories with what the Sith's Force wave had shown him. Buried and often ignored, but they were there.
A lightsaber duel, only for practice, of course, in the Jedi Temple. He had won and he had been sixteen. He forced his own eyes to remember. His mental vision blurred, revealing an annoyed Padawan sprawled out on a black dueling mat.
The Padawan's cold blue eyes were filled with equally cold hatred – a familiar hatred, actually, as Daven could literally see it swirling around Darth Vader.
The Jedi stared at his opponent, trying to clear the haze of his vision.
"Anakin? Anakin Skywalker?" The conclusion sounded foreign, wrong to his ears as he said it, but it was the truth all the same.
Vader had since recomposed himself and was ready to challenge Daven once more, but he stopped his prepared attack. The blood-red saber was lowered passively in front of its owner as the Sith Lord beheld the young Jedi.
Daven waited for Vader – Anakin? – to respond, to do or say something, but the masked man was motionless for several moments. Daven stood, watching him, too confused and surprised to strike.
"Anakin is dead," he finally snarled. "As are you, Daven."
"So that's it, then?" Davan asked, not believing that the tall Jedi Knight with wavy, dark blonde hair was the same being as the nightmare-borne creature that stood before him now. "You betrayed us, your brothers?"
"You are not my brother," Vader told him simply in a harsh, mechanical voice. To Daven's utter astonishment, he disengaged the crimson saber and hooked it on his black belt.
Mesmerized and horrified, Daven could only stare at the Sith Lord's hand as it rose up slowly to the level of his own chest.
A wind more powerful than those that blew across the iciest tundras of Hoth – too powerful to fight – assailed him head on, and the hapless Knight was lifted off his feet. He sailed across the landing platform faster, or so he thought, that a speeder could have mustered. His flight was interrupted by his back's collision with the hard stonewall of a watchtower. He slid down to the ground with an unceremonious thump.
He let out a small groan as he helplessly watched his lightsaber roll out of his hand and away from his reach. Undaunted, he attempted to stand, using his knees to support his hands as he rose. As soon as he did, Vader hit him again, and continued to do so until Daven could no longer return to his feet.
Cracked ribs, blood dripping from his nose, possible concussion … Daven was having trouble staying conscious. He felt more than saw Vader finally approach his bruised form.
"Useless like all the rest," the Sith said, as if he were referring to a bad piece of nerf meat rather than a human being. Daven watched him through a swollen eye, trying to purge himself of the dark feelings for this man who had once been a Jedi. There is no passion; there is serenity.
"And now you will die."
Daven felt the Force lifting him up to where his eyes were level with Vader's mask. He struggled to fight the Dark Side's physical hold, but his strength had long since vanished. He gasped in horror as the dark tendrils wrapped around his neck and began to squeeze like an invisible hand, choking him to death.
So much for the dying with dignity idea, Daven thought lazily as he felt himself slip away.
He felt his eyes close, probably for the last time, when the hold over his lungs was strangely released. There was a thunderous sound that caused Daven to return to complete consciousness.
His first thought was that noise ringing in his ears was merely some twisted hallucination, but his hard fall to the ground proved him wrong. The spots in his eyes faded to reveal Vader still looming above him, but blocking shots from a large blaster.
He looked up to recognize the hull of a very familiar ship looming just a few scant meters away – it was the Gray Star, Nyssa's Nubian yacht; he had taken enough hits from its turrets to know that for a fact. Nyssa was only firing a Vader, though, leaving Daven completely unscathed. He stared at it, unable to believe or comprehend what could possibly be happening.
Was she helping him escape? Why?
When the ship's hatch opened to give him entrance, Daven realized he didn't have the time to answer that question.
Most likely Nyssa still wanted the bounty on his head, but that mattered very little to the half-dead Jedi now. Nyssa would certainly be much less brutal with him than Vader, and he would get the final pleasure of denying that Sith his sadistic execution. A win-win situation.
He crawled and stumbled into the waiting ship as Vader continued to dodge fire. He collapsed ungracefully on the hard metal floor of an empty cargo hold and was lulled into a blissful unconsciousness by the sound of the starship entering hyperspace.
As much as Nyssa was compelled to vacate the pilot's seat and run down to the cargo bay ramp, she knew that she had to make sure Vader and his minions wouldn't be able to follow her trajectory. She had calculated a quick jump to a far point in the Corellian system, and, when the Gray Star emerged from hyperspace, she programmed the computer to take five random jumps, each of different lengths, across the Core systems and into the Middle Rim.
Satisfied that she had made a clean getaway, Nyssa removed her safety harness and proceeded down to the lower deck. She paused, however, right before entering the cargo hold.
Daven, from what she could see of the fight, was being completely pummeled to death. She could tell, even from her view in the cockpit, that he had been severely wounded. She had expected there to be a lightsaber fight, Daven on the losing side perhaps, yes, but nothing like what Vader was actually doing to him.
For all that she knew, Daven could have made into the security of her ship and then promptly died of his injuries. She could only hope that wasn't the case.
She opened the inner airlock to find Daven lying motionless and face down. He was covered in blood, and a small pool of it had gathered around his head, which stuck to her knees and hands as she sat next to him. She checked for a pulse, and was amazed when she heard a steady heartbeat. Despite the gore that was already there, it also appeared that he had stopped bleeding.
Nyssa allowed herself a sigh of relief as she half-dragged, half-carried Daven's limp body into the ship's small medical bay. Appearing to be of average height and build, Daven's actual weight surprised her as she struggled to carry him in a position that was both comfortable for her and safe for him. She could only guess that the many acrobatics she had seen him perform were less about his control of the Force and more about the fine-tuning of his muscled body.
She pushed him up with a heavy thud onto the sick bed, noting for the first time the irony in the fact that she had planned to use part of Daven's bounty to purchase a repulsor lift and stretcher.
He groaned loudly as his body made hard contact with the bed, and his limbs twitched slightly.
"Stop complaining, Jedi," Nyssa grumbled as she wetted a sterile cloth to wipe the blood off his cuts. She applied the cloth to his face and he twitched in response.
"You are so ungrateful," she continued angrily as she worked, clearing the dried blood away from his handsome features. "Here I am, risking my butt to save you and you can't even wake up to say thank you! No, instead you grunt and groan and scoff at my meager med bay. But if you had just let me kill you like a good boy, we wouldn't be in this mess! You wouldn't be lying in my bay – my sick bay! – like a bloody goop pile and I wouldn't be … I wouldn't be …"
She slammed the rag against equipment table to vent her frustration. She knew the outburst wasn't directed at the young man before her, but at herself, at her own feelings. She had never felt this way before; it just wasn't like a bounty hunter.
"I wouldn't be in love with you," she finished softly, allowing the anger of her previous words to melt away. "Why are you doing this to me, Jedi? It must be some sort of horrible mind trick." She fought the tears that so desperately wanted to surface as she cleaned the cloth for another sweep of his wounds.
She knew that, while Daven was prone to trick and mislead her pursuit when fighting for his life, he wouldn't dare attempt to alter her emotions – he simply had, she believed, too much respect for her.
No, it was just his fiery hair that managed to produce streaks of gold when the sun was at a low angle, his blue eyes that reminded her of her homeworld's sky on a perfect spring day, his face that showed compassion, strength, and humor all in one glance … she didn't honestly know why she had denied it for so long.
She removed his clothing and, although she was indeed pleased with his physical conditioning, she left him bare only long enough to examine his injuries and apply bacta wherever she could. She then covered him with a warm blanket, and tried not to touch any sensitive wounds.
Building up more nerve than she thought necessary, she placed a gentle kiss on his lips. It was hardly more than a little brush, but the sensation of the touch sent little ripples of exhilaration throughout her entire body.
"Sleep well, Jedi," she said, trying to control her blushing cheeks as she turned to leave him to his slumber. "I hate you; you know that, right?"
She had a plan. She could most certainly convince Daven to stay with her and, perhaps, someday he would even feel the same way for her as she did for him. It was worth a try.
BHman: Thanks!