Chapter 4: Prisoner Exchange

OK, guys. Sorry about the wait and the HUGE flashback last chapter, but the flashbacks will cease for the time being. That being said, on with the chapter!

The entire place was pitch back. The stairs seemed to go on forever, eternally spiraling downward at a dizzying pace. Belle's footfalls resounded throughout the desolate underground, answered by nothing. She did her best to keep her fear at bay, but with limited success, as the hand holding the candlestick trembled ever so slightly.

What was down here? What in blazes was she doing? Was there to be the prospect of her father, alive and well, or was it some sort of trap, cleverly laid to lure unsuspecting innocents such as herself?

As she entered a large cellar, another flight of stairs revealed themselves to her, on the other side of the room. As Belle carefully approached them, she heard a dull clunk behind her, as if someone had dropped something on the stone floor. She turned to see a small clock, face down on the floor.

"Ulic, are you all right?" A voice asked.

"Hush, young fool!" Another said, this time older and somewhat more irritable. "We'll be discovered for sure!"

"Who's there?" Belle said. "Show yourself please."

"Ah, kriff it." The first voice said. "Might as well."

"No!" The second hissed. "I forbid you!"

But it was all too late. The candlestick in Belle's hand shifted on its own accord, turning over to face Belle. "Hello." It greeted warmly.

Belle screamed aloud and dropped the candlestick in surprise. Not after a moment, it righted itself up and brushed itself off.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Belle knelt down to scoop it up. "I just… I just didn't…"

"Think you would be greeted by a candlestick." It smiled at her. "Don't worry yourself, I've had worse. Can't think of it right now, but I digress. My name is Ruan Marrian. That's Ulic, the clock."

Ulic gave a curt nod, the scowl on his face depicting his displeasure at Belle's company.

"What is your name?" Ruan asked.

"Belle. I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but I'm looking for my father."

Ruan blinked. "Shortish man, bald spot, glasses, permanently lost look?" He asked.

"That's an interesting way of putting it." Belle said. "Yes, that's him. Is he here?"

The next response was a combination of Ruan's charming "Yes," and Ulic's quick and knife-like "No. Go away."

"Ulic," Ruan scolded. "You're father's here. He's being held downstairs. But for Force sakes, please be quiet. It wouldn't do to disturb the master, your father already made that mistake."

Belle nodded and Ruan pointed towards the door. The three walked down another infinite flight of stairs, to reveal a dark and dismal dungeon. There was but one cell door open. Belle peered in through the bars, the light projected from Ruan's hands revealing the dark outline of a man, curled up on a cot.

"Father?" Belle asked softly. "Is that you?"

The figure stirred and asked nervously "Belle? Is that you?"

"Yes, father, it's me." Belle's heart soared as he came trembling to the door. He was pale and shivering, obviously cold. Not only cold, but underfed. This was bad.

"Don't worry, father." Belle promised, squeezing his hand. "I'll get you out of here."

"There's no time!" Martise said, urgently. "You have to leave, while you still can! Go, child, before the Sith Lord finds you!"

"Not without you," Belle said.

"You'll have to…" Martise started. "Wait, behind you!"

Before Belle could react, four large and very hairy arms grabbed her and held her tight from behind. She screamed and began to fight, but an accented voice spoke to her.

"Easy, sweetheart." It said. "Don't struggle and you'll be fine."

As he spoke, a light began to filter down the stairs, footsteps following.

"I have a very bad feeling about this." Ruan said as the figure came into view.

It was a rather tall, and somewhat handsome man, carrying a lantern in his right hand. But any good looks she may have thought he had vanished with his expression. It was a contorted, almost angry look, and it was the look in his blank eyes that gave Belle the shivers. He wore old-looking robes, colored in black and a thick leather belt held numerous item pouches and a foot-long silver cylinder hung from the belt.

"Well, well, well." He sneered. "I would seem that the blind Sith Lord has become something of a tourist attraction, has he?"

"My father is sick." Belle said after the slightest of pauses. "Please, let me take him home."

The man snorted. "If he hadn't come snooping around in the first place, he wouldn't be in this situation."

"I was lost!" Martise protested. "I…"

"Silence!" The man barked and now spoke to the spider. "Take her back to the village."

"NO!" Belle protested. "Please, I'll do anything!"

"There's nothing you can do." The man said, with an almost melancholy tone. He turned on his heel and started for the stairs.

A thought flashed across Belle's mind. What would her favorite, Luke Skywalker do in a situation such as this? He'd have wise old Ben to guide him, of course. Then what course of action would Ben suggest? You must do what you feel is right, of course.

It clicked, only now. Belle was stronger, more able than her father in these circumstances. It would onbly be logical if she….

"Wait!" She called. "Take me instead."

The Sith stopped in mid-step. He turned to look at her.

"If you promise to let my father go, I'll take his place as your prisoner." Belle said, bowing her head.

"If you do, you realize you will never be allowed to leave." The Sith said, unusually calm and civil.

"I do." Belle said.

"Done." The word was direct and succinct. The Sith nodded to the spider, who released Belle and took Martise into his multi-legged grasp.

"Take him to the village." The Sith ordered. "And keep it quiet."

"As you wish." The spider replied and stalked off without another word.

"Wait!" Belle called, but to no avail. The spider had long since gone. She broke out into a strangled sob. "You never even let me say goodbye…" She whispered, feeling warmth and moistness coming to her eyes.

After the briefest of pauses that seemed to eclipse eternity, the Sith spoke, subdued and almost guilty. "I'll… show you to your room."

"But I thought…" Belle began.

"Unless you had your heart set on staying in this wretched place." The Sith said, waving the lantern about.

Belle followed him, slowly. As they trekked up the stairs, not a word was spoken until the second floor had been reached.

It was the Sith whom had made a tab at conversation. "You… are free in the castle, you may go wherever you wish in the interior and grounds, save for the West Wing."

Belle cocked her head. "Why?"

"It's forbidden!" The Sith snapped, saying the two words in record time.

Belle recoiled from his harshness and said no more until they reached a large bedroom. The Sith bade her inside and waited her to move into the middle of the room before saying something else.

"You will join me for dinner." He mumbled and the shouted "That isn't a request!"

He shut the door and after Belle heard his footfalls fade from her earshot, she collapsed into a heap, sobbing. The room was a lovely place, but it was still a prison nonetheless. Her own thoughts had come back to bite her. She always wanted a change, an adventure, but the price this time had been far too high. For an uncertain amount of time by her internal chronometer, Belle lay, weeping.

Marcus Baromeer stormed up to the haunt he called living quarters. He slammed the door behind him and cast off the black cloak he wore. It fell immaculately on a nearby chair. Two intruders. TWO blasted intruders. What did they want from him? What? What more did the galaxy want to take away from him?

The other side of him whispered of the girl. The calm, passive and compassionate Jedi side of him whispered in his brain The girl. The chance of breaking the bond. The possibly last chance of casting off this shackle and you treat her like Bantha fodder!

She was here to laugh, to say for herself she had seen a Sith! The other side, the darker, hateful and hard side he would have called Sith countered. Marcus held his head and collapsed into a nearby sati. Every day, he lived with this. A figurative Jedi and a figurative Sith, in his mind, fighting for control of him. And in the passing of time, the Sith was winning, thought the Jedi had not been one to give up.

Marcus reached for a small mirror, tuned to the Force. It probably showed things visually, but Marcus wouldn't have known. He was, after all as the saying went, blind as a Y-Wing. It was a window through the Force, and now, it obeyed his command.

"Show me the girl." He murmured.

He couldn't see, but he could ear the soft sobs. He could feel her pain, her anguish.

That was me. The Jedi in him said. I did that…

The Sith dragon within him, thankfully, didn't stir, leaving Marcus with a terrible feeling of grief. Would it have been so much to show a little compassion, for old times' sake?

His grief now turned to frustration, bordering on anger. He took his lightsaber, activating it and sliced through several wooden posts he had procured from the forest for just this purpose: to relieve him of these hateful feelings. When all had been reduced to scrap bits, Marcus collected them and fed them to the fire. He hung his head and sat, faced again with his greatest enemy and persecutor: himself.

End of chapter.

Whew! Sorry that took so long, mates! Been busy with school, as it's winding down now. And don't expect another chapter till next weekend. That's the next time I'll get the chance. Thanks for being so patient. Sayonara for now and don't forget to review!