The Dark Council of the Sith Empire meets in a circular room at the Imperial Palace. But everyone calls it the 'star chamber' from the pentagram shaped table the Council members sit around. Here the twelve ruling Lords of the realm convene to deliberate the most pressing matters of state. Each coveted seat at the table is brightly lit from above to illuminate the participants amid the intentionally dim atmospherics. For like the throne room, the star chamber is heavy on Dark Side stagecraft and conspicuously austere. It's a sharp contrast to the sumptuous, bright public spaces of the surrounding Palace complex.
In the star chamber, the Emperor has a high throne that overlooks the Council assembly below. Just like in his throne room, he perches invisible in the pervasive gloom. If he's there, that is . . . The Emperor has long made a habit of not announcing his attendance. The Council members therefore only know if he's listening if he speaks up. The Dark Lord could be present . . . but then again, he might be absent. But the message is clear: whatever you say in the star chamber could find the ear of Darth Vitiate. There are no secrets from the Emperor.
It's a big deal to be invited to address the Dark Council, to provide advice and information to the wisemen of the Empire, and to potentially be in the presence of the Emperor. Only established Lords of high rank and considerable achievement merit this setting. So ordinarily, Gaius would be thrilled to be present. Heretofore, only Darth Angral has been invited to address the Council while he was left cooling his heels outside down the hall. But today, Gaius is the one fielding most of the questions. That means this should feel like vindication. Like a moment of triumph. But truthfully, Gaius would rather be anywhere else than here. Standing glowering in his ceremonial armor at the right shoulder of Darth Angral, Gaius is distracted and short tempered.
He can't take his eyes off Darth Tenebrae, who is seated at the pentagram table with the rest of the Council. How Gaius yearns to kill that priest . . . to watch the light in those freakish yellow eyes fade and feel his Force dissipate back into the cosmos.
Tenebrae, in turn, is coolly ignoring him. Acting as though last night's interrupted elopement and duel were some misadventure best left discretely unacknowledged. Tenebrae is all business today. He listens attentively in silence as the others speak.
The priest looks more presentable this morning, Gaius notes. He's wearing a hooded cassock, not his pajamas. His hair is combed back and secured in some man bun like an effeminate Jedi Knight. But the gaunt face, concealing bushy beard, and crazed yellow eyes are the same. Does Tenebrae feel his eyes watching him? Can the priest sense his sinister intent? Gaius hopes so.
It's not like he can hide his feelings. He sucks at compartmentalizing. That's a problem because today Gaius can't put last night aside to focus on his work. He's still cresting the wave of emotions from the confrontation, still processing what happened. But his bitter defeat saps all of the thrill out of being included in this exclusive meeting. The implicit recognition from this appearance just hits different now that Gaius needs to reimagine his future. So, he stands with fists clenched and jaw tight, rigid with pent up Darkness, as he endures question after question. He tries to keep his attention on the Council. But all he can think of is the many ways he would delight in inflicting pain on the creepy priest sitting across the room who won't even deign to look at him.
It's infuriating. Gaius can feel his eyes flashing yellow as he strains to keep his temper in check.
His silent raging heart must be giving off ripples in the Force. Twice already a Council member has given him a strange look and Darth Azamin even asked if anything was amiss. Gaius deflected the question. Because yes, things are wildly amiss and he's seething with futile anger and hopeless disappointment. But that's not something he cares to share in this forum. The Council Lords probably think he's nervous and overly intense as a first-timer in this setting, and that's fine. But truthfully, he is completely preoccupied.
And there he goes again, losing his focus. Someone is speaking to him again. "Lord Malgus? Lord Malgus, did you hear the question?"
Yes, he heard the stupid question. This is Darth Ruin's second stupid question. Lord Ruin knows nothing about war, but he seems to fancy himself quite the armchair general. The man is a lawyer by training as the Supreme Judge of the Empire. That makes Ruin particularly unqualified to gauge the number of bombers needed to attack the Republic shipyards, but that's not stopping Ruin from having an opinion.
"Scaling back the number of bombing wings is inadvisable," Gaius replies, trying and failing to keep the note of impatience out of his voice. "We need those bombers over the target defenses. Cutting their numbers complicates the strike objective and is of little utility to homeland defense. It's lose-lose. You gain nothing by the reduction."
"How so?"
"Bombers are an offensive weapon, my Lord." You bureaucratic idiot, Gaius adds to himself. "Unless you plan to use them against an already conquered and occupied Kaas City, they won't help you thwart a Republic invasion."
Lord Ruin bristles at the reference to a Sith capital defeat. "Lord Malgus, this is a zero-sum game. We must take care not to deplete our war resources back home."
"Bombers are irrelevant to that issue," he retorts. "Unless, of course, you think that by holding them back, you will make things look good to the Emperor. If it's political positioning you're after to tweak the optics to cover your a—"
Darth Angral interrupts. "I think that what Lord Malgus is trying to say is that it would be preferable to cut back the regular fighters rather than the bombers." Angral is doing his usual thing, attempting to make nice and find a compromise.
But Gaius refuses to negotiate on his strike force size. "No. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that we need every bomber and every fighter in my plan to succeed. We have already scaled back the numbers significantly from the original proposal."
"Which was overkill," Ruin insists.
"Wrong," Gaius boldly tells the lawyer Lord to his face. "We need that air cover to take the load off the dropship troopers. Our current casualty rates do not allow us to squander sentient battle assets."
"No one is suggesting that we squander any resources. There is room to cut back."
Through gritted teeth, Gaius snarls, "With respect, my Lord, there is not. The worst of all scenarios is if we fail to seize Sluis Van and the Republic invades."
Darth Detract, the Joint Chief who oversees the Imperial Guard civil defense corps, evidently agrees with Darth Ruin. He begs to differ. "The worst-case scenario is if we secure Sluis Van using too many battle assets and the Republic invades anyway."
"That won't happen. A defeat at Sluis Van will deter them," Gaius insists. "We will have captured the shipyards they need to refuel and repair their capital ships and we will have an outpost dangerously close to their Mid Rim. They won't risk us penetrating deeper into their territory."
"So certain are you?"
"Yes," Gaius answers, glaring at Ruin and Detract as if daring them to differ.
Again, his boss speaks up. "I think what Lord Malgus is saying," Angral asserts with a politic smile for the powerful Darth Detract, "is that this battle plan as written is the best strategic play under the circumstances."
"That's right," Gaius affirms. "But if you cherry pick the Hell out of it to make things appear to be more conservative so you can tell the Emperor you did your duty to protect the homeland, you could jeopardize the entire strategy. Winning at Sluis Van is how we protect the homeland. Winning decisively is crucial."
Angral presses the point in more measured words. "My Lords, the Republic knows very little about our warfare other than our aggressive stance in the Outer Rim. We have been persistent and consistent in our methods. This attack will lean into that reputation. Hopefully, it will make them fear that the loss of Sluis Van will bring more of the same territorial loss to the Mid Rim."
"Yes, but stop thinking of this as a bluff and consider it a diversion," Gaius interjects. "In fact, once we take Sluis Van, I would argue that we should keep on the offensive."
"If this works, you want to go from Sluis Van into their Mid Rim?" That's Darth Morass speaking, the head of the Army.
Gaius shrugs. "Yes, but I'd prefer to go straight to their Core sector. Hit them where it hurts."
"Lord Malgus, you are getting ahead of yourself," Lord Detract reproves. He's the homeland defense guy, and so perhaps naturally more conservative about the war effort.
It's shortsighted in Gaius' view. "I want to win. Win the war and you won't have to worry about an invasion."
"Thank you for that reminder, Lord Malgus. We all share that goal. That will be all, Lord Malgus." Annoyed Darth Detract summarily dismisses him from the room. "Lord Angral will finish our questions."
Eleven other heads around the table nod to endorse Detract's unilateral decision. Evidently, the Dark Council has heard enough from him today.
His boss looks his way and nods as well. "I'll take it from here," Angral says under his breath.
"Fine." Gaius stalks towards the old-style doors, flinging them open wide with the Force before the two guards who flank them can perform the courtesy for him. It's a rude and noisy exit, but he doesn't care. After last night, his bad attitude has appreciably worsened. And, yes, he is still immature enough to show it.
He can sense Darth Angral's extreme annoyance at his actions, along with the disapproval of the other Lords. But most of all, Gaius senses those strange bright yellow eyes of Darth Tenebrae marking his exit.
Whatever, Gaius thinks to himself. Fuck all you haters. Maybe he doesn't care if the Sith lose the war. Maybe he doesn't care about anything anymore.
Today, he hates the whole fucking universe. Call it the design of destiny, call it fate, call it the will of the Force—it doesn't matter. He hates it all. For time and time again, life seems to conspire against his happiness. Gaius is not blind to his own role in events. But at this point, Gaius thinks that even if he did play by the rules, be polite, and stay in his lane, it wouldn't matter. He'd still be fucked. So, what's the use? He might as well be his authentic self if he's going to crash and burn anyway.
Once outside, Gaius cools his heels in the hallway along with a collection of other Lords who are waiting for their appearances in the star chamber. This morning's meeting was scheduled at the last minute yesterday and it has interrupted the previously arranged agenda. War, naturally, takes precedence.
Ten minutes later, Angral exits the room. Gaius immediately starts venting to him. "They're fucking pussies—all of them! Well, maybe not Azamin. That old geezer's got some balls. So does Morass—"
"Shut up," his boss tells him straightaway in a tone that will suffer no argument. "You're getting your wish. The Emperor has decided to attack Sluis Van using your plan as drafted. With no reductions in force."
"Vitiate was listening?"
"Yes."
Gaius nods. He thought so. If the Emperor was going to pay attention to anything today, it is this topic.
"How soon do we attack?"
"As soon as we can muster the battle assets. The goal is seventy-two hours, more or less."
"Who's the command team?"
"I get the senior Naval post and I can pick my subordinates. The Interrogator will be the command ship for the mission."
Gaius nods. That's what he was hoping for. "And who's the General on the ground? Who's commanding the troopers?" That's the hard job. The risky job. But by far, the most important job.
"You are."
"I am?" Wait—what?
"Yes, you. Er . . . the Emperor said that since you want to win so badly, you should lead the boots on the ground." Something about the vague way Angral phrases this tells Gaius that his vehemence has been mocked behind closed doors.
He makes a face and prods, "Meaning?"
"Aut cum scuto, aut in scuto," his boss sighs, quoting the do-or-die Kittat military command to come back 'with your shield, or on it,' a reference to the bygone days before lightsabers when the Lords of the Sith fought with metal broadswords and shields. "I couldn't talk them out of it," frustrated Angral says apologetically. "You really pissed those guys off. So now, you're responsible for this mission with your life."
Gaius shrugs. "It was the same at Korriban." He's fine with those stakes. But it seems like Darth Tenebrae will get his wish from last night. For Gaius will indeed be in the thick of the battle he has so meticulously planned. He shakes his head and complains, "I should have joined the Army. Everything I do is Army work."
"Learn some manners and keep your mouth shut and maybe someday you'll get a ship to command. What is it with you today?" Angral demands. "It's like you went in there looking for a fight. And did you have to be so rude in the presence of the Emperor himself? That pouty exit was disrespectful. I was embarrassed for you!"
Gaius says nothing by way of explanation, he just looks away pensively. "Let's go. We have a lot of work to do." Seventy-two hours is a tight deadline, but they can't risk delay that gives the Republic time to invade.
"Hold on," Angral tells him. "Let me text my wife the news. I need to tell her to stand down and to spread the news to the relatives. I don't have time to deal with more relatives."
"I'll text my people too," Gaius offers. He pulls out his comlink and starts a message to Lady Vindican. He wants to text Portia as well, but he knows he should not. Nothing good will come of that.
"Tell Adraas," his boss requests as he types away, adding, "Not just his sister," under his breath.
But that's the real subtext of this morning. It's why Gaius is raging inside with a potent cocktail of frustration, disappointment, and resentment. He is upset—terribly upset—and he knows things will go from bad to worse very soon. Because the reprieve from consequences for last night will only last until the attack on Sluis Van is over . . . provided he lives and the Sith win. Gaius is absolutely certain that last night wasn't just the end of the affair with Portia, it's the beginning of the aftermath.
But in the meantime, what does he do about Adraas? Darth Angral clearly does not know about the elopement. Does Adraas? Not knowing how a message from him will be received, Gaius settles on a terse missive to Portia's brother that fulfills his boss' request: We're attacking Sluis Van. Angral has the Naval command. Adraas can figure out what to do with that information.
Darth Angral now looks him over critically. "What is up with you?" he demands again. "You look awful."
"It was a rough night," is all he will admit.
"Don't tell me anymore," Angral waves him off. "Spice . . . booze . . . whatever you're doing, it needs to stop. I can't have it affecting your job like this. You seem . . . you look . . ." Angral doesn't finish his complaint. Instead, he vents, "You know, if we pull off Sluis Van, you should be a bona fide hero. This mission ought to get you a medal and a fast-track promotion schedule. But it won't. Not after today. You came off as an arrogant prima donna—an unpolished, hot-tempered prick, not a leader."
Gaius doesn't disagree. He just shrugs with a fatalism he doesn't truly feel. "If I die at those shipyards, none of that will matter." His future's a mess now that he's lost his girl and his career has tanked. Really, his whole life has gone to shit. He's trying to pretend that he doesn't care, except he cares deeply.
"You won't die," Angral grimly predicts.
"Is that a vote of confidence?" Gaius smirks, leaning into the sardonic asshole personality he has perfected over the years.
"No," Angral tells him flatly. "It's the premonition of the Council priest."
"What?"
"When I argued against giving you such a risky command, I told them that the Empire needs you—that the Navy needs you—even if it means we have to tolerate your immaturity and bad judgment for your talent . . . because in the long run it would pay off."
"Yeah?"
"That's when the priest spoke up. Darth Tenebrae. He was the pale skinned guy in the far corner."
"I know who he is."
"He said to give you the command. That the Force would protect you. He said he had foreseen it."
"He said that?"
"Yes. He said that the Force is with you. Then, Azamin jumped in to second him. And that pretty much ended the discussion. You got the 'win or die' command."
Huh. Gaius doesn't know what to make of that. He'll have to think about it. But not now. There's too much to do. "So, what happens next?"
"We get on a transport back to the ship. On the way, we can draw up a list of names who we want to involve. This whole thing will be you and me," Angral tells him as he resumes vigorously typing away at his comlink. "This is a big opportunity. I need a major victory with my name on it to get promoted to vice admiral. And this is your chance to redeem yourself." Glancing up to glare at him once more, his boss adds, "Don't screw it up. Because if you get any more toxic, there's a real risk you'll get tossed out of the Navy."
"Right," Gaius sighs. "I guess I'll be a real Army Lord then . . . "
"If the Army will l have you," Angral observes.
If not, Gaius thinks to himself, then maybe he will grab Portia and together they will make a run for the Republic. Because what the Hell? If the Empire doesn't want him and the Palace will oppose his happiness, he might as well turn traitor. He won't convert to Jedi, mind you. He's no Lightsider. He'll simply find a way to blend into Republic society so he can live his life as he pleases. Without the Navy's oversight or the Palace control of his most fundamental decisions in life—like who to marry. It's a surprisingly tempting thought actually. Telling his Sith overlords to go fuck themselves has a lot of appeal right now.
Gaius is ruminating on Portia's wild idea to flee when his boss looks up from his comlink. "Adraas." Angral notices Portia's brother first before Gaius can recognize his colleague's Force imprint.
The name gets his attention.
"Adraas . . ." he echoes.
A shiver of danger runs down his spine. A frisson of Force brushes his mind. Immediately, his senses heighten. Gaius' adrenaline begins to pump as he reflexively summons his power.
The Force is telling him what he already knows: this meeting won't be good.
"Should you be out of bed? Were you discharged?" Concern registers in Darth Angral's voice as he calls out to his fast-approaching subordinate. "You don't look so good."
That's an understatement. Young Darth Adraas looks awful. He's dressed in street clothes, not the ceremonial armor that is de rigeur attire for an appearance at the Palace. He's not even wearing a Lord's cloak. Instead, he's got his right arm in a sling and a thick bacta bandage affixed to his still healing temple. His face is tinted grey blue beneath his red skin as he pants for oxygen from the simple exertion of walking.
"Is it over? Are you done?" Adraas wheezes to Angral. "Is he done?" Adraas points to him with his good arm.
He's holding his sword hilt, Gaius notices.
"For now, yes," Angral answers easily, oblivious to the subtext of a threat as he resumes typing on his comlink. "Come with us, we'll brief you in the speeder," he invites.
Adraas curtly declines. "That won't be necessary." Turning to him, Portia's big brother growls, "Malgus, step outside. We have business to settle."
By now, Adraas' posture and appearance have begun to draw looks from bystanders. Or maybe, it's the penumbra of Force that surrounds him which is the garnering attention. For the Force moves Darkly around someone with intent to kill. And young Darth Adraas is positively emoting Darkness right now.
Preoccupied Angral finally notices. He looks from him to Adraas and back again. Suspicion clouds his aristocratic features and understanding dawns. This is no casual chance meeting between coworkers. This is the prelude to a fight.
"What is this about?" their mutual commander demands.
Adraas doesn't take his eyes off Gaius. It's a cold rage-filled gaze that clearly conveys his intentions. "He knows why I'm here."
"I don't!" Angral snaps.
"My Lord, it's none of your concern," Adraas informs his commanding officer with thick patrician hauteur.
Darth Angral pulls rank. "Everything about this concerns me, Lieutenant Lord Adraas. You are both under my command."
"This has nothing to do with the Navy," Adraas heaves as he continues to catch his breath.
"Yes, I think I know that . . ." Wary Angral drops the pretense of ignorance. "But now is not the time nor the place for this discussion. This is the Imperial Palace!" he hisses under his breath.
Adraas doesn't answer with words. He lights his sword.
The familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting ceases all conversations in the vicinity. Heads turn. Necks crane. Eyes peer. There are at least twelve Lords, maybe more, loitering outside the star chamber as they wait for an audience. Even the professionally aloof and helmeted red armored praetorian guards appear interested.
"Stand down!"
Angral acts fast. He practically leaps between them.
"Stand down—both of you!" Angral throws a warning glare at Adraas and then at him. "That's an order!"
"I cannot do that," Portia's brother answers grimly. Adraas' face looks resigned. His mind is clearly made up. "Step outside, Malgus, and we'll handle this between us. This only involves us."
"Do not engage!" Angral hisses, his head swiveling fast between both of them.
Gaius nods slowly to acknowledge the order. He stares down Darth Adraas and replies quietly, "I will not fight you. You wouldn't last thirty seconds in your condition."
"Try me!"
"I will not fight you. Not here. Not ever." Portia wouldn't want it. And though she is lost to him now, Gaius will honor her wishes.
Adraas is infuriated. He snarls, "You are unwise to lower your defenses!" Then, he lunges past Darth Angral and starts swinging.
"Adraas! Desist!" Angral bellows, in an uncharacteristically loud yelp. Normally, he's not the type to raise his voice. Gentlemanly Angral prefers understated censure. But current circumstances call for more emphatic measures.
"I will not fight you," Gaius reiterates as he swerves left and then right as Adraas careens at him wildly.
"Then you will be destroyed!" his foe vows as he keeps chasing him. Adraas is unsteady on his feet and already mostly spent from the walk through the Palace to the star chamber. But he's got a deadly weapon and a heart full of Darkness and he's in no mood to give up.
Gaius suddenly finds himself a reluctant combatant. It's something of a role reversal from last night's duel in the Temple with Darth Tenebrae. For now, Gaius is the one dodging and leaping to avoid a persistent blade. All the while resisting the strong temptation to draw his own weapon.
Angral keeps sputtering. "Adraas! Desist! He's unarmed!"
The other Lords in the hallways and even the guards now fall back from the danger. No one moves to intervene. Instead, they position themselves for a better view. This mismatched scuffle will be hot gossip, for sure.
"Adraas! Stand down!" Angral's red face is turning purple.
"You wouldn't ask that of me if you knew what he did," Portia's brother answers between heaving gasps for breath. Cato Metellus appears to be struggling mightily just to stay on his feet. Gaius almost feels sorry for him.
"I think I know what this is about," Angral allows, clearly trying to be circumspect for their listening audience. "And while I agree that this is a serious matter of honor, I still say this is neither the time nor the place! Now desist!"
Adraas looks crushed by that answer. "You know?" he groans and squints. "Even you know?" Glaring at Gaius, Cato Metellus demands, "How many others know? Did everyone know but me?" Adraas looks horrified at the thought.
Gaius rushes to reassure him, "No, it's not like that—"
"Who else knows?"
Gaius hesitates. He glances around the room at the rapt bystanders. While no one's said Portia's name out loud yet, Angral's reference to honor is pretty much a giveaway that this fight is about a woman.
"Malgus! Who else knows?"
Both Adraas and Angral look to him for an answer.
Cringing a little, Gaius answers truthfully. "Azamin."
"Darth Azamin knows?" Adraas gapes at the unexpected namedrop to his neighbor. Azamin's one of the most preeminent men in the Empire, but to Cato Metellus he's a family friend. "Cornelius Caesar knew and he didn't tell me? Lord Azamin kept this from me?" Adraas looks legitimately hurt.
Gaius is so intent on evading his foe's erratic sword that he doesn't see the doors of the star chamber open wide and its occupants spill out.
But he hears the croaky, age deepened voice that speaks next. "Azamin knows what, my Lords?" It is the little senior statesman himself asking. Leaning heavily on his cane, Darth Azamin takes in the scene—still wounded Cato Metellus in a sling swinging his sword while unarmed Gaius successfully evades injury by dancing around. Meanwhile, Darth Angral keeps trying unsuccessfully to intervene. "My Lords," Azamin observes sourly to the other Council members surrounding him, "we seem to have interrupted something."
"It's over," Angral insists with a pointed glare at both him and Adraas. "Lord Adraas was just standing down, my Lord. Did you hear me, Adraas? Stand down!"
"Why do that?" the priest Darth Tenebrae drawls. He's standing with the other Dark Council members on the threshold of the star chamber. They, like the rest of the Lords present, look entirely too interested in the scene they have happened upon. Probably because he's the one being chased down with a sword, Gaius realizes.
"You, there! Adraas is it?" Tenebrae calls with cheeky glee. "Kill him. Kill Lord Malgus now. I think I speak for the Council when I say he has it coming."
Gaius scowls and grits his teeth. The hater priest is his self-appointed nemesis, it seems.
"We need Lord Malgus for Sluis Van," Azamin reminds everyone. He is a quelling voice of seriousness to combat the sardonic snark of Tenebrae. "Malgus is supposed to be fighting the Republic for us." Lord Azamin raises one eyebrow at the priest before he addresses the fading and winded Adraas. The wizened old statesman has a kindly voice as he cajoles, "Cato, stand down. Whatever the matter is, I will assist in its resolution."
Adraas stubbornly shakes his head and executes a wobbly lunging stab that misses wide. "I'm sorry, my Lord," he wheezes, "but I cannot do that." Adraas is really gasping for air now. He staggers a bit as he valiantly declares, "Do not ask me to do that."
"My boy, you are not well."
"He's supposed to be in the hospital still," Angral grouses, "waiting for that lung transplant to heal."
Darth Angral's deep set, wrinkly eyes blink. "Indeed? Well then, Cato, my boy—"
"Stop! Stooooop!"
It's a woman's voice interrupting. A familiar woman's voice. With a familiar Force imprint to match.
Gaius' head jerks around in shock.
So does Adraas'.
"Portia!" Gaius chokes.
"Portia!" Adraas yelps.
"Portia!" Darth Azamin inhales a loud breath.
"Oh Force," Angral groans aloud and face palms. He moans, "This is not how I thought this day would go."
Gaius silently agrees. But this moment actually feels pretty typical. For whatever he does and wherever he goes, conflict seems to inevitably follow. And regrettably, his worst moments seem to occur here at the Palace for all his most important peers to observe.
In rushes Portia now, her hair, cloak, and skirts streaming from her quick steps. All eyes are on her, the very young and very beautiful girl who has precipitated this combat. She stands tall and raises her arm in dramatic fashion as she disavows her champion. "STOP! Cato, you are too weak for this—"
Her brother's ego is pricked. Stung, he snaps back, "I am not weak! I will never be so weak that I cannot defend you from this vile random! Malgus, you will pay for what you have done. She's seventeen!"
"Gaius, you cannot fight him!" Portia screeches, clenching her fists and stamping her foot. "I forbid you to fight him!"
He groans as he dodges to the left to avoid being skewered. "I'm trying not to fight him!" Can't she see that he's not holding a weapon?
"I told you last night—you cannot fight him—you cannot kill him! He's my brother!"
Darth Azamin again attempts to intervene. "My Lords, let us resolve this matter in private. Portia, my dear, you should not be here. My Lord Angral," he requests, "will you kindly escort Lady Portia out?"
Darth Angral dutifully attempts to follow orders, but to no avail. Irritated Portia physically shoves him back. Hard. She's not a small girl, so she's humiliatingly effective. "Back off!" she fairly growls at shocked Angral. "Back off before I choke you with the Force!"
She'd do it too, Gaius knows. His girl is fierce. She takes action while others just talk. And like her brother, she has arrived ready to fight.
Portia now resumes haranguing him. "Gaius, you can't kill him! Promise me you won't kill him!"
And that too gets under Cato's skin. He pauses to bark at his sister. "What the Hell, Portia? He's the one who's going to die."
"Shut up, Cato! You're injured. And even healthy, you're lousy with a sword. We all know that, we just pretend otherwise."
Yikes! Gaius feels almost sorry for his opponent as a ripple of sniggers travels through the crowd. Portia doesn't know it, but she just dissed her brother to the Dark Council.
"I'm doing this for you!" Adraas complains, sounding very much the harassed but noble big brother. "I'm protecting you!"
"No, thanks!" his indignant sister shoots back. Then Portia starts in again on him. "Gaius, you can't kill him! He's my brother and I love him just like I love you! And if you kill him like you killed Lord Vindican, I will never forgive you!"
Now, it's Gaius' turn to groan. He doesn't relish everyone in attendance being reminded of his loss of control at Korriban. If this very public family shouting match keeps going, there's no telling how raw things might get or what else will be revealed.
Darth Azamin's expression reflects his growing consternation as this juicy scene keeps getting worse. The old veteran has a personal interest in the Metellus family, so much so that Azamin has already sternly warned Gaius away from Portia. One glance at the little geezer now confirms that he's livid about this public scene. Adraas might not be winning the fight, but he's won the moral high ground. Gaius is certain that he's the confirmed bad guy in all of this. And that's pretty much how things always go, unfortunately.
Turning to the Council members around him, Darth Azamin orders, "Yield the room, my Lords, if you will," in that polite way Lord Azamin has of issuing commands that sound like affable requests. The grinning Council members take the hint. They begin to withdraw back into the star chamber and the crowd of Lords who were loitering in the hallway take that as their cue to make themselves scarce as well. Soon, it's just Azamin, Adraas, Portia, Angral, and him.
But, wait—Tenebrae is still here. Of course, he is. Gaius glares at the smirking priest. How that hater must be delighting in this moment.
"This fight is done," Darth Azamin now decrees in deep, stentorian tones.
Either the message finally gets through or maybe exhausted Cato Metellus is happy for the excuse to stand down. He disengages. Adraas' sword is still lit, but he's stopped chasing. In fact, he's leaning up against the wall for support. The guy looks ready to faint.
"Angral, escort Lord Malgus from the Palace while I speak with Lord Adraas and Lady Portia," Darth Azamin instructs, still taking charge.
"Yes, my Lord."
Portia's brother objects weakly. It's mostly for show. "He's not going anywhere . . . I demand . . . satisfaction . . ."
"Yes, indeed, you shall have your retribution, Cato. Honor demands it. But defer at least until you have your full strength back. That way, you can give Malgus an extra harsh beat down," Darth Azamin suggests, full on stroking the guy's ego.
Adraas gamely refuses. This time, he summons more energy as he pushes off the wall and half-raises his sword. "He dies now! Today!"
Azamin stands firm. But rather than again point out the obvious—that Adraas is in no shape to fight—he suggests an alternative reason. "Malgus can't die until we attack Sluis Van. He is critical to the battle. The Empire needs him on the ground leading the troops."
"No, it doesn't," sly Darth Tenebrae intervenes. "He can die now. Let some general command the infantry."
"Good idea," Adraas seconds this suggestion. But he's back to standing propped against the wall. His sword is still buzzing, but he's hardly threatening in his current posture.
"Fine." Gaius' own patience has reached its limit. His sword leaps into his hand courtesy of the Force and he ignites his weapon. "Adraas, let's do this." Time to get this fight over with. He'll beat Adraas, spare him, and it will be over. Honor will be satisfied and he can focus on Sluis Van while Cato Metellus returns to the hospital.
Portia is the one to object this time. His girl freaks out. "NO! NO! Gaius, you can't! Please don't!" She rushes forward to stand physically between him and her slumped brother. "Don't!"
Gaius sighs. With resignation, he concedes the truth. "I can't walk away from this." Force knows he has tried.
"You can!"
"This won't go away, Portia. We must fight."
"That's right!" her brother snarls between panting breathes. "There must be a reckoning!"
Portia approaches closer now as she pleads, "Gaius, if you love me, you won't do this."
"Are you asking me to die?"
"No!" she cries, "just to stand down. Listen to your commanding officer," she wheedles as she comes to stand right next to him and dares to place a restraining hand on the shoulder of his sword arm.
It's an intimate gesture that speaks volumes. For in the formal social manners of the Sith elite, unmarried men and women generally do not touch and even long-established married couples do not show affection in public. For as the old saying goes, the Sith are 'cold in public and hot in private.'
The moment certainly gets Adraas' notice. His patrician face is more purple with rage now than blue with oxygen deprivation. But he doesn't move to intervene. He looks too spent to do more than frown.
"Gaius, give me your comlink." Portia holds out her open palm.
"What?"
"Your comlink. I need to destroy it."
He immediately comprehends the issue and yields the device. "Destroy it."
Portia nods, pockets the comlink, and steps forward. "This is goodbye," she tells him solemnly with unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
"That's right." He and Portia were over before they even began, but maybe that's for the best given the inevitable outcome of their romance. Had they succeeded in marriage last night, one of their lives might be forfeit and neither of them wants that. Their hope was for a brighter, better, more inclusive and accepting future together. Not for a detour into nihilism and tragedy, with some terrible choice to flee to the Republic or to stay and face deadly consequences.
Hoping to put an end to the current drama and doing his best to ignore their audience, Gaius requests, "Promise me that you won't get stuck here . . . that you will move on. If I can't make you happy, then some other Lord will."
Portia shakes her head. "I don't want another Lord-"
"Not now, but in time, you will. And that's what I want for you. You're only seventeen." Neither of them needs to pine for an impossible love, making themselves miserable in the process. Gaius has never been one for flowery words. He's blunt to a fault. So he tells his distressed-but-holding-it-together girl, "I'm giving you permission to move on." This is a strategic retreat in a matter of the heart. Gaius will withdraw from the field of battle and concede defeat to another Lord. He's never seen the logic in Pyrrhic victories.
Portia visibly swallows but agrees. She's a Sith to the core, so she knows how to keep a stiff upper lip. "You too. Find another Lady Malgus. I will hate her," Portia confesses with a sheepish, utterly endearing smile, "but I will understand." Her bottom lip quivers and her voice cracks as she whispers, "We c-could have been so g-good together."
She's standing so close now. How Gaius longs to kiss her one last time. Just to say goodbye with a memory that will last forever.
Irate Adraas finally succeeds in pushing off the wall. He takes a menacing step forward as Gaius wistfully agrees. "The Force only knows why this happened . . ." He can feel his face flushing bright red. He's embarrassed to be playing this scene before others, but he knows in his gut that this is the last time he will ever see Portia Metellus.
"I look forward to your victory," she chokes out as she stares up into his eyes. "I know what I saw in that vision. It will happen. You'll see."
"Provided he doesn't die a failure at Sluis Van," hovering Darth Tenebrae jeers.
Portia's teary eyes find the nasty priest. With a terrible gravitas worthy of her stone cold, elegant mother, Portia promises Darth Tenebrae, "One day, you will rue your actions and the missed opportunity they squandered." Turning back to Gaius, she urges him, "When you are ready . . . someday when you are more powerful than all but the Emperor himself, Lord Malgus, get our revenge." Portia's born a Metellus, full of Force. Her eyes flash pure yellow as they flit again to Tenebrae and she hisses, "Make him pay," with a foreboding that distills all of her heartbreak into those three words.
Darth Azamin looks confused and alarmed by this moment, but Gaius revels in it. Because damn, his girl is amazing. How he hates to let her go. So when Portia turns back to him and boldly reaches up to pull his face down for a lingering goodbye kiss, Gaius doesn't resist. It's a shocking—even mocking—middle finger to Tenebrae, to Adraas, even to Angral and Azamin, who stand aghast. The kiss establishes just how mutual the connection between them is. It will be hard to characterize him as the seducer of an innocent underage girl after Portia has been seen initiating this stunt.
"PORTIA!" Adraas looks ready explode.
So does the furiously disapproving Darth Azamin who reaches to grab her hand and jerks her back. The little statesman and longtime Metellus family friend speaks sharply. "My Lady, you forget yourself! How disappointed I am in you!"
Portia looks unrepentant and a little triumphant at that reproof. In the moment, she's very much a petulant teen.
For his part, Adraas staggers forward from his perch holding up the wall. He makes it two full steps before he crumples to the floor. His saber deactivates to roll harmlessly away.
"Cato!" Portia's voice is shrill with concern. Angral rushes to his side to assist while Azamin keeps a firm clamp on her wrist. For his part, Gaius deactivates his own weapon. There won't be a fight now.
Angral rushes to his side to assist while Azamin keeps a firm clamp on Portia's wrist. For his part, Gaius deactivates his own weapon. There won't be a fight now.
The only person who's enjoying the moment is the smirking Chief Priest. Obnoxious Tenebrae rolls his eyes. "What a cheap melodrama this morning has become. Malgus, you certainly make things interesting."
Unamused, Darth Azamin orders, "Angral, take Lady Portia and her brother home. Then, get to work. Enough of this distraction! There are serious matters afoot! We do not have time for these foolish displays of immaturity!" He literally hands off Portia to Angral, yanking her hand hard again to place it firmly in Angral's grip.
"I will personally see to Malgus," Azamin croaks. With a steely glare, the longtime head of the Imperial Navy now commands to Gaius, "Follow me," in a tone that promises punishment.
With one last, long glance at Portia Metellus, Gaius complies.
