The garble of sounds came dimly, a soft background of noise against the bright pain that lit up his being like a sun. The noises came louder, almost resolved into distinct sounds. He tried to focus on them, he knew there was a reason he should but he was so..tired…

He could feel his form being moved about and cried out as pain turned to searing agony.

He was grateful to the darkness that consumed him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was floating… or at least, it felt like floating. He felt weightless, painless, his mind seemed separate from him somehow although he couldn't really tell how or even why it felt that way. He tried to open his eyes but it was such effort.

Why was it so hard to simply open his eyes?

He made another hard effort, managing just the smallest crack, enough to see that everything had a bluish cast, warped like being underwater and some far flung part of him said he must be in bacta. He could not remember, however, what bacta was. It seemed too much effort to try and remember so he let his eyes close again and let the floating sensation carry him away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next time he floated to the surface of his senses, he could hear voices speaking near him.

"He should be coming around soon. As you know, he suffered several serious injuries, not the least of which was the skull fracture. I don't mind telling you, had it not been for his helmet, you and I both know he would be dead with the way his head hit the boulder. Even so, it is probable he will have some difficulty with cognitive functions at first. His motor skills should come back with time and physical therapy."

"Should?"

"The broken bones and such have recovered well with the bacta treatment but he will still be weak for awhile. Even though he was in good physical condition, albeit somewhat undernourished, 30 rotations in a bacta tank and twice that in this bed would weaken anyone. Whatever else is there, or not there, only time will tell. Once we have had time to evaluate him while conscious we may be able to help with that as well but I stress, we cannot know what we can do until after he has woken and had time for us to evaluate him."

"That's fine doctor. My only question is when can he leave?"

"It could be as early as a few days, could be a few weeks. I simply cannot make a more precise estimate than that until he wakes and we can see where we are at."

"I understand. Thank you doctor."

There was the sound of a door whooshing open then closed and then, silence.

He lay there, eyes shut, his mind trying to reconnect with his body, when he felt the presence of another move close beside him.

"You may be able to hide from the doctor but not me. I can tell you are awake but don't feel you have to talk or open your eyes. You've been through quite a lot so just take your time. I will be here when you are ready."

The voice did not sound familiar but the tone was kind and soft and he found himself very much wanting to believe it was truly as kind as it sounded. He tried to open his eyes to see his mysterious voice. It was an effort but he managed to crack his eyes enough to be blinded by the overhead lighting.

"There you are! Oh, let me turn the lighting down a bit.." There was a pause and then he noticed the lights dramatically dim, enough that he didn't feel like he was being stabbed in his eyes. Then the voice was back by his side.

"Is that better?"

He had to admit to himself, it wasn't much better. He still couldn't see much more than blobs of color and light that moved a bit. A blob moved closer to him and he felt it press something to his mouth.

"Here. Some water might help you. Put this between your lips and suck."

He let the voice push the item (a drinking tube?) into his mouth and some latent instinct had him doing as instructed, a relieved hum escaping him as the co ol liquid touched his parched throat. It washed away the lingering, strange taste in his mouth and made him feel marginally better. The tube was pulled away before he was ready and he must have indicated that somehow because the voice made an amused sound as it told him too much too fast would make him sick. He did not agree considering how thirsty he was but could not summon the energy or words to argue. He blinked slowly, trying to make what he saw resolve into something clear but it didn't work and he was too tired to try again. He felt a hand against his head, moving gently in what felt like a soothing motion. It was pleasant and made him even sleepier.

"Rest. You still have a ways to go before you are well again."

He decided that sounds like a fantastic idea and let himself slip away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The man stood at the tall, transparisteel windows, staring out over the manicured grounds as they shimmered in the light of the setting sun. The room around him, decorated in rich, deep reds and bronze, including the heavy drapes that elegantly framed the window where he gazed, seemed to glow in the light that flooded inward. That light set the formal evening attire he wore and the warm, mocha tones of his skin and silver-streaked hair into stark relief against its background. He sipped casually from the cut crystal tumbler in his hand and pondered the upcoming evening.

"Master Tarkin, your guests are arriving." The gleaming silver protocol droid addressed him from the doorway.

The man turned, blue eyes smiling.

"Thank you, Rax. I will be along in a moment."

"Very good, sir." the droid turned in the doorway only to fluster immediately as a figure stepped past him.

"Oh my! Sir, I am so very sorry! I did not see you approaching! I will be most happy to announce your,"
"Yes, yes, never mind. You may be about your business," The slender, stern-looking man said, not even looking at the droid.

The man at the window raised a brow. "Still entitled as ever, I see. By all means, feel free to tell my droid what to do."

The man approached, militarily erect and neatly garbed in his stark uniform, hand clasped at his back. He raised a thin, gray brow at the other.

"Why stand on ceremony. Besides, its just a droid." He commented carelessly.

"hmm, indeed," he hummed before waving the still flustered droid away and it nodded, pulling the polished, old-fashioned door closed behind it.

The darker skinned man made his way to a drinks cabinet to the side of the windows.

"Care for a drink?"

The other shrugged. "Whatever you are drinking is fine."

The man poured himself another drink, pausing to take a large swallow, before pouring another glass for his companion and languidly making his way back to the other's side. He handed him the drink.

"Enjoy that. It's 100 year old Corellian brandy, very hard to come by since they drink it up so quick," he stated humorously.

The sour-looking man takes a sniff of his tumbler before taking a sip and giving a small sigh of appreciation.

"One can never doubt your taste in liquor."

The darker man huffed a laugh, "No, just in everything else."

The other man hummed noncommittally as he sipped at his drink.

It was quiet for a few moments as they sipped and watched the sun drop below the treeline. Absently swirling the remaining liquor in his glass as he continued to stare out the window, the slender, gray-haired man spoke.

"And how is your 'guest' faring in his recovery?"

The other smirked and let loose a small, bitter laugh, "And now we come to the real point of this 'friendly'' visit. He is recovering just fine, thank you for your so very kind concern Wilf."

The other man scowled at the childish nickname, "I will find out the truth you know."

It was the taller man's turn to scowl as he turned to face the emotionless face of the man beside him. "Damnit, Wilf, you're like a karking lurca hound with a bone when you get an idea in your head. Just because you see conspiracies everywhere you look doesn't mean there are any. It just means you're a paranoid bastard." He tossed back the rest of the alcohol in his glass.

The other raised a thin, gray brow, "And you are always too easy to anger. Coincidences don't exist. I am attacked, Raven's Peak bombed, the assailants disappear and suddenly you have a 'guest' who is gravely injured? The pattern suggests you are hiding something...cousin"

The cousin in question rolled his eyes before glaring at the slightly shorter man, "If I'd wanted your skinny ass dead, I'd have done it years ago, saved myself decades of aggravation."

The gray-haired man smirked slightly before turning back to the window. As he drank, he pondered his cousin's family. Though their patriarch was his own father's disowned brother, they had somehow still managed to become every bit as wealthy and powerful as the rest of the, still legitimate, Tarkin clan. However, how his unacknowledged uncle made that money was still somewhat…elusive.

His cousin however was intelligent, educated and as well connected as any of them. They had never been close, with his father being officially no longer part of the family so encounters had been rare and associating overly much frowned upon. The man was nevertheless someone it paid to be aware of and on speaking terms with so Wilhuff made sure he was. Neither he nor Ranulf had ever been openly antagonistic toward BenJarin, they had never even encountered him often except in social settings.

He'd never really given thought to him much at all truthfully…. until his name started being mentioned in certain circles.

Even then, it didn't seem he had military ambitions, or any ambitions at all really beyond making money…. which suited Wilhuff fine.

It always paid to have one more wealthy, if distant, relative on one's social roster.

Until he had been the only one of his relatives to offer his condolences after Garouche…

He winced and swirled the liquor in his glass.

Maybe he was a paranoid bastard. He swirled the liquor left in his glass once more before downing what was left.

"I hope for your sake that is the case," he muttered.

The other man gave him an indecipherable look before turning and walking toward the door, gesturing Wilhuff to follow.

"Come on, I do have my duties to my other guests to attend as well, you know."

Wilhuff sneered halfheartedly before letting the other man wave him thru the old-fashioned door.

Really, who had doors that required you to open them manually nowadays anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

BenJarin Tarkin, despite appearances, was not a particularly social man. Oh, he could play the game as good as any but in actuality, he much preferred the quiet of his personal rooms or the library. It was in the latter room he now sat, shoeless feet stretched toward the roaring fire that blazed in the marbled fireplace as he contemplated the evening.

It was very late into the night cycle, the dinner party had ended an hour or so ago and, while he was tired, his mind was far too busy to let him rest. He had been quite surprised to see that both his youngest children had been in attendance. They were always extended the courtesy invitation however, his son Lor had about as much love for such occasions as his father and made no bones about his lack of interest in "entertaining the toadying fools". He would far rather be in his lab or with his hounds. Merren he had assumed would be too busy still. She had only recently made the decision to leave her life and practice on Coruscant and return home to Eriadu. She cited the growing unrest around the Empire and its new policies and, while he didn't doubt her reason or her truthfulness, he couldn't help but wonder if those were the only reasons.

Then, there was the matter of his "guest". He was glad he had made the decision to have him treated in his private medical facility. Keeping his cousin away from the man would have been near impossible if he had been treated in a public treatment facility. He frowned absently as he stared into the fire. He did present an interesting puzzle.

It had really been something of a miracle they had recovered him. The Tarkin lands covered vast amounts of Eriadu and it was fortunate that the man had gone far enough along the rail to land on Ben's portion. Raven's Peak was built close to the borderland and the sky rail had been a point of controversy between them as Wilhuff had wanted him to maintain the portion that crossed his land…and pay for the garrison stationed there.

Ben smiled as he remembered. It worked out well in the end. A little.. persuasion and it was decide his cousin would pay the maintenance and he would support the guard base.

He now had a very loyal crew of guards who reported everything they saw to him.

While BenJarin had all of his few cousins various homes and boltholes under surveillance, it had been luck that had had his man on the inside piloting one of the fighters when Wilf's stronghold was attacked. That same luck had the pilot in position to see a man fall from the rail line and triangulate coordinates for Ben's task force to find him.

Frankly he had only expected it to be a body recovery. While there had been a, very small, few who had survived falls from such heights, it was rare. When they had reached the projected retrieval site and seen the torn sky chute however, the search and recovery had become a possible search and rescue and he had been glad he kept the mountain rescue ships fully medically prepared. They had been equipped with a stasis pod which had probably saved the man's life, or so Dr. Ness had said.

The list of injuries had been long, but the doctor had been cautiously optimistic for the man's chances. He had praised the protective armour he wore, citing it for having kept him from more severe internal injuries. Ben had given it a cursory look when his guards turned it over to him after the doctors had removed it and noted it seemed to be good quality, even if in very used condition. Proof that its wearer had seen action … and quite a bit of it. He had remanded it and the helmet and other pieces to his son's care. Lor loved nothing more than tinkering with something to see how it worked.

He had to admit, his reasons for wanting the man to live had been quite selfish at first. He knew how deeply integrated Wilhuff was with this new Empire and wanted to know what he was up to and he was fairly certain that the man could tell him. Of course, even if he had not, Ben would still have had his people try to save him. It was the only decent thing to do and he wasn't that bad of a person. Dr. Ness, however, had made several sad and anger-inducing observations about their injured guest as he had treated him that had caused the father in him to grit his teeth in anger and take more notice of him than as a potential intel source.

The man was fairly young, obviously, mid 20s at most but his body showed evidence of mild but long-term malnutrition and past, severe injuries, much of which had not been treated sufficiently, at least according to Dr. Ness. It was obvious the man had been a soldier in the Clone Wars, the armour alone indicated it. Lor had told him that there were additions and alterations in that helmet and vambraces he couldn't begin to decipher… and Lor was no slouch when it came to tech stuff. Lor had been unsubtly impressed and had told him whoever had done the work was a karking genius. Ben wanted very much to know if that genius was the man currently being treated in his medbay.

They also determined, from his armour and specialized equipment, that he had to be special forces or some kind of black ops, likely Separatist, and probably took the job to escape poverty on some planet as many young men had done during the war. Those facts explained the past malnutrition and, they suspected, he then turned perhaps to merc work afterward which could account for his presence on Eriadu during Wilf's "meeting". The bigger question was, who was he with? And what did they want?

He couldn't deny he was anxious for the man to regain consciousness and prayed to the Force and whoever else may listen that he was of sound mind when he did. He was not one to deny a gift when it fell into his lap… and he had a feeling this one could be a gamechanger.