Tangle 68/77 (PG-13) Anakin, Obi-Wan, others.
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fan fiction.
Author's note: Originally, when I posted it at ffn, this chapter began with Anakin and Ryn walking back to Sarta's house, being greeted by the natives, who now regard Anakin as a hero. Then Ryn invites him to go to bed with her, "just to sleep," and they tease each other about the practice of finding bedpartners in a back-and-forth that references Ryn's explanation of a typical Lorethan approach to initiating sexual activity, described in Cover. Then I read it again today and thought, "my God, this is tawdry and predictable," and now it's not here. That means this chapter is shorter than usual, but I think it's better for it. And now I can't remember why I thought it was important to tell you this … anyway. On to the story.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
[]
In Ryn’s bedroom, Anakin tugged off his boots and watched Ryn drag the blessed-by-heretics bedspread down into the floor. She shed her clothes before crawling under the remaining blankets; Anakin didn’t, but Ryn kept whatever thought she had about the matter to herself and just snuggled close once he’d worked his way under the covers, and wrapped her lithe body around his fully-clothed frame.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.
[]
The broken man in the corner barely twitches when the door opens. He’s exhausted, and filthy, and long past any sense of hope. He gave up waiting to be rescued weeks ago. He can’t even remember when he started waiting to die.
But he doesn’t know how. He’s never learned how to give up; there is no surrender bred in his bones. He’d like to quiet, but he can’t. So he just lies there, dully prepared to endure whatever torture is coming next.
The boot connects with his jaw sharply, viciously, but the man hardly bothers to grunt. The universe is this: pain beyond fear, a slow grind toward death.
A voice beyond the wall suspends the torture, but the man on the floor isn’t terribly interested.
The world turns blue, and a bar of light -- blue, of course it is, it’s the source of the light -- slices through the booted man’s chest.
A pleasantly sophisticated voice with a Coruscanti accent says, “Kitraal Orun, I presume?”
[]
Anakin jerked away and lay stiffly still, wide-eyed and panting, trying to get his bearings.
“Anakin?” That was Ryn’s voice, rough from sleep and achingly familiar.
Anakin turned his head against the pillow to meet her eyes. “Oh.”
Ryn propped herself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder in surprisingly gentle concern. “You okay?”
“I -- yeah.” Anakin cleared his throat. “Bad dream.”
“I could tell.” Ryn shifted closer, offering the simple comfort of her physical presence. “What was it about?”
He didn’t think he wanted to tell her. “Your brother. I think.”
“Kit?” Ryn said, and the hope in her voice cut him to the bone. “Was it a Force-vision? Could you tell where he was? Was he okay?”
“I’m not sure,” said Anakin, frowning as he tried to answer her questions in order. “No. Sort of.”
Worry etched its way onto Ryn’s face. “What do you mean?”
“It could have been just a dream,” Anakin said. He didn’t really think so, but the death of Yaddle had taught him to be careful of interpreting such things. “But if it was a vision from the Force, then it must have been the future, because I saw Obi-Wan there.”
“That’s good, right?” Ryn asked. “It means we find him.”
“I guess,” Anakin said doubtfully. “Just ... I didn’t see the rest of us. And ... Kit was in bad shape, Ryn.”
Ryn shrank a little. “What do you mean?”
“It might not even be true --”
“Tell me.”
“He was being tortured,” Anakin said, catching Ryn’s hand for comfort. “And ... he’d given up, Ryn. He didn’t care any more.”
Ryn didn’t cry or make a fuss. She nodded thoughtfully and sank back down beside him.
“I guess we always knew it would be something like that,” she said slowly. “I mean, before ... before we severed our bond and my senses went all to hell, I could feel his pain, the echoes of it. He’s been hurting for a long time.” She sighed. “It seems like we’ve been searching forever, without any light.”
“Without a light?” Anakin repeated, momentarily puzzled.
Ryn gave him a tolerant look. “You know, because ordinary beings use light to look for things, instead of the Force.”
“Oh,” said Anakin. “But I don’t see how we could do any better. We need more information.”
“I have an idea,” Ryn said. “But probably no one’s going to like it.”
Author's note: Originally, when I posted it at ffn, this chapter began with Anakin and Ryn walking back to Sarta's house, being greeted by the natives, who now regard Anakin as a hero. Then Ryn invites him to go to bed with her, "just to sleep," and they tease each other about the practice of finding bedpartners in a back-and-forth that references Ryn's explanation of a typical Lorethan approach to initiating sexual activity, described in Cover. Then I read it again today and thought, "my God, this is tawdry and predictable," and now it's not here. That means this chapter is shorter than usual, but I think it's better for it. And now I can't remember why I thought it was important to tell you this … anyway. On to the story.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
[]
In Ryn’s bedroom, Anakin tugged off his boots and watched Ryn drag the blessed-by-heretics bedspread down into the floor. She shed her clothes before crawling under the remaining blankets; Anakin didn’t, but Ryn kept whatever thought she had about the matter to herself and just snuggled close once he’d worked his way under the covers, and wrapped her lithe body around his fully-clothed frame.
“Sweet dreams,” she whispered, and closed her eyes.
[]
The broken man in the corner barely twitches when the door opens. He’s exhausted, and filthy, and long past any sense of hope. He gave up waiting to be rescued weeks ago. He can’t even remember when he started waiting to die.
But he doesn’t know how. He’s never learned how to give up; there is no surrender bred in his bones. He’d like to quiet, but he can’t. So he just lies there, dully prepared to endure whatever torture is coming next.
The boot connects with his jaw sharply, viciously, but the man hardly bothers to grunt. The universe is this: pain beyond fear, a slow grind toward death.
A voice beyond the wall suspends the torture, but the man on the floor isn’t terribly interested.
The world turns blue, and a bar of light -- blue, of course it is, it’s the source of the light -- slices through the booted man’s chest.
A pleasantly sophisticated voice with a Coruscanti accent says, “Kitraal Orun, I presume?”
[]
Anakin jerked away and lay stiffly still, wide-eyed and panting, trying to get his bearings.
“Anakin?” That was Ryn’s voice, rough from sleep and achingly familiar.
Anakin turned his head against the pillow to meet her eyes. “Oh.”
Ryn propped herself up on one elbow and touched his shoulder in surprisingly gentle concern. “You okay?”
“I -- yeah.” Anakin cleared his throat. “Bad dream.”
“I could tell.” Ryn shifted closer, offering the simple comfort of her physical presence. “What was it about?”
He didn’t think he wanted to tell her. “Your brother. I think.”
“Kit?” Ryn said, and the hope in her voice cut him to the bone. “Was it a Force-vision? Could you tell where he was? Was he okay?”
“I’m not sure,” said Anakin, frowning as he tried to answer her questions in order. “No. Sort of.”
Worry etched its way onto Ryn’s face. “What do you mean?”
“It could have been just a dream,” Anakin said. He didn’t really think so, but the death of Yaddle had taught him to be careful of interpreting such things. “But if it was a vision from the Force, then it must have been the future, because I saw Obi-Wan there.”
“That’s good, right?” Ryn asked. “It means we find him.”
“I guess,” Anakin said doubtfully. “Just ... I didn’t see the rest of us. And ... Kit was in bad shape, Ryn.”
Ryn shrank a little. “What do you mean?”
“It might not even be true --”
“Tell me.”
“He was being tortured,” Anakin said, catching Ryn’s hand for comfort. “And ... he’d given up, Ryn. He didn’t care any more.”
Ryn didn’t cry or make a fuss. She nodded thoughtfully and sank back down beside him.
“I guess we always knew it would be something like that,” she said slowly. “I mean, before ... before we severed our bond and my senses went all to hell, I could feel his pain, the echoes of it. He’s been hurting for a long time.” She sighed. “It seems like we’ve been searching forever, without any light.”
“Without a light?” Anakin repeated, momentarily puzzled.
Ryn gave him a tolerant look. “You know, because ordinary beings use light to look for things, instead of the Force.”
“Oh,” said Anakin. “But I don’t see how we could do any better. We need more information.”
“I have an idea,” Ryn said. “But probably no one’s going to like it.”