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Literature Text
The dark clouds loosened their grip on their contents and torrent upon torrent of heavy, freezing rain gushed down onto the ground, transforming what was once a solid earthen clifftop into thick, slippery mud.
It splashed messily underfoot as Ezra struggled to stay upright after landing in it with a squelch, and raised his lightsaber in defense, blinking through the steam that was raised as raindrops sizzled off the green blade.
"How many times are you going to do this?!" he shouted at his attacker. "Why don't you just kill me already?!"
The young man approaching him sighed as he stepped out of the trees and into the downpour, and reactivated one of the twin red blades he held in his hand.
"Tsuki, please," Ezra said, and stood up straighter with a worried frown, "why don't you remember me?"
"Because first, that isn't my name," said the Twelfth Brother, his voice as cold as it was the last time the young Jedi had heard it, "and second, what am I supposed to be remembering?"
Ezra's grip tightened on his weapon as his opponent drew closer. If he still had his blaster - if he hadn't lost it to a swipe from the assailant's blade - he would gladly have drawn and fired.
"Whatever reason you have for leaving me alive, you can forget it," he snarled instead. "I'm not going to let you use me as a plaything!"
The red sabre came down and he quickly blocked it. Again and again the Inquisitor struck. Again and again Ezra was forced to block. Any attempts he made to strike back were simply brushed aside. He was already exhausted from a whole afternoon of fighting for his life and now the rain was chilling him to the bone. He never felt the gaze of those eyes leaving him: one living, but piercing and harsh, the other cybernetic and lifeless.
He blocked again, but was too focused on the blades to avoid the fist that slammed into his chest just below his neck, and he staggered back and struggled to catch his breath. His foot slipped and scraped down the edge of the cliff and his heart skipped a beat as he regained his footing, and tried not to look down into the ground below that was swathed in mist.
When he looked back to the fight, a glowing, steaming red blade was at his neck. He had to lean backwards over the precipice, almost forfeiting his balance, just to avoid having his neck burned open.
"Do you wish to surrender?" asked the Twelfth Brother.
Ezra looked from his heartless eyes to the blade threatening his throat. There wasn't anything he could do that wouldn't result in him toppling over the edge. Odds were he wouldn't be able to so much as swing his sabre, let alone avoid that of his opponent.
But before he got a chance to think of a way out, the rain-softened earth under his feet gave way and, with a short, sharp cry of shock, he fell.
In his instinctive grasping at the rapidly-passing cliff face, he somehow grabbed hold of something. A painful collision with the solid surface later and he saw, through a haze of falling rain, that he had taken hold of a thin, spindly tree that had been growing out of the side of the sheer bank. A small splash from somewhere down below told him two things: that there was a pool somewhere below him and that he had just lost his lightsaber to it.
As if this day couldn't get any better.
He looked up, squinting against the downpour, and saw a pale face topped with stark white hair looking down at him. It was next to impossible to see his expression from this distance, but Ezra could feel emotion pouring off him like a waterfall. Confusion, anger...
...fear?
Never mind. He had to focus on surviving first.
He tightened his grip on the branch and reached for a protruding lump in the cliff face, and once he was sure he had a good handhold, he searched for another, found one and-
-the moment he let go of the slippery wood, with all his weight on that one little handhold, it crumbled under his fingers and, once again, he was falling. In a panic he Forced himself away from the cliff and once the site of his future impact came into view, he reached forward to slow his landing.
Remembering too late that his impact zone was water, which flowed away from his push only to spill right back...
It splashed messily underfoot as Ezra struggled to stay upright after landing in it with a squelch, and raised his lightsaber in defense, blinking through the steam that was raised as raindrops sizzled off the green blade.
"How many times are you going to do this?!" he shouted at his attacker. "Why don't you just kill me already?!"
The young man approaching him sighed as he stepped out of the trees and into the downpour, and reactivated one of the twin red blades he held in his hand.
"Tsuki, please," Ezra said, and stood up straighter with a worried frown, "why don't you remember me?"
"Because first, that isn't my name," said the Twelfth Brother, his voice as cold as it was the last time the young Jedi had heard it, "and second, what am I supposed to be remembering?"
Ezra's grip tightened on his weapon as his opponent drew closer. If he still had his blaster - if he hadn't lost it to a swipe from the assailant's blade - he would gladly have drawn and fired.
"Whatever reason you have for leaving me alive, you can forget it," he snarled instead. "I'm not going to let you use me as a plaything!"
The red sabre came down and he quickly blocked it. Again and again the Inquisitor struck. Again and again Ezra was forced to block. Any attempts he made to strike back were simply brushed aside. He was already exhausted from a whole afternoon of fighting for his life and now the rain was chilling him to the bone. He never felt the gaze of those eyes leaving him: one living, but piercing and harsh, the other cybernetic and lifeless.
He blocked again, but was too focused on the blades to avoid the fist that slammed into his chest just below his neck, and he staggered back and struggled to catch his breath. His foot slipped and scraped down the edge of the cliff and his heart skipped a beat as he regained his footing, and tried not to look down into the ground below that was swathed in mist.
When he looked back to the fight, a glowing, steaming red blade was at his neck. He had to lean backwards over the precipice, almost forfeiting his balance, just to avoid having his neck burned open.
"Do you wish to surrender?" asked the Twelfth Brother.
Ezra looked from his heartless eyes to the blade threatening his throat. There wasn't anything he could do that wouldn't result in him toppling over the edge. Odds were he wouldn't be able to so much as swing his sabre, let alone avoid that of his opponent.
But before he got a chance to think of a way out, the rain-softened earth under his feet gave way and, with a short, sharp cry of shock, he fell.
In his instinctive grasping at the rapidly-passing cliff face, he somehow grabbed hold of something. A painful collision with the solid surface later and he saw, through a haze of falling rain, that he had taken hold of a thin, spindly tree that had been growing out of the side of the sheer bank. A small splash from somewhere down below told him two things: that there was a pool somewhere below him and that he had just lost his lightsaber to it.
As if this day couldn't get any better.
He looked up, squinting against the downpour, and saw a pale face topped with stark white hair looking down at him. It was next to impossible to see his expression from this distance, but Ezra could feel emotion pouring off him like a waterfall. Confusion, anger...
...fear?
Never mind. He had to focus on surviving first.
He tightened his grip on the branch and reached for a protruding lump in the cliff face, and once he was sure he had a good handhold, he searched for another, found one and-
-the moment he let go of the slippery wood, with all his weight on that one little handhold, it crumbled under his fingers and, once again, he was falling. In a panic he Forced himself away from the cliff and once the site of his future impact came into view, he reached forward to slow his landing.
Remembering too late that his impact zone was water, which flowed away from his push only to spill right back...
O-o-O
The boy's tentative handhold disintegrated under his grip and he fell, disappearing into a thick mist.
After making sure his weapon was secure on his back, the Inquisitor known as the Twelfth Brother jumped off the cliff in a graceful arc.
He couldn't let this boy die yet.
A loud splash alerted him to the state of the ground below, and he straightened out his arms before him and tucked his head between, and took as deep a breath as he could before closing his eyes for the impact.
His entry into the water was smooth and graceful, but the force of making contact still hit him as if he had dived into the cliff he had just jumped from, and when he surfaced, it was with a desperate gasp and splutters for even the slightest bit of air.
As he panted, treading in the icy water, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.
Ezra was nowhere to be seen. Had he left the pool, the surrounding wood and the bank bordering it would show evidence of it.
Which meant...
The young Inquisitor took another deep breath and dived for a second time.
The water closed over him as if he'd never even been there, the rain pounding into the surface and swelling the pool to beyond its usual boundaries as, somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled in the gloomy clouds.
As lightning lanced across the sky overhead, 12 broke the surface with another panicked gasp and adjusted his grip on the silent young Jedi he now clutched to his body, trying to keep his face above the water. He struggled over to the bank, to a gap where the bushes and trees had pulled aside, and dragged himself and his impromptu passenger onto land which was only slightly less sodden than they were.
12 quickly looked over his new charge. His hair had fallen loose and was glued to his face by water, his eyes were closed and unmoving and one of his arms was bent in a rather worrying way.
He pressed an ear to the boy's chest.
His heart was still beating.
But he wasn't breathing.
"No, no..." 12 muttered, "...I am not going to let you die."
He took yet another deep breath, pinched Ezra's nose and exhaled as hard as he could into the boy's mouth.
After leaning back to try to breathe properly, he noticed that nothing had happened.
So he did it again. He didn't care what he had to do. He couldn't allow this kid to die.
By now he was feeling lightheaded. Like if he didn't soon stop to rest, he would pass out.
Instead, he sucked in as much as he could and gave Ezra one final breath.
His relief was palpable as the black-haired boy gasped, hoarse and shuddering, and 12 rolled him onto his side and slapped his back. Ezra coughed, spat up a mouthful of water, and by the time he was done he had passed out again, but was this time breathing.
12 wanted nothing more than to sleep right alongside him, but couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He had to find them shelter or else this weather could mean death for both of them.
He held out his hand at the pool they had just left and visualised the lightsaber that had been used against him to the best of his ability. Much as he would have liked it to stay there, it would make good leverage should this boy decide to act up. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the weapon shot out of the water with a small plof and flew into his hand.
With that done, he pressed himself onto his knees, and pulled the still-unconscious Ezra onto his shoulders. He looked around the wood that surrounded them, looming over his head like a colossus, and noticed a thin sliver of stone wall peeking through the trees.
He picked himself up onto his feet and staggered under the weight of the boy he had been fighting less than ten minutes ago. Sure, the kid was shorter, but as far as 12 could tell he was built like a star destroyer. He dragged his feet towards the stone wall, and as he drew closer, more features became visible: a roof patched with thick, wide leaves, a window frame long deprived of any glass and a door that was hanging off its hinges.
Imperial quarters it wasn't, but it was better than the rain that was leaking in through the canopy.
He picked his way through the rough undergrowth and protruding roots to the damp and soft-looking doorway, and looked inside to see a single dark and decrepit room with dust all over the floor and a puddle in one of the far corners. A metal cabinet that had no handles sat beside a fireplace that was covered by a rusted grate, and 12 took note of a ragged tapestry hanging on one wall that bore a symbol he didn't recognise as he eased his way into the building.
He knelt down and gently rested Ezra on the ground, wishing there was something he could do about the dirt.
'Keep calm,' he told himself. 'Need to find some means of warmth. Anything will do.'
He took his lightsaber and slammed it on the top of the cabinet, which slid open ever so slightly. He slipped his fingers in, more grateful for his gloves than he had been in weeks, and found it full of wood that was solid and seemed to be dry, shielded from the decay that had surrounded it. He kicked the grate aside and tossed a few logs into the fireplace, ignited his weapon and pressed the blade against the wood, and didn't take it away until he saw a flame.
'That's that done,' he thought, and he reached around to unbuckle his chest plate. 'Better get this off. Better get everything off. The last thing I want is to sit around in wet clothes and make myself sick.'
He arranged his plates and weaponry on top of the wood cabinet and peeled off his saturated clothes, and was down to his underwear when he heard a gasp from across the room and remembered that he wasn't alone.
'I should do the same for him,' he decided. 'He's more valuable alive. Even more valuable healthy.'
He pulled Ezra's shoes off and cringed at the water that he emptied out of them, and placed them by the fire next to his own. After that, he reached for the shirt, and cringed again when he saw the state of the boy's arm once it was freed from its sleeve.
12 pulled the remnants of the window frame over to himself before he realised there was nothing to hold them there. He needed something strong and clean, so obviously that tapestry was out of the question, and he couldn't use parts of his own clothing because of the obvious sunburn hazard he'd present himself to.
Which left...
He picked up the now-removed shirt and ripped away the left sleeve.
'Trying to brace your landing,' he thought to himself as he tore strips from it, 'doesn't work so well when the ground practically has a mind of its own.'
He took hold of the boy's arm and straightened it out, cringing again at the awful noise it made.
'Thank the Emperor he's already passed out...' he thought as he splinted the limb, and then returned to stripping the boy down.
The fire crackled and spat sparks into the air, so 12 quickly returned the grate to its place so that the clothes he had neatly arranged before it didn't catch fire.
'I don't even know why I'm doing this,' he considered as he pulled Ezra over to the fire and laid him in front of it, careful not to disturb the drying garments. 'I'm actually trying to preserve the life of the enemy.'
Ezra sucked in another shuddering breath. 12 realised that he would need more than just a small fire to save him from hypothermia, so even though he knew it was probably disgusting, he pulled the tapestry down from the wall. Even though it was disgusting and probably carried a disease, he laid it over the prone body of the young rebel.
Finally done, 12 took both lightsabers from off the top of the cabinet for the sake of security, closed the door and sat against it to hold it there, and heaved a sigh of relief as he was at last able to relax, at least for a moment.
Somehow it was only now that he noticed he had been viewing everything from only one perspective. His little plunge must have damaged his prosthesis and now, once again, he had lost one of his eyes.
'Great,' he thought bitterly. 'That means the beacon will be damaged too, so chances are nobody will know to come and find me for a while...'
He pounded the side of his head, trying to shake out any water he could possibly remove. For a moment one side of his vision glitched, but then returned to blackness, so he gave up and instead pulled his hair loose, and ran his fingers through it to remove the worst of the wetness. It flopped limply onto his shoulder and dripped down his bare chest and he tried not to shiver.
The eye that was working wandered over Ezra, who lay peacefully near the fire, looking almost as if he were in a sound, pleasant sleep.
'I guess,' thought 12, 'maybe I do still feel something for you.'
After making sure his weapon was secure on his back, the Inquisitor known as the Twelfth Brother jumped off the cliff in a graceful arc.
He couldn't let this boy die yet.
A loud splash alerted him to the state of the ground below, and he straightened out his arms before him and tucked his head between, and took as deep a breath as he could before closing his eyes for the impact.
His entry into the water was smooth and graceful, but the force of making contact still hit him as if he had dived into the cliff he had just jumped from, and when he surfaced, it was with a desperate gasp and splutters for even the slightest bit of air.
As he panted, treading in the icy water, he quickly surveyed his surroundings.
Ezra was nowhere to be seen. Had he left the pool, the surrounding wood and the bank bordering it would show evidence of it.
Which meant...
The young Inquisitor took another deep breath and dived for a second time.
The water closed over him as if he'd never even been there, the rain pounding into the surface and swelling the pool to beyond its usual boundaries as, somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled in the gloomy clouds.
As lightning lanced across the sky overhead, 12 broke the surface with another panicked gasp and adjusted his grip on the silent young Jedi he now clutched to his body, trying to keep his face above the water. He struggled over to the bank, to a gap where the bushes and trees had pulled aside, and dragged himself and his impromptu passenger onto land which was only slightly less sodden than they were.
12 quickly looked over his new charge. His hair had fallen loose and was glued to his face by water, his eyes were closed and unmoving and one of his arms was bent in a rather worrying way.
He pressed an ear to the boy's chest.
His heart was still beating.
But he wasn't breathing.
"No, no..." 12 muttered, "...I am not going to let you die."
He took yet another deep breath, pinched Ezra's nose and exhaled as hard as he could into the boy's mouth.
After leaning back to try to breathe properly, he noticed that nothing had happened.
So he did it again. He didn't care what he had to do. He couldn't allow this kid to die.
By now he was feeling lightheaded. Like if he didn't soon stop to rest, he would pass out.
Instead, he sucked in as much as he could and gave Ezra one final breath.
His relief was palpable as the black-haired boy gasped, hoarse and shuddering, and 12 rolled him onto his side and slapped his back. Ezra coughed, spat up a mouthful of water, and by the time he was done he had passed out again, but was this time breathing.
12 wanted nothing more than to sleep right alongside him, but couldn't. He knew he couldn't. He had to find them shelter or else this weather could mean death for both of them.
He held out his hand at the pool they had just left and visualised the lightsaber that had been used against him to the best of his ability. Much as he would have liked it to stay there, it would make good leverage should this boy decide to act up. Sure enough, it wasn't long before the weapon shot out of the water with a small plof and flew into his hand.
With that done, he pressed himself onto his knees, and pulled the still-unconscious Ezra onto his shoulders. He looked around the wood that surrounded them, looming over his head like a colossus, and noticed a thin sliver of stone wall peeking through the trees.
He picked himself up onto his feet and staggered under the weight of the boy he had been fighting less than ten minutes ago. Sure, the kid was shorter, but as far as 12 could tell he was built like a star destroyer. He dragged his feet towards the stone wall, and as he drew closer, more features became visible: a roof patched with thick, wide leaves, a window frame long deprived of any glass and a door that was hanging off its hinges.
Imperial quarters it wasn't, but it was better than the rain that was leaking in through the canopy.
He picked his way through the rough undergrowth and protruding roots to the damp and soft-looking doorway, and looked inside to see a single dark and decrepit room with dust all over the floor and a puddle in one of the far corners. A metal cabinet that had no handles sat beside a fireplace that was covered by a rusted grate, and 12 took note of a ragged tapestry hanging on one wall that bore a symbol he didn't recognise as he eased his way into the building.
He knelt down and gently rested Ezra on the ground, wishing there was something he could do about the dirt.
'Keep calm,' he told himself. 'Need to find some means of warmth. Anything will do.'
He took his lightsaber and slammed it on the top of the cabinet, which slid open ever so slightly. He slipped his fingers in, more grateful for his gloves than he had been in weeks, and found it full of wood that was solid and seemed to be dry, shielded from the decay that had surrounded it. He kicked the grate aside and tossed a few logs into the fireplace, ignited his weapon and pressed the blade against the wood, and didn't take it away until he saw a flame.
'That's that done,' he thought, and he reached around to unbuckle his chest plate. 'Better get this off. Better get everything off. The last thing I want is to sit around in wet clothes and make myself sick.'
He arranged his plates and weaponry on top of the wood cabinet and peeled off his saturated clothes, and was down to his underwear when he heard a gasp from across the room and remembered that he wasn't alone.
'I should do the same for him,' he decided. 'He's more valuable alive. Even more valuable healthy.'
He pulled Ezra's shoes off and cringed at the water that he emptied out of them, and placed them by the fire next to his own. After that, he reached for the shirt, and cringed again when he saw the state of the boy's arm once it was freed from its sleeve.
12 pulled the remnants of the window frame over to himself before he realised there was nothing to hold them there. He needed something strong and clean, so obviously that tapestry was out of the question, and he couldn't use parts of his own clothing because of the obvious sunburn hazard he'd present himself to.
Which left...
He picked up the now-removed shirt and ripped away the left sleeve.
'Trying to brace your landing,' he thought to himself as he tore strips from it, 'doesn't work so well when the ground practically has a mind of its own.'
He took hold of the boy's arm and straightened it out, cringing again at the awful noise it made.
'Thank the Emperor he's already passed out...' he thought as he splinted the limb, and then returned to stripping the boy down.
The fire crackled and spat sparks into the air, so 12 quickly returned the grate to its place so that the clothes he had neatly arranged before it didn't catch fire.
'I don't even know why I'm doing this,' he considered as he pulled Ezra over to the fire and laid him in front of it, careful not to disturb the drying garments. 'I'm actually trying to preserve the life of the enemy.'
Ezra sucked in another shuddering breath. 12 realised that he would need more than just a small fire to save him from hypothermia, so even though he knew it was probably disgusting, he pulled the tapestry down from the wall. Even though it was disgusting and probably carried a disease, he laid it over the prone body of the young rebel.
Finally done, 12 took both lightsabers from off the top of the cabinet for the sake of security, closed the door and sat against it to hold it there, and heaved a sigh of relief as he was at last able to relax, at least for a moment.
Somehow it was only now that he noticed he had been viewing everything from only one perspective. His little plunge must have damaged his prosthesis and now, once again, he had lost one of his eyes.
'Great,' he thought bitterly. 'That means the beacon will be damaged too, so chances are nobody will know to come and find me for a while...'
He pounded the side of his head, trying to shake out any water he could possibly remove. For a moment one side of his vision glitched, but then returned to blackness, so he gave up and instead pulled his hair loose, and ran his fingers through it to remove the worst of the wetness. It flopped limply onto his shoulder and dripped down his bare chest and he tried not to shiver.
The eye that was working wandered over Ezra, who lay peacefully near the fire, looking almost as if he were in a sound, pleasant sleep.
'I guess,' thought 12, 'maybe I do still feel something for you.'
O-o-O
When Ezra awoke, the first thing he did was grimace and groan in pain. His left arm felt as if something had crushed it and was still there, pressing it into the ground. A cold draught washed over his body and he shivered as he opened his eyes.
The ceiling above was unfamiliar, dark and in places looked worryingly rotten. He glanced to either side and saw a wall in an equal state of decay and a fireplace with a flickering log sitting behind an ancient-looking grate. The ground under his fingers felt soft, damp and somehow powdery.
How did he get here?
There had been a fight... a fight against an Inquisitor. And then there was a cliff... had he fallen?
"So you are still alive."
Still woozy, he pressed himself up on his elbow and looked around to find the source of the comment.
"I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."
It was a young man sitting against the door, with long white hair hanging over his shoulders and Ezra's lightsaber in one hand. He was dressed only in his underpants and frowning at the young Jedi.
Seeing him brought a flood of memories into Ezra's head. That was the person he'd been fighting. Sitting there looking down at him and holding his lightsaber. Ezra considered leaping up and rushing him, never mind how reckless it would be to attack him while unarmed, but another breeze brushed over his body and he realised, with a thrill of horror, that he was naked.
He grabbed the ragged cloth that had been draped over him and clutched it to himself.
"Did you strip me?!" he demanded.
"So you would rather I let you lie unconscious in wet clothing and develop hypothermia?" asked the Inquisitor. "Yes, I removed your clothes, but it's likely you would die if I hadn't. And let me reassure you that that's all I did. I'm not that sort of person."
Ezra rolled onto his side and started to get up. Naked or not, he wasn't going to take this.
But before he could even get on his knees, a green blade at his throat halted his progress.
"You'd better not forget which of us has the upper hand here," said the Twelfth Brother. "So settle down before you hurt yourself even more than you already have."
That single eye was still as cold and unfeeling as ever...
There really was nothing better to do. Ezra sat down and hugged his knees to his chest.
"So what now?" he asked bitterly. "Am I just meant to sit here shivering until your reinforcements arrive? I hope they bring pants."
There was a small thump as something balled up and soft hit him in the back of the head, and he took it away to discover that it was his underwear.
"Those were the first to dry," his apparent captor snapped. "Put them on and stop complaining."
This was still a less than ideal situation, but Ezra knew it would just be stupid to refuse something he obviously needed just because of who was giving it to him. He slipped the vest over his head, but a bolt of pain shot down his arm as he did so and he couldn't avoid a gasp of shock.
He looked down at it to search for a wound and was stunned to see that it had been splinted.
With cloth that had quite clearly been torn from his clothing.
He looked back at the Twelfth Brother to give him a good, solid glare, but the albino was distracted. He was looking up at the empty hole that served as a window and out at the now far gentler rain that was still pouring outside.
"I'd hoped we'd be able to move on after you woke up," he said, "but the rain still hasn't stopped. It seems we'll have to wait a little longer."
Still frowning, Ezra looked away and pulled on his underpants, and returned to hugging his knees to his chest.
He noticed that the cloth that had covered his body was ragged, and more than a little mouldy. He kicked it away in disgust and tried to wipe off any residue it might have left, but quickly stopped as another shot of pain cannoned through his body from his arm. He winced and rubbed it, hoping it might ease some of the pain away, but to no avail.
He looked back again, and saw that 12 was still patiently eyeing the window.
"I thought you liked it," Ezra muttered.
"What?" was the response.
Ezra quickly looked away. He didn't think he had spoken loud enough for the Inquisitor to hear.
"I-it's nothing," he quickly said. "It didn't mean anything, I'm sorry."
His excuse wasn't good enough. He could tell by the hum of lightsaber ignition and the heat now threatening to burn the back of his neck.
"If you have any idea what's good for you," said 12, "you'll tell me what you just said."
There really didn't seem to be any choice...
"The rain," he explained. "I thought you liked it. You told me once that you enjoyed going out in the rain because it meant you could be outside during the day without needing to to protect yourself from the sun. You didn't even care that you'd often go home sick because you got so wet and cold."
He turned back again, looking down his own blade at the enemy who held it.
"Has that changed too?" he asked. "What, do you even hate the rain now?"
"Tsuki Delilah is dead," 12 replied. "He was never even alive to begin with. I really thought you would have realised by now."
Ezra turned away again in frustration. He felt the heat disappear and heard the sound of a lightsaber deactivating.
"You asked me earlier," he said, "what you were supposed to be remembering."
He pulled a log out of the cabinet and tossed it into the fire.
"So what?" he said. "Tsuki Delilah is your evil twin or something? If he was never even alive, why do you remember that name? If it means nothing to you, why does it make you so angry?"
"Be quiet."
"You said 'what am I supposed to be remembering' as if there was nothing to remember and it's obvious you do remember-"
"I said be QUIET."
In a flash there was a blade at his neck again.
"You act like you don't care about me," Ezra continued regardless, "but if that was true, you would've killed me by now. Or if you really hate me so much, why didn't you leave me to die in that pool?"
He looked down at his arm.
"I mean, come on," he said, "I didn't splint this myself. And you told me just now you didn't want me to die-"
"The Empire has no use for a dead Jedi," said 12. "The better shape you're in, the more purpose they'll have for you other than cannon fodder. I would say maybe they'd let you become an Inquisitor, like me, but perhaps you're a little too old for that now."
"And you're okay with that?" asked Ezra. "You don't have any problems with your higher-ups imprisoning and brainwashing children?"
"I was neither imprisoned nor brainwashed," 12 told him. "I left of my own volition and was introduced to a use of my power far greater than any kind of rebellion you hope to bring me into."
"Oh, yeah, that's pretty kriffing clear," Ezra snapped. "That patchwork body of yours sure looks like the product of a greater power."
He didn't look round again - he knew better than to provoke a lightsaber to the face - and he could feel the rage pouring from the young Inquisitor in floods upon floods, but he could tell there was something else to it.
What was that?
Regret?
Sadness?
"What you see on my body are the failures of my past," said 12, and he lowered and deactivated the sabre. "Failures that I've outgrown. That I allowed to mold me into a stronger and more powerful warrior."
"And you've never considered what they might be to you when you aren't being a warrior?" Ezra pointed out. "You can't constantly be tracking me down and trying to either kidnap or kill me!"
He looked round to stare down his captor, and saw him standing and facing away. His thin body was studded with visible bones and his bare skin was marred by scar upon painful-looking scar, which only seemed more prominent as he pulled his long hair up and restrained it with a clip.
"Looks like they hurt," the teen muttered.
12 silently pulled his vest over his head and glared down.
"You'll do well to stop murmuring," he growled. "If you have something to say to me, say it."
He picked up his trousers and shook them free of dust.
Ezra gulped.
"Doesn't it hurt?" he asked.
12 froze.
"Even my cheek still kinda stings from time to time," Ezra explained. "You've got way more scars than me. Don't they hurt?"
The Inquisitor sighed and pulled on his trousers.
"Not as much as you might think," he said. "It's nothing I can't deal with."
Frowning, Ezra got to his feet.
"You're an idiot," he said.
"I thought I told you to-"
"You're an IDIOT!"
He didn't even know what he was doing as he dived at the albino, seized him by the vest and slammed him against the wall with a worrying crunch and a billow of noxious-smelling dust.
"You were my friend for two whole years!" he shouted. "Sure, you couldn't do much, but you tried! You TRIED to help me and keep me safe! Who the kriff do you think you are if you expect me to sit here and let you throw it all back in my face?! I don't give a lothcat's ass what you say, Tsuki! I KNOW you remember me! I KNOW you know who I am! And I am NOT going to let you stand there and try to pull the wool over my eyes because I KNOW YOU CARE ABOUT ME!"
For the first time since they'd met, there was emotion in that yellow eye. Shock. Awe.
Fear.
"You wouldn't do this, Tsuki," Ezra continued. "I know you remember! You used to tell me how much the Jedi excited you, how much you wished you could be one and how much you loved your mother's stories about them. How much you hated the Empire! Why would you try to forget that? What do you think your mom would say if she saw what you'd become?!"
His left arm was screaming for him to get a grip on himself, but he didn't care; he just kept glaring with all his pent-up fury into that stark yellow eye.
All he wanted was to know why.
Why had Tsuki done this?
Why had he so willingly given in to Imperial tyranny?
Why?!
He didn't get much chance to demand more answers as the curved edge of an inactive sabre's hilt was pressed into his stomach, and he stepped away, but still didn't stop glaring.
"The rest of your clothes should be dry by now," 12 said coldly. "Put them on and stop wasting energy on running your mouth."
Ezra released a quiet sigh of hopelessness.
He didn't want to give up on Tsuki.
He didn't.
He tore his eyes away from the emotionless face and shook the dirt off his trousers.
"And I'll make sure to get medical attention for your arm once it becomes available," said 12 as he donned his belt. "Whatever you may think of me, do not let it be that I'm that cruel."
Ezra kept his face averted to hide his dismay.
'The fact that you don't know me,' he said to himself, 'is cruel enough.'
The ceiling above was unfamiliar, dark and in places looked worryingly rotten. He glanced to either side and saw a wall in an equal state of decay and a fireplace with a flickering log sitting behind an ancient-looking grate. The ground under his fingers felt soft, damp and somehow powdery.
How did he get here?
There had been a fight... a fight against an Inquisitor. And then there was a cliff... had he fallen?
"So you are still alive."
Still woozy, he pressed himself up on his elbow and looked around to find the source of the comment.
"I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."
It was a young man sitting against the door, with long white hair hanging over his shoulders and Ezra's lightsaber in one hand. He was dressed only in his underpants and frowning at the young Jedi.
Seeing him brought a flood of memories into Ezra's head. That was the person he'd been fighting. Sitting there looking down at him and holding his lightsaber. Ezra considered leaping up and rushing him, never mind how reckless it would be to attack him while unarmed, but another breeze brushed over his body and he realised, with a thrill of horror, that he was naked.
He grabbed the ragged cloth that had been draped over him and clutched it to himself.
"Did you strip me?!" he demanded.
"So you would rather I let you lie unconscious in wet clothing and develop hypothermia?" asked the Inquisitor. "Yes, I removed your clothes, but it's likely you would die if I hadn't. And let me reassure you that that's all I did. I'm not that sort of person."
Ezra rolled onto his side and started to get up. Naked or not, he wasn't going to take this.
But before he could even get on his knees, a green blade at his throat halted his progress.
"You'd better not forget which of us has the upper hand here," said the Twelfth Brother. "So settle down before you hurt yourself even more than you already have."
That single eye was still as cold and unfeeling as ever...
There really was nothing better to do. Ezra sat down and hugged his knees to his chest.
"So what now?" he asked bitterly. "Am I just meant to sit here shivering until your reinforcements arrive? I hope they bring pants."
There was a small thump as something balled up and soft hit him in the back of the head, and he took it away to discover that it was his underwear.
"Those were the first to dry," his apparent captor snapped. "Put them on and stop complaining."
This was still a less than ideal situation, but Ezra knew it would just be stupid to refuse something he obviously needed just because of who was giving it to him. He slipped the vest over his head, but a bolt of pain shot down his arm as he did so and he couldn't avoid a gasp of shock.
He looked down at it to search for a wound and was stunned to see that it had been splinted.
With cloth that had quite clearly been torn from his clothing.
He looked back at the Twelfth Brother to give him a good, solid glare, but the albino was distracted. He was looking up at the empty hole that served as a window and out at the now far gentler rain that was still pouring outside.
"I'd hoped we'd be able to move on after you woke up," he said, "but the rain still hasn't stopped. It seems we'll have to wait a little longer."
Still frowning, Ezra looked away and pulled on his underpants, and returned to hugging his knees to his chest.
He noticed that the cloth that had covered his body was ragged, and more than a little mouldy. He kicked it away in disgust and tried to wipe off any residue it might have left, but quickly stopped as another shot of pain cannoned through his body from his arm. He winced and rubbed it, hoping it might ease some of the pain away, but to no avail.
He looked back again, and saw that 12 was still patiently eyeing the window.
"I thought you liked it," Ezra muttered.
"What?" was the response.
Ezra quickly looked away. He didn't think he had spoken loud enough for the Inquisitor to hear.
"I-it's nothing," he quickly said. "It didn't mean anything, I'm sorry."
His excuse wasn't good enough. He could tell by the hum of lightsaber ignition and the heat now threatening to burn the back of his neck.
"If you have any idea what's good for you," said 12, "you'll tell me what you just said."
There really didn't seem to be any choice...
"The rain," he explained. "I thought you liked it. You told me once that you enjoyed going out in the rain because it meant you could be outside during the day without needing to to protect yourself from the sun. You didn't even care that you'd often go home sick because you got so wet and cold."
He turned back again, looking down his own blade at the enemy who held it.
"Has that changed too?" he asked. "What, do you even hate the rain now?"
"Tsuki Delilah is dead," 12 replied. "He was never even alive to begin with. I really thought you would have realised by now."
Ezra turned away again in frustration. He felt the heat disappear and heard the sound of a lightsaber deactivating.
"You asked me earlier," he said, "what you were supposed to be remembering."
He pulled a log out of the cabinet and tossed it into the fire.
"So what?" he said. "Tsuki Delilah is your evil twin or something? If he was never even alive, why do you remember that name? If it means nothing to you, why does it make you so angry?"
"Be quiet."
"You said 'what am I supposed to be remembering' as if there was nothing to remember and it's obvious you do remember-"
"I said be QUIET."
In a flash there was a blade at his neck again.
"You act like you don't care about me," Ezra continued regardless, "but if that was true, you would've killed me by now. Or if you really hate me so much, why didn't you leave me to die in that pool?"
He looked down at his arm.
"I mean, come on," he said, "I didn't splint this myself. And you told me just now you didn't want me to die-"
"The Empire has no use for a dead Jedi," said 12. "The better shape you're in, the more purpose they'll have for you other than cannon fodder. I would say maybe they'd let you become an Inquisitor, like me, but perhaps you're a little too old for that now."
"And you're okay with that?" asked Ezra. "You don't have any problems with your higher-ups imprisoning and brainwashing children?"
"I was neither imprisoned nor brainwashed," 12 told him. "I left of my own volition and was introduced to a use of my power far greater than any kind of rebellion you hope to bring me into."
"Oh, yeah, that's pretty kriffing clear," Ezra snapped. "That patchwork body of yours sure looks like the product of a greater power."
He didn't look round again - he knew better than to provoke a lightsaber to the face - and he could feel the rage pouring from the young Inquisitor in floods upon floods, but he could tell there was something else to it.
What was that?
Regret?
Sadness?
"What you see on my body are the failures of my past," said 12, and he lowered and deactivated the sabre. "Failures that I've outgrown. That I allowed to mold me into a stronger and more powerful warrior."
"And you've never considered what they might be to you when you aren't being a warrior?" Ezra pointed out. "You can't constantly be tracking me down and trying to either kidnap or kill me!"
He looked round to stare down his captor, and saw him standing and facing away. His thin body was studded with visible bones and his bare skin was marred by scar upon painful-looking scar, which only seemed more prominent as he pulled his long hair up and restrained it with a clip.
"Looks like they hurt," the teen muttered.
12 silently pulled his vest over his head and glared down.
"You'll do well to stop murmuring," he growled. "If you have something to say to me, say it."
He picked up his trousers and shook them free of dust.
Ezra gulped.
"Doesn't it hurt?" he asked.
12 froze.
"Even my cheek still kinda stings from time to time," Ezra explained. "You've got way more scars than me. Don't they hurt?"
The Inquisitor sighed and pulled on his trousers.
"Not as much as you might think," he said. "It's nothing I can't deal with."
Frowning, Ezra got to his feet.
"You're an idiot," he said.
"I thought I told you to-"
"You're an IDIOT!"
He didn't even know what he was doing as he dived at the albino, seized him by the vest and slammed him against the wall with a worrying crunch and a billow of noxious-smelling dust.
"You were my friend for two whole years!" he shouted. "Sure, you couldn't do much, but you tried! You TRIED to help me and keep me safe! Who the kriff do you think you are if you expect me to sit here and let you throw it all back in my face?! I don't give a lothcat's ass what you say, Tsuki! I KNOW you remember me! I KNOW you know who I am! And I am NOT going to let you stand there and try to pull the wool over my eyes because I KNOW YOU CARE ABOUT ME!"
For the first time since they'd met, there was emotion in that yellow eye. Shock. Awe.
Fear.
"You wouldn't do this, Tsuki," Ezra continued. "I know you remember! You used to tell me how much the Jedi excited you, how much you wished you could be one and how much you loved your mother's stories about them. How much you hated the Empire! Why would you try to forget that? What do you think your mom would say if she saw what you'd become?!"
His left arm was screaming for him to get a grip on himself, but he didn't care; he just kept glaring with all his pent-up fury into that stark yellow eye.
All he wanted was to know why.
Why had Tsuki done this?
Why had he so willingly given in to Imperial tyranny?
Why?!
He didn't get much chance to demand more answers as the curved edge of an inactive sabre's hilt was pressed into his stomach, and he stepped away, but still didn't stop glaring.
"The rest of your clothes should be dry by now," 12 said coldly. "Put them on and stop wasting energy on running your mouth."
Ezra released a quiet sigh of hopelessness.
He didn't want to give up on Tsuki.
He didn't.
He tore his eyes away from the emotionless face and shook the dirt off his trousers.
"And I'll make sure to get medical attention for your arm once it becomes available," said 12 as he donned his belt. "Whatever you may think of me, do not let it be that I'm that cruel."
Ezra kept his face averted to hide his dismay.
'The fact that you don't know me,' he said to himself, 'is cruel enough.'
O-o-O
Twilight had come by the time the rain finally came to an end, and the wet undergrowth squeaked underfoot as Ezra stepped out of their decaying shelter. He rubbed his bare arm, trying to replicate some of the warmth that had been lost with the sleeve, but it didn't do very much good.
He pulled out the comm that he'd tucked into his belt, thankful that 12 seemingly hadn't noticed or cared about it when he was busy ripping up that sleeve.
"Spectre 6 to Ghost," he said into it. "I repeat, Spectre 6 to Ghost, do you read?"
No reply. Unless a disturbingly warped static counted as a reply.
"Karabast," Ezra breathed. When he returned to base, he'd have to have a little chat about waterproofing everybody's equipment.
"You know," he called back, "I'm pretty surprised you decided not to put any binders on me."
"Your arm is broken and you have no weaponry," said 12 as he emerged with a confident smirk. "Truly, you are terrifying."
"Eheheheh," Ezra laughed sneeringly and grumbled, "Says the guy who's half blind and can't take the sun."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The smug smile gave way to an annoyed frown, and Ezra couldn't avoid a feeling of satisfaction at the sight. Only the knowledge that he would be carved in two kept him from wearing a smirk of his own.
"Start walking," commanded 12.
"Which way?" asked Ezra.
"That way." 12 pointed away from the pool that had almost claimed their lives. "I'll tell you what directions to turn in. Try any funny business and I'll cut the smile off your face."
Ezra obediently turned away from him and started to walk, and heard the rustling of leaves and squeaking of wet wood indicating that the Inquisitor was keeping pace behind him. He was tempted to just start running, get away from him as fast as possible and find help by any means necessary. The main thing keeping him from doing so was the knowledge that this jerk would immediately set off after him again, and had the rebel's lightsaber.
Then again, surely retrieving it wouldn't be too hard...
He made sure he was still facing away from 12, but focused on visualising his lightsaber. He'd built the kriffing thing and been fighting with it for months now, so it was about time he was able to picture it in his head.
It wouldn't be a good idea to close his eyes while surrounded by trees. That would be a recipe for disaster.
He opened his hand, beckoning for his weapon to jump to where he needed it most.
In a flash he caught it and switched it on, and raised it just in time to block the red blade that was swung down at his head.
"I thought I told you not to try anything!" snarled 12.
Ezra smiled.
"You know me, Tsuki," he said daringly, "I never was very good at listening to authority!"
He Forced himself backwards, winning himself a slippery landing some ten metres away from the Inquisitor, and slashed through the trunk of a tree he had landed beside. It took less concentration than he had expected to pull it down, and he quickly stepped back to avoid getting crushed.
A barrier established, he turned and ran.
He pulled out the comm that he'd tucked into his belt, thankful that 12 seemingly hadn't noticed or cared about it when he was busy ripping up that sleeve.
"Spectre 6 to Ghost," he said into it. "I repeat, Spectre 6 to Ghost, do you read?"
No reply. Unless a disturbingly warped static counted as a reply.
"Karabast," Ezra breathed. When he returned to base, he'd have to have a little chat about waterproofing everybody's equipment.
"You know," he called back, "I'm pretty surprised you decided not to put any binders on me."
"Your arm is broken and you have no weaponry," said 12 as he emerged with a confident smirk. "Truly, you are terrifying."
"Eheheheh," Ezra laughed sneeringly and grumbled, "Says the guy who's half blind and can't take the sun."
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
The smug smile gave way to an annoyed frown, and Ezra couldn't avoid a feeling of satisfaction at the sight. Only the knowledge that he would be carved in two kept him from wearing a smirk of his own.
"Start walking," commanded 12.
"Which way?" asked Ezra.
"That way." 12 pointed away from the pool that had almost claimed their lives. "I'll tell you what directions to turn in. Try any funny business and I'll cut the smile off your face."
Ezra obediently turned away from him and started to walk, and heard the rustling of leaves and squeaking of wet wood indicating that the Inquisitor was keeping pace behind him. He was tempted to just start running, get away from him as fast as possible and find help by any means necessary. The main thing keeping him from doing so was the knowledge that this jerk would immediately set off after him again, and had the rebel's lightsaber.
Then again, surely retrieving it wouldn't be too hard...
He made sure he was still facing away from 12, but focused on visualising his lightsaber. He'd built the kriffing thing and been fighting with it for months now, so it was about time he was able to picture it in his head.
It wouldn't be a good idea to close his eyes while surrounded by trees. That would be a recipe for disaster.
He opened his hand, beckoning for his weapon to jump to where he needed it most.
In a flash he caught it and switched it on, and raised it just in time to block the red blade that was swung down at his head.
"I thought I told you not to try anything!" snarled 12.
Ezra smiled.
"You know me, Tsuki," he said daringly, "I never was very good at listening to authority!"
He Forced himself backwards, winning himself a slippery landing some ten metres away from the Inquisitor, and slashed through the trunk of a tree he had landed beside. It took less concentration than he had expected to pull it down, and he quickly stepped back to avoid getting crushed.
A barrier established, he turned and ran.
O-o-O
12 stared at the tree for several seconds.
He didn't need to use the Force or even look past the tree to know that Ezra was escaping.
With his target gone, there was no point trying to continue this mission. He sheathed his weapon and sighed.
Whatever that boy had been trying to achieve was futile. Tsuki was gone. He was the Twelfth Brother now and would be until the day he died.
He was letting the rebel escape because he wanted to know what kind of opponent he might become in the future.
That was all.
'Still,' he thought to himself, 'I can't help wondering what's going to happen the next time we meet...'
He didn't need to use the Force or even look past the tree to know that Ezra was escaping.
With his target gone, there was no point trying to continue this mission. He sheathed his weapon and sighed.
Whatever that boy had been trying to achieve was futile. Tsuki was gone. He was the Twelfth Brother now and would be until the day he died.
He was letting the rebel escape because he wanted to know what kind of opponent he might become in the future.
That was all.
'Still,' he thought to himself, 'I can't help wondering what's going to happen the next time we meet...'
Wanted to write a story featuring Ezra and Inquisitor!Tsuki. Kinda inspired by Berserk, I'll admit (though obviously not the more infamous parts lol).
© 2016 - 2024 RainyMeadows
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Wow, you can really write!