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"Where are we going?" demands Scourge in exasperation, as he tries for the third or fourth time to peer around his Jedi partner and catch a glimpse of the ship's navigation console.
Caspian has deactivated the holo-map of the galaxy that normally glimmers at the front of the Defender’s bridge, and so now the console readouts are the only source of information. But the Jedi stays where he is, between Scourge and the computer, barring the view with his trim body.
“I keep telling you. It’s a surprise.” Caspian’s arms are lightly folded and he’s regarding Scourge with a pleasant, too-easy smile on his dark-skinned face - a smile which Scourge is convinced was borrowed from Kira for this specific occasion.
“I don’t like surprises,” mutters Scourge. He gives Caspian a slightly baleful look as he straightens up again, flexing his fingers restlessly; but his partner only smiles more broadly at him in reply as he shakes back the drape of his silver hair.
“I know, Scourge,” Caspian tells him in a fond voice. The Sith feels the now-familiar flutter in his chest that comes whenever the Jedi says his name; a feeling still new enough that he wants to find a way to physically hold onto it each time. “But you’ll like this one.”
Scourge huffs. “So you say,” he grumbles, unconvinced.
He’s been trying to glean what few clues he can out of the situation, trying to discern a purpose, if not an actual destination, but the Jedi is being infuriatingly opaque. He knows they cannot be headed to a fight; Caspian is dressed too comfortably, in a loose grey-blue shirt and pants, low boots, and narrow belt that’s just sturdy enough to hold his lightsaber. In similar fashion, he’d been emphatic that Scourge leave his own armour behind. Despite Scourge’s deeply-ingrained resistance to this idea, the bewildered Sith had eventually complied, and instead donned still heavy robes of crimson and bronze, which the Jedi had made a great show of straightening and adjusting as Scourge stood impatiently in front of him, struggling not to roll his eyes.
But there is little clarity to be found beyond these most obvious tells, and so Scourge has been reluctantly forced to sit back and allow his partner to steer the course of their day. Vaguely he wonders when Caspian became so adept at hiding things - but that answer, at least, is clear. The events of their years apart had done a brutally thorough job in stripping away the idealism and naivete that once hung about the Jedi like a smothering blanket. Now Caspian’s presence is like unwillingly tempered steel - worn down, yet still edged, hard to read and harder to break. Scourge would have approved of this, once - a part of him still does, proud of how far the Jedi has come - but another, quieter piece murmurs a surprising lament for the young knight with a silver gaze still wide-eyed in wonder.
A low ping from the console alerts the ship’s occupants that the craft is nearing its destination, about to drop out of hyperspace. The astromech droid plugged into one of the bridge stations trills an unneeded answer to the ship and disengages from the console socket.
“All set there, T7?” asks Caspian, half turning towards the droid, and it beeps another affirmative reply.
[T7 + ship = ready for arrival!]
“Excellent.” Caspian straightens himself and flashes another light smile at Scourge. The Sith exhales, loud enough to be pointedly audible.
“At last. Now you can tell me what this is about.”
But instead of acquiescing, the Jedi’s smile turns cheeky.
“Not quite yet.” Caspian reaches around the nearest seat, and produces a length of narrow, tight-woven grey cloth. He holds it up in both hands before his partner. “You’re still not allowed to see where we’re going.”
Scourge looks from Caspian, to what is now obviously a blindfold, and then back again, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You are joking, I hope,” he says flatly. He’s become used to the other’s sometimes teasing manner, but this is definitely testing those boundaries.
“Nope,” says Caspian cheerfully, already moving towards Scourge and then around behind him as he adds, “Trust me.”
And Scourge does trust him, more than he has trusted anyone in his more than three hundred years of life, and so all he can do is expel another exasperated breath and let his posture relax as Caspian lays the strip of cloth around his eyes. The fabric is thick, but softer than expected, and when folded in on itself obscures his vision entirely. Caspian is careful not to catch it on Scourge’s browstalks or cheek spurs as he knots the blindfold securely at the back of the Sith’s head.
“Now don’t mess with it,” Caspian admonishes. Scourge feels the other man shift against him as Caspian pushes onto his toes, leaning forward to kiss him lightly on his cheek. “No cheating.”
“This is absurd,” Scourge grouses, though he can’t deny that curiosity is beginning to overcome his misgivings.
“As opposed to everything else we’ve done?” counters Caspian, sounding amused. “You think all of those other missions weren’t insane?”
“That was different. Those tasks made sense, they had a purpose.”
“So does this.”
Scourge feels a light pat on his shoulder before Caspian drifts away. Even without his sight, so clear is the Jedi’s presence to him that he can follow it effortlessly as the other man moves ahead to the console again.
The ship shudders briefly around them as it emerges into normal space. Scourge takes a moment to realign his senses, feeling the Force as it settles back into stability beyond their vessel. It’s bright here, emanating from a world lush with life, but there is tranquillity as well. Most of all, it is unfamiliar - he knows he has never set foot upon this planet before. It makes him think this is likely a Republic-aligned world - something which has given him pause, in the past. Even travelling beside a Jedi as well-known as the Hero of Tython, the Sith had been the subject of many hostile receptions by Republic forces. He was never frightened by such displays of bravado, but they had proved to be incredibly inconvenient, as Caspian was forced to explain, over and over, that his companion was not the threat he appeared to be. Not to them, anyway.
But such incidents are things of the past. And Scourge knows that Caspian would not bring him into probable danger unprepared, let alone blindfolded.
There is no transmission from the surface asking for the ship’s identification, or granting them clearance to land, which only reinforces Scourge’s theory that Caspian must be known here. The Sith shifts his stance against the bridge’s floor plating, feeling the subtle changes in pressure as the ship descends through the planet’s atmosphere and alights upon the surface. The dark void of space has given way to the sense of something brighter - daylight, Scourge assumes, though what sort remains a mystery to him.
The reverberations of the landing die away, and Caspian’s voice sounds again. “Alright, T7, go on,” the Jedi orders amiably.
T7-01 chirrups, and Scourge hears the astromech trundle past him towards the exit. “Where is he going?” he asks, his head turning automatically to follow the path of the droid. For an idle moment he wonders when he started to think of the droid as ‘he’, instead of ‘it’ - as something more than a machine. The influence of years spent with two Jedi, no doubt.
“I gave him something to take care of, ahead of time,” replies Caspian unhelpfully, as the sound of the descending exit ramp echoes from below.
“What ‘something’? Ahead of what? ” Scourge faces the Jedi again and glares with as much of his face as possible, but his partner only chuckles.
“You’ll see.”
“Will I? ” asks Scourge, his voice heavy and sardonic.
Caspian laughs again, a short but vibrant sound. “Eventually. I promise.” He steps up beside the Sith. “Now come on. D’you need a hand, or can you manage?”
“Don’t patronise me, Jedi,” Scourge snips back loftily. “I know my way.”
And he does. After years aboard the Corellian vessel, he knows it as well as Caspian does, and his tread is sure as he pivots in the unnatural darkness and descends from the bridge; disdaining handholds as he finds every shallow step, avoids every stumble-inciting lip of metal without any need for thought.
Caspian follows close behind him. Despite continued efforts to hide it, Scourge can sense the Jedi’s heightening anticipation. It’s an odd feeling - an excitement not born of adrenaline, but eager all the same. The tension of waiting for just the right moment.
“Scourge,” says Caspian quickly, as the Sith reaches the top of the stairs leading down to the hatch. “Do you remember what you said to me on Corellia, the first time we were there together?” There’s a heartbeat’s hesitation before he goes on. “What you missed most about being mortal?”
Scourge pauses, arrested in his steps by the unexpected question. “Yes,” he answers slowly. “I spoke of all the sensations that were no longer mine….”
It isn’t a conversation he is likely to forget. It was there, in a moment’s respite before the plunge into Corellia’s war-torn cityscape, that he’d first become consciously aware of the bond that had formed between himself and the young Jedi to whom he had pledged his loyalty. A bond no longer fashioned simply by the Force, but by the time they had spent together. He had allowed himself, for just an instant, to be vulnerable, to speak of all he had lost in his vow to save the galaxy from the Emperor’s diabolical intentions. And he had seen the pang, the pity, in Caspian’s eyes. Sensed the quickening of his companion’s heart as a faint but obvious warmth blossomed over Caspian’s yet unlined face. And even lacking the ability to truly feel, he’d known then that this journey together had suddenly become much, much more complicated.
The feel of sunlight on my skin….
The scent of favourite foods….
The colour of my first love’s eyes….
“That’s right,” says Caspian now. He’s drawn up beside Scourge as he speaks. He takes the Sith’s hand firmly, tenderly in his own, and begins leading his partner down the steps.
A flurry of fresh, clear air wafts up at them as they descend onto the boarding ramp. It widens Scourge’s nostrils and sends a shiver across his skin, and it’s a curiously profound thing, after the sterile atmosphere of the ship, to suddenly find his lungs filling with the tang of sun-kissed snow.
Caspian tugs him forward, another few downturned steps, until the boots of both men are no longer clunking against durasteel, but muffled within what seem to be waves of grass. “You told me,” he continues, “that to experience those pleasures again -”
“- would be worth anything,” finishes Scourge, in a voice that’s turned suddenly hoarse on him. He grips hard at Caspian’s hand, his breath catching for reasons he can’t discern as his darkened world gives a dizzying jolt.
“That’s why I brought you here,” says Caspian softly. He reaches for Scourge’s other hand now, grasping them both at once. Reassuring him. “To show you that all those years… all that pain… for both of us… it was worth it.”
Scourge feels the Jedi pulling at him again, one man’s backward steps that draw the other forward. “Come with me, Scourge,” Caspian says, a quiet smile in his tone, and obediently the Sith follows the siren call of his touch and his voice. His movements feel oddly clumsy now, his vision blinded, his emotions heightened by uncertain memory; but he paces after his partner, allowing Caspian to guide him.
And suddenly they are out from under the shadow of the ship, and a flood of warmth is bathing Scourge’s skin. He shudders to an abrupt halt, and lifts his face into the sharp sunlight, and after a moment his hands follow, unweaving from Caspian’s own so that he can turn his palms upward before him.
“Don’t think about seeing right now, Scourge,” Caspian urges him gently. “Just listen, and taste, and smell, and feel. Because you can do all of those things again.”
He can. Scourge drags in a great breath of a mountain breeze, opening his mouth as well this time, so that the cold edge cuts across his tongue before searing down his throat, and he wonders how even the water here could possibly taste as good as the air does. He knows there is water nearby; he can hear it across the stillness of these surroundings, murmuring its way between rocks and roots before tumbling away into some distant valley.
He pulls back the sleeves of his robes, exposing more of his skin to the sunlight. Though the air overall is temperate, he is shivering. But it’s a reaction born of yearning and moulded by delight; he can feel it pin-pricking in eager pimples down his arms as he turns them this way and that, and he spreads his hands wider as though to catch the sun's rays and let them flow between his fingers like liquid gold.
“Yes,” he rasps out. “I can… feel. ”
He has of course felt sunlight since his senses returned, and has heard water, and breathed fresh air. But there is a purity here that he has not found on other worlds, and the careful obstruction of his sight is making him so much more conscious of his other senses. He is hyper-aware of everything around him - from the steady presence of the Jedi standing before him, and the tang of sap wafting from a nearby cluster of fir trees, to the low call of some wild creature rising above the endless rustle of the grass about his feet - with a clarity he can barely comprehend. He can’t help but entertain the notion that if he were suddenly to find himself blinded for good - there might actually be some advantage to it, to experience life from such a new perspective.
He senses Caspian still watching him. The other man is transfixed, it seems, by the sight of the Sith awash in sunlight, but Scourge pays the scrutiny little mind. He sinks to his knees within the silken sea of grass, running his hands through it in the same way his fingers will comb through Caspian’s hair when they are alone. The blades are sharp yet yielding against his skin, their narrow tips warm and then growing colder in their shadows against the earth. He finds flowers here too, knobbly buds that catch between the crooks of his fingers and bump lightly against his forearms as their existence is disturbed.
There is so much brightness here, so much life. This, he realises, is the Force as the Jedi know it, the harmony of simple existence; and to a being such as Scourge - shaped by darkness, and emptiness, and pain - the sheer gentleness that flows around him, and through him, is overwhelming. Almost before he notices, the cloth around his eyes is damp with salt, and then he is spread out across the fluttering grass, weeping for an instant, and then laughing, certain that nothing before has ever given him such a strange joy, except perhaps his love for the Jedi who has brought him here.
“I can feel,” he declares again, into the most brilliant darkness he has ever known. “I can feel everything.”
He rolls onto his back, his robes tangled about his legs, and feels the sunlight on his face again, hardening the tears that have seeped out across his cheeks. Close above him, Caspian’s elated presence is a blazing sun in its own right. Scourge stretches out, reaching up for the Jedi with his bared arms still tingling with warmth.
“Let me feel you, Jedi,” he says fervently.
Laughing, Caspian submits to his partner’s eager embrace, folding his body down against the Sith and settling upon him, and soon Scourge’s sightless touch is tracing purposely over the other man’s features. The smooth rise of his cheekbones, the clean angle of his jaw, the straight, flat plane of his brow down the bridge of his nose and the full lips still parted in laughter. Scourge knows every detail of the Jedi’s face; they were burning in his mind long before Caspian ever drew breath. But to touch that face, to feel every contour of his bones, every stretch of his muscles and skin as they express all that the Jedi feels inside, is to know it with a far deeper intimacy. And though Scourge has done just that many times now, it still feels so new. Even more so in this moment, when feeling is all he can do.
Intent on his exploration, Scourge shifts his fingers farther back. He finds each rounded bead threaded through the Jedi’s hair, and then the heavier cylindrical ornament that hangs near Caspian’s cheek, so much like the jewellery that adorns his own chin stalks. It says that they are bonded - that this Jedi is an immutable part of him.
“How do I feel, Scourge?” asks Caspian, a grin in his voice as he speaks around the broad thumb that returns to brush along his lower lip.
“Beautiful,” breathes Scourge, and he pulls his partner down so that their mouths can meet.
They kiss ardently for moment after rapturous moment, as the sun cascades across their languid forms and the breeze tinges their tongues with whispers of this world’s forgotten places. Scourge drinks deeply of it all, feeling the Force’s bright, unfamiliar embrace like an echo of Caspian’s own. He is tasting what the light has to offer, and though he knows he will never find rest in its touch, for a little while he can find peace.
At length Caspian draws back. His hand seeks out Scourge’s, and tugs insistently at him even as he lifts away and gets to his feet again. Though reluctant to break the spell of the moment, Scourge sits up, his nostrils still heavy with the scent of the grass.
“Come on,” says Caspian eagerly. “We’ve got a little bit of a walk.”
“When can I see this place?” asks Scourge. He has a rough feel of the planet now; but lacking the full scope of his senses for so long has ingrained in him a reliance on his eyes, as well as the Force, to give him the truth of his surroundings.
“Soon,” Caspian assures him. “Not quite yet - but soon.”
And so they walk - strolling hand in hand down a long slope that seems to unfurl endlessly before them. With Caspian’s prompting, Scourge describes what he can sense of the world around them. It’s awkward at first, a recitation of the obvious, things that not so long ago would have meant nothing to him. But Caspian encourages him, and takes clear delight in every new observation by the Sith - a sound, a scent, a sensation - and before long Scourge’s enthusiasm returns. He speaks as though the Jedi has no senses of his own; he tells his partner how the squeak of his boots across the grass sounds just like a mouse droid with one of its servos stuck, and regales him with the startling contrast of splaying his hands across a spur of sun-warmed stone and then finding a pocket of snow still sunk stubbornly into a cold crevice. And he’s surprised to discover that he’s not only doing it for Caspian’s benefit - he’s enjoying speaking of these things for himself. Relishing what feels like a new power over his own existence.
So lost does Scourge become in the thriving stimulation of his senses that he hardly notices how the earth has levelled off, and how the rush of nearby water has grown deeper and more layered, until Caspian gives another pull on his hand and brings him to a halt. Automatically he turns towards the Jedi, his head canted in question.
“Alright, Scourge. Now you can see.” Caspian circles round behind him again, and Scourge feels the man's fingers loosening the blindfold’s knot. “Blink a bit, though, it’s going to be bright.”
The cloth falls from Scourge’s face as Caspian draws it away. The sudden transition into daylight is almost unbearable. Scourge wants to instinctively clap his hands across his gaze again, but stubbornly he makes himself endure the brightness as it beats against his eyelids; and then at last, trembling, he opens them.
His first glimpse of this place is little more than a blur, rippling shapes against a searing blue sky. He squeezes his eyes shut again for an instant, forcing the water from his gaze and onto his cheeks, blinking hard, and then tries again. As the world comes into focus, his breath catches.
They are standing in a vast mountain meadow, an ocean of golden grass that turns verdant as it climbs into the shadows of the crags. Snow-dusted conifers are clustered around dark croppings of tumbled rock that jut up from the grass like ancient sea creatures emerging from the depths. Nearby, the meadow rolls and spills into a swift river, the sun glimmering across water as blue as the cloud-scudded sky above.
The intensity of all these colours - gold-swept in the open spaces, settling into shades of cool cobalt where the sun cannot reach - is enough to wring the heart of a Sith who was so long denied such beauty. But as he tilts his head back further, Scourge is caught most of all by the impossibly immense structure rising up from the far side of the river. It must be a bridge, he thinks, or at least it was; now it is a broken span of stone silhouetted against the azure sky. He can’t fathom how high it must be, and yet the air is so clear he feels as though he could reach out and effortlessly press his palm to the carved and pitted surface.
“What is it?” he breathes, and finds that he’s stretched out a hand regardless, following the heavy lines of one of the massive stone pillars. He is no small being himself, and has seen many imposing works left behind by the ancient Sith, yet he feels briefly, oddly humbled next to this deceptively simple creation.
“The Elysium,” answers Caspian. “This is Alderaan.” His smile is touched with his own quiet wonder as he too looks up to consider the structure. “I felt the same way when I first saw it.”
He leans lightly against Scourge’s shoulder for a moment, a seemingly unconscious motion, just enjoying being so near the Sith. He goes on, “The nobles of Alderaan built it millennia ago as a place where they could get together and peacefully resolve their problems.”
Scourge’s browstalks quirk in surprise. “Such tremendous effort, such a grand structure - all for a place to simply talk?” He pulls his still-watery eyes from the magnificent view and glances down at his partner. “That seems something of a misdirected effort.”
Caspian shrugs, and his smile turns crooked. “Maybe,” he concedes. “But Alderaan’s always been very serious about a peaceful existence. Not every monument has to be built in the name of war, Scourge. Peace… is its own kind of triumph.”
Long ago, a young and ambitious Sith Lord named Scourge would have dismissed this with a scathing expulsion of breath. But since then he has seen many wars, across cities and star systems; seen the conflicts that carve through the course of history and through the hearts of those who shape it. And he knows which of these will leave the most bitter taste behind.
“So you say,” he grants now, with a hum of consideration. “But I doubt we will ever truly agree on this point.”
Scourge knows that he will always be a warrior, will always fight to take his destiny in his own hands, even in the guise of following a fate that appears pre-ordained. It is the most basic tenet of being Sith - to break the bonds set upon one’s existence, and forge them into a weapon of one’s own wielding. It’s a lesson he’s passed on to Caspian, and over the years he’s seen his partner learn to take heed of it. But in turn, Caspian has offered his own views to the Sith, and Scourge has come to appreciate, if not truly accept, the moments of peace that come to him as he stands beside the Jedi.
“Probably not,” Caspian admits, with a lighter chuckle. He gives Scourge’s arm a quick squeeze, and jerks his chin towards the ruined span far above them. “D’you want to go up there?”
The idea is an immediately enticing one - to stand in a place almost as high as the peaks that surround them, and look out across the brilliant planet below. Scourge nods emphatically, then pauses as a technicality interferes.
“How?” he questions. “Do you have another craft waiting nearby?”
“Sort of.” Caspian grins. It’s the same look that heralded the blindfold, which makes Scourge instantly suspicious of the Jedi’s intentions. “I’ll show you.”
He turns and sets off at a brisk trot down the slope towards the river. Scourge hastily wipes at his eyes again and follows, still breathing deeply of the crystalline air, listening to the whisper of his robes through the grass and unable to keep his gaze from roaming over the landscape’s jewel-bright colours.
Caspian leads him to one of the larger outcroppings of stone that line the riverbank, dropping down into a wide hollow hidden at the water’s edge. The ‘craft’ tethered there is not a craft at all, but some species of flying animal - surprisingly fish-like, with smooth grey skin, a rounded head and long waving tail, but instead of fins it boasts broad triangular wings that hold it hovering less than a metre off the ground. A saddle of sorts is harnessed to its back, and the creature is large enough to carry several humanoids with apparent ease.
Caspian murmurs something to the beast as he approaches, giving it several slow pats on its nose. It seems placid enough, its wings undulating slowly; but Scourge still eyes it cautiously as he moves after the Jedi.
“Here’s our ride,” Caspian tells him, turning to give the Sith a blithe grin over his shoulder. “The Alderaanians don’t like too many ships and speeders clogging up the air here, so they use thrantas as transport.”
Scourge sighs - quite patiently, he thinks. “There are some Sith,” he points out, “who have an affinity for speaking and working with beasts. I, however, am not one of them.”
“I’m very aware of that, Scourge,” replies Caspian, with a coughing little laugh. “Remember when you stumbled into that ginx breeding ground? They’re not even aggressive, but the mother still must have chased you around there for twenty minutes -”
“I don’t need to be reminded of that, Jedi,” Scourge interrupts pointedly. It had not been one of his finer moments.
“Sorry.” Caspian muffles the tail end of his amusement in his hand, but then insists, “It was funny.”
“If you are quite finished, Caspian -”
“I am, I am. I promise.”
Caspian pulls himself up into the saddle with apparent ease, his body smoothly compensating for the continued motion of the thranta’s wings. It’s obvious that this is not his first experience with these beasts. He settles himself, then twists and extends a hand to Scourge. His smile is clear and eager, and once again it makes Scourge’s heart swell with affection, dispelling whatever irritation he might have felt over the man’s teasing.
Stepping over, he grasps his partner’s hand, and with some definite awkwardness he clambers into the saddle behind Caspian. He’s still rather dubious, but as he adjusts his robes, the Sith finds that the movement of their mount is astonishingly smooth.
Caspian checks that Scourge is settled behind him, and faces the river again. “I have just one piece of advice for you when you're riding a thranta,” he says cheerfully, taking up the simple reins.
“Which is?”
“Don’t fall off.”
Scourge doesn’t have time to offer a sardonic rebuttal before Caspian nudges the thranta into the air. The Sith swiftly grabs at the Jedi in front of him, holding tightly to Caspian’s waist, and an instant later they are away.
In a galaxy that’s known air travel for millennia, speeding through the skies of a planet is so commonplace as to be mundane. But Scourge can’t remember when - perhaps if - he’s flown without the steady hum and vibrations of a machine beneath his feet. There’s something exhilarating about the strangely quiet rush of air that threatens to steal his breath, the surprisingly smooth glide of the thranta below the scattered clouds. Like if he closed his eyes again, he might forget that he is held aloft only by the strength of the creature beneath him.
His sleeves billow and snap as the thranta bears the two men with surprising speed up towards the crumbled edge of the Elysium’s bridge. Scourge slips his hands further around his partner, feeling the man’s warmth as the cool wind sends shivers across his body. Caspian glances back for an instant, still wearing the same broad, eager smile that lights up his eyes as well as his lips. The Jedi is often so sombre, but here and now his excitement is infectious, and Scourge smiles back, wide and genuine with his own delight.
The thranta comes to rest on the ancient span of the Elysium, back where the broken stone becomes more secure and there are no gaping cracks that would threaten to crumble further under an unexpected weight. Scourge dismounts quickly; despite his conceded appreciation for this new experience, he still prefers the surety and control of piloting a ship. Caspian follows suit, hopping down and tethering their mount to a fallen piece of stone. There will be no other way down if the creature decides to fly off.
With the thranta secure, Caspian quickly puts himself at Scourge’s side again, slipping his smaller hand into the Sith’s large one. It’s turned into an instinct for the Jedi, and it had taken Scourge a while to become accustomed to it, the feeling of such a simple yet intimate gesture. But now holding hands pleases him almost as much as it does his partner, and so he gives the other man’s fingers a gentle squeeze. An unspoken affirmation of their affections.
The air is colder up here, wafting from the not too distant peaks that surround the valley, and the clouds feel close. Scourge’s robes flutter about him as he picks his way nearer to the broken edge of the bridge.
“Don’t fall off this, either,” Caspian advises him lightly, following close behind with their hands still clasped together; but Scourge’s steps are easy and sure, undaunted by the long drop of emptiness visible between the crumbling stones.
Almost at the very edge, the Sith pauses, balancing on a worn protrusion where twisted metal supports show through like exposed bones. The view from his perch is breathtaking. The valley below is a rolling gradient of green and gold - nearly the same colour as Caspian’s lightsaber, he thinks - scattered with the tiny spurs of darker trees and dotted with patches of snow. To the west, the river is a glittering ribbon of blue, wending its way towards a small and distant sea. And all around the mountains rise up, stretching their icy shoulders towards the clouds. They are not the jagged, aggressive peaks of other worlds he has seen; these are ancient and calm, their crags weathered and their tempers steady with the passage of aeons.
“Magnificent,” Scourge breathes. He squints a bit as he slowly turns his head. The sun is so bright here, the air so clear, that his eyes are stinging - but it’s a good sort of pain. The pain of feeling, at long last, alive.
“It is. See that?” Caspian points ahead to a many-tiered, sprawling structure that hugs the base of the mountains towards the far end of the valley. The domes of its silver towers shine in the sunlight. “That’s Castle Organa.”
Scourge hums lightly, shading his eyes to give a more considering look towards the castle. “An impressive fortification,” he comments. “Is that where the droid has gone?”
“No.” Caspian smiles and gives him a nudge, his angular shoulder pushing lightly against Scourge’s broad one. “Stop trying to figure out what’s going to happen. Live in the moment, enjoy where you are right now. Just for today.”
Scourge breathes in and wafts it out again, and smiles down at the Jedi in reply. “I am,” he assures him. “But you can’t blame me for being curious.”
He turns another lingering look out across the tranquil beauty of Alderaan, and after a moment he comments pensively, “I feel… very small up here, Jedi. I’m not sure I like it.”
Caspian cants his head with a curious glance at the Sith. “I find it sort of comforting, actually,” he says. “Knowing that I’m only a tiny piece of a great tapestry. Makes me feel less like the weight of the entire galaxy is on my shoulders.”
“I can know this without wishing to feel diminished by it,” argues Scourge, though his tone is mild. He closes his eyes for a moment, lifting his face towards the sun again. “But it is… beautiful, all the same.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” murmurs Caspian, giving Scourge’s hand another slow squeeze.
Somehow this takes the Sith by surprise, and he blinks his eyes open again, glancing down at his partner before a slow, fond smile widens his face. He had never considered himself in such terms before Caspian; beauty, like so many other things, had been a concept mostly lost to him. But now he is learning to see through Caspian’s eyes as well as his own, and while objectively the Jedi’s tastes are… questionable, refuting them is the last thing Scourge intends to do.
He bends his head and presses a soft kiss to Caspian’s brow. “Show me the rest of this place, Caspian,” he requests lowly. The Jedi leans into him again, just for a moment, then turns and tugs him back towards the sturdier parts of the bridge.
They spend some time exploring the broken remnants of the Elysium - passing through cracked archways and strolling by silent fountains with just a few centimetres of water left lingering in their wells from the last rain. It is so quiet here, with only the sigh of a lamenting wind to accompany their slow footfalls across the uneven stone.
There were vaults here, once, Caspian explains, a note of melancholy sombering his voice, vaults that held many ancient treasures of Alderaan and its people. Now the sunlight descends past roofless walls and hollows out the once safe havens for those relics, glimmering off nothing but ice and snow. Even the earth has begun the inevitable reclamation of what was long ago hewn from its flesh, as sharp trees push up in the courtyards, buckling the mortared stone, their new roots far stronger than alliances now forgotten.
Meandering from Caspian’s side, Scourge breathes deeply of the snow-touched air, and allows his senses to drift. He brushes his hand across the cold indents of stonework as he wanders, pausing whenever he finds a dapple of shadows on the sunlit walls, watching the pattern as it shifts every time the wind shivers through a tree nearby. Each occasional sound seems amplified here against the stillness - the rustle of the conifer needles, the low crunch of his boots upon the ice, a mournful whistle as the wind turns just the right way to catch itself within a crack in the stone. And then the sounds die away, and Scourge finds himself pausing again, watching the faint cloud of his breath dissipating into the silence.
At length the stillness is interrupted by the light chime of Caspian’s comm unit. The Jedi checks his wrist, taps it once, then swivels around towards Scourge, who is already watching him expectantly from across the courtyard.
“Ready to move on?” the Jedi asks easily.
Scourge nods, though he’s regarding Caspian with a keen eye, still trying in vain to read his partner and discern what is clearly the next step in a day already planned.
“Move on to where?” he replies pointedly, even knowing that he won’t receive a proper answer.
“Not far,” says Caspian coyly. Scourge shakes his head and feigns a grumble as the two men begin making their way back to the tethered thranta’s position.
Their second flight is a bit longer than before; under Caspian’s gentle guidance the thranta bears them from the Elysium’s edge and along the course of the river. Scourge finds it easier to relax this time, allowing his posture to shift with the creature’s movements instead of stiffening against them. The change doesn’t escape Caspian’s notice, because as their mount banks around a broad cluster of trees, the Jedi turns his head back and offers a crooked grin.
“See? I knew you’d get the hang of it. I’ll make a professional thranta rider of you yet.”
“I can’t imagine you believe that to be one of my life’s ambitions,” Scourge tells him patiently, and the Jedi gives a light laugh that’s snatched away by the rush of the wind.
The thranta comes to rest in another sunlit glade, farther upriver where the water flows less frantically as it passes by. This time, once their feet have found the grass again, Caspian simply allows the beast to soar away, his offered explanation being, “We can walk now. It’ll find its way back to its home roost.”
Once again he joins his hand automatically with Scourge’s, and leads him down a shallow slope through the waving grass. Within moments, one of the Sith’s questions is finally answered.
T7-01 is nowhere in sight, but it’s clear the droid had been busy here, because laid out beside the murmuring river is an expansive picnic. There are several sturdy blankets in bright hues spread across the grass, complete with matching pillows, and on top of these lies a feast as much for the eyes as for the tongue. Dish after dish of perfectly arranged food, fruits and meats and breads and everything in between, some familiar but many unknown. There are several bottles as well, with small glasses waiting beside them. And in the middle of it all a small placard on a stand, like those found on a restaurant table, printed with ‘RESERVED’ and underneath, ‘Caspian and Scourge’. On closer inspection, someone - and Scourge suspects the droid - has doodled a tiny heart between the two names.
“I hope you’re hungry,” says Caspian with a grin, gesturing grandly with his free hand.
Scourge can only stare for a few moments. “The two of us are not going to finish all of this,” he says, taken aback, though in truth his stomach is grumbling hollowly at the sight of such a spread. It’s another thing he’s still getting used to - a hunger for food rather than fuel. The honest desire to eat, not simply eating because his body requires it.
“We don’t have to,” Caspian assures him. “That’s not the point. I just wanted you to have the chance to experience different tastes. Now that you can appreciate them again.”
“That is… very thoughtful of you, Jedi.” Scourge wets his lips and then smiles, feeling slightly overwhelmed by it all. “All of this, everything you’ve done today. I - thank you.”
Caspian looks quite pleased with himself as he tugs the Sith over to the blankets to take a seat. “I don’t really know what you like,” he confesses, sounding a bit sheepish. “You never cared, before, you always just ate what was there. So I got a little bit of everything.”
Scourge lifts the hem of his robes out of the way as he sinks to his knees and takes a better look at the offerings. The scents rising around him are full and enticing - the fresh tang of ripe jogan fruit, the pull of a dark, unidentified roast that’s been heavily seasoned, a plate of small round cakes so sweet that Scourge can almost taste the sugar even half a metre away.
He shakes his head in quiet marvel, and finds himself chuckling lightly. “You are something else, Jedi. I don’t know which is more impressive - that you arranged all of this, or that you did so without my knowing.”
“It wasn’t easy,” Caspian admits. “You’ve barely left my side since we got to Odessen. Which,” he adds quickly, as Scourge glances over in budding consternation, “isn’t a complaint. I want you with me.” He gives a faint, rueful laugh. “Maybe more often than is practical, honestly. But that’s okay. It just made all of this a little more challenging, is all.”
Scourge nods, his flare of uncertainty quickly assuaged, replaced by a fullness that fills his chest as he regards Caspian. It’s remarkable, the effect those few simple words can have on him. I want you with me. And it’s a want that is fervently, desperately, endlessly reciprocated. Even an hour apart from the Jedi leaves him feeling restless and unanchored, bringing a needy ache to his heart. Perhaps, he thinks, such things settle with time; but he has little experience to guide him here. All he knows is that when he is with Caspian, he feels complete. He is home.
Glancing over the bottles nearby, Scourge catches sight of a familiar pyramid-shaped vessel, its contents such a dark burgundy as to be almost black. His brow lifts as he leans over and picks up the bottle, turning it to examine the label.
“This is Kaasi wine,” he says in mild disbelief. “From the northern vineyards, no less. Where did you get this? Beniko?”
Caspian looks up from where he’s already slicing off several pieces from a loaf of pale bread. “Oh, that’s from Khel,” he explains. “You remember him? Your sort-of replacement as the Emperor’s Wrath? Though I think he’s the ‘Empire’s Hand’ these days.”
Scourge frowns faintly as he recalls. “The Mirialan. Yes. He sent this to you?”
Caspian nods. “Before the war started up again, of course,” he tacks on, sounding sad for a moment. “He was with the Alliance for a while, and then he decided to go back to the Empire. I tried to get him to stay, but… he said he needed to go home. Anyway, I expect Lana still has an eye on him. She might even be in touch with him, I know she’s always keeping tabs on what’s going on in the Empire.”
Scourge unstoppers the bottle of wine and breathes lightly of the fumes that waft free. “A fine gift,” he says approvingly. “It brings back memories of my time with Darth Nyriss on Dromund Kaas. She always kept the cellars of her enclave well-stocked with the finest spirits.”
Caspian cants his head, leaning forward a bit in curiosity, the way he always does when Scourge speaks of his past. “That was before you became the Emperor’s Wrath, right?” he prompts.
“Yes,” Scourge confirms. He pulls two glass tumblers over and pours a generous measure of wine into each.
“So back when you still had your senses and emotions. When you could still enjoy things.”
“Yes,” says Scourge again, with a dip of his head. He holds out one of the glasses to his partner, and smiles. “But even then… it was never like this. You make all of this - special.”
The Jedi blushes, ducking his head over the glass as he accepts it. “I’m trying,” he concedes, with a slight laugh. He considers his wine, then looks up again.
“Do you miss it?” he asks Scourge, his voice earnest. “The Empire? The way Khel did?”
Scourge doesn’t answer right away, but he does pause, turning the question over in his mind as he unhurriedly re-corks the bottle and sets it down on the blanket beside him.
“I have never known the Empire of today, in the way he did,” he replies at last, with a low hum of thought. “As the Wrath, I was always so far removed from the daily life of the Empire. I did not venture out into the galaxy except to enact the Emperor’s will.” He gives a slow shake of his head. “The Sith do not change, but the Empire I knew, the Empire I was raised in - it was different. And it is dead. And perhaps I should mourn it - but I find myself unable to do so, when I’ve been led to a far better place at your side, Jedi.” He smiles at Caspian. “Even if given the chance - I would not wish to go back.”
Caspian smiles in return, pleased with this answer. “I’m glad,” he tells the Sith softly. “I’m so glad you’re here, Scourge.”
“You’ve yet to touch your wine, and already you’re getting sentimental on me, Jedi?” Scourge purses his lips, a futile attempt to hide his own fond smirk.
Caspian laughs again. “Absolutely,” he answers, without shame.
Scourge huffs and shakes his head. “I thought we were going to eat, not talk,” he points out, gesturing with his glass to the array of food around them.
“Right, yes, eating.” Caspian nods and takes a hurried sip of his wine - a mistake, as he’s forced to pause for a moment and process the flavour, which Scourge knows from experience to be quite a bit more potent than similar human beverages. The Jedi smacks his lips and blinks his widened eyes.
“Wow, that’s - strong. Phew. If I drink more than a glass of that you’ll probably need to carry me back to the ship.”
Scourge sips easily at his own wine, relishing the familiar taste, and lifts a browstalk at Caspian. “It would not be the first time,” he says smoothly. “I seem to recall you were in a similar state on Makeb.”
“I was not,” says Caspian defensively, then amends, “Not really. ”
“You couldn’t walk, Jedi.”
“I could!” Caspian fiddles with his glass, and blushes again. “I just… it was the only way I could get you to carry me. If I pretended.”
With a faint doubletake, Scourge lowers his glass again and stares at Caspian. “You… deceived me?” he says incredulously. He feels almost outraged, that the then-naive Jedi had managed such a thing. “You tricked me into bringing you back to the ship?”
“In my defence, I was a bit drunk.”
Scourge continues to stare at him, as he inhales slowly and releases it again.
“You are lucky, Jedi,” he says, quite evenly, “that I came around to you in the end.”
“I know,” says Caspian, lowering his eyes contritely, even as a smile still lurks on his lips.
Scourge huffs again and shakes his head. “I am not carrying you this time,” he tells Caspian matter-of-factly. “I will put you on the nearest thranta and let it take you where it wishes.”
He watches as Caspian pretends to look hurt by this, but the Jedi can’t maintain the illusion for more than a few moments before his grin returns. “That seems fair,” he concedes. “Here, catch -“
Caspian whips a slice of bread at him like a discus, and Scourge catches it without effort, though the heavy grip of his fingers nearly pushes through the porous texture. The Jedi then offers out a knife and a small jar.
“Bantha butter?”
The descending angle of the sun gradually nudges soft shadows across the picnic site as Jedi and Sith partake of their feast. Scourge has never explored such a wide range of foods, from all across the galaxy, and each new taste brings a little jolt of astonishment. There are savoury meats from Onderon, a traditional Mirialan salad, and a noodle-like dish from the low dives of Rishi with other contents that are not immediately identifiable, but spicy enough that a single bite sets the Sith’s eyes to watering. Caspian shows him where to prise open the rind of a rock-hard melon to get at the purple flesh inside, and then grins when Scourge’s strong fingers manage it with far less effort than his own. The two share a plate of delicate yet fragrant cheeses, followed by sweet cakes and bitter glazed sticks, and it’s all washed down with Kaasi wine, or fizzy vegetable juice, or clear water that Caspian draws straight from the river next to them into a narrow pitcher.
At last they can eat no more. Scourge emits a soft groan and lies back on a patch of blanket still warmed by the sun. He closes his eyes, basking. More than his belly feels full and sated; his very being is swollen with it, relaxed and unburdened and happy to sprawl back like a predator after the success of the hunt.
Caspian flops down beside him, and then tries to snuggle himself on top of Scourge, but the Sith groans again in protest and pushes him back.
“Mmm - not now, Jedi, I am too full.”
“Ohhh, alright.” Caspian grudgingly retreats, propping himself up on one elbow instead as he regards his partner. “How are you feeling now?” he asks easily. “Besides stuffed.”
Scourge allows his eyes to flutter open again, and swivels them towards the Jedi. “I am… content,” he says at length, and to his own astonishment he finds he means it. He smiles as he goes on, “I thank you, Caspian. This has been a… a wondrous day.”
“You’re welcome.” Caspian smiles as well, leaning in for a moment to kiss Scourge’s cheek. “It has for me, too. Seeing you like this. Feeling you like this.”
Scourge gives a pensive nod. He stretches languidly, then folds his arms behind his head and gazes up at the brilliant sky, where the white clouds are slowly turning to cream as the afternoon fades.
“I have waited centuries to feel this way again,” he says, with that quiet wonder now husking through his voice. “Perhaps, all this time… I was waiting for you.” His lips quirk softly. “I cannot remember ever feeling so… at peace.”
Caspian cants his head further into his hand, his smile tugging to one side in the particular way that always looks so endearing to the Sith. “What d’you think, Scourge?” he teases lightly. “Was it worth the wait?”
Scourge turns his head towards the Jedi as his own smile broadens. In spite of a stomach still disinclined to move, he levers himself up, enough to slip a hand around the back of Caspian’s head and pull him close. They share an ardent yet tender kiss, before Scourge draws back to meet his partner’s shining gaze.
“Without a doubt, my love,” he breathes, and never has he meant it so much, as right now.
Caspian’s smile could light an entire solar system. “I love you too,” he murmurs. He kisses Scourge again before lying back properly, though he still keeps snug against the Sith.
“Let’s just stay here a while. The rest of the galaxy can wait.” Caspian laughs a little. “We’ve done our share of that, it’s their turn now.”
Scourge rumbles his quiet approval of this idea. “Yes,” he agrees. “I’d like to stay. Not forever,” he adds, reaching for Caspian’s hand and wrapping it in his own. He knows that he could never live in such tranquillity, if it were endless. “But… for a while.”
“A while with you is long enough, right now,” murmurs Caspian, letting out a happy sigh. And try as he might, Scourge can think of no argument against this.