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ladyofleithianDisclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: Hope this lives up to your expectations!
When the Separatists had let Sidious’ apprentice into their bunker, they had no idea what they were truly in for. If anything, Gunray had had an itching feeling that something was going to go wrong, but he had brushed it off as nervousness. And if anything else, he was eager to collect whatever reward Sidious was going to offer – they had suffered enough, after all. And they’d done what they had said, and –
But the moment Acheron had closed the doors behind him using the Force and removed his hood, Gunray already knew he was in trouble. Obi-Wan Kenobi was underneath that hood. And in those eyes – Gunray already knew he would expect no mercy from this Sith Lord.
The best thing to do was run. But how could he, when there were no exits to be found?
Even now, at the end, watching his fellow Separatists be cut down ruthlessly as they begged for mercy, Gunray was already making his way towards the door. Some had called him slimy and a coward more than once, but if anything, he would do anything to avoid whatever fate Acheron had in mind for him at the moment.
Unfortunately for him, Acheron was too quick for him. Even now, backed into a corner, Gunray found himself babbling, begging. “The war is over,” he said, looking pleadingly into Acheron’s eyes. “Lord Sidious promised – he promised that we would be left in peace – ’’
For a moment, he could have sworn he saw Acheron – Obi-Wan Kenobi – falter. But then the cold, merciless mask came back into place. “I’m sorry,” the Sith Lord said, far too calmly, “But I’m afraid I have no choice.”
And then Gunray felt the lightsaber go through, and then nothing at all.
***
Even now, looking out over the balcony long after the slaughter, Darth Acheron could not imagine how it could have come to this. He half-expected to be happy, or at least relieved, once the Clone Wars were finally over. And yet even now, the sound of Nute Gunray pleading with him for mercy stuck in his mind. Lord Sidious promised us peace...
Who would he be to kill a helpless opponent, anyhow? He had his reasons, of course – if anything, it was the right thing to do. The sensible thing to do. The Senate had been unable to contain them, restrain them, stop them from preying on the weak, from scheming, from everything they had done. In a way, the Separatists had to die so the galaxy could live in peace.
And yet...
Acheron stood looking over the balcony, praying, at the very least, that what he did wasn’t the wrong thing. That he hadn’t chosen wrong. That he would not have to fight Anakin or Satine.
And yet at the same time, he sensed them, coming closer and closer. He sensed them. He felt them. He did not blame them, if anything, for having to come and fight him. If anything, they were doing their duty, nothing more.
Acheron closed his eyes, sparing some time to weep, one last time. Weeping for the slaughtered Separatists who begged him for mercy, weeping for Anakin, weeping for Satine, weeping for all of them.
He wept for Anakin and Satine most of all.
***
“I do not like this idea of bringing weapons to negotiations.”
Even now, en route to Mustafar, Anakin could not help but agree. Not with the matter of Satine’s statement exactly -- if anything, he was never quite the negotiating type, much to Satine and Obi-Wan’s consternation.
Obi-Wan... Even the very name sent pangs of guilt, of hurt, of anger and grief, through Anakin’s heart, and it took all his effort to not let a tear fall.
He couldn’t afford to cry. Not when there was a mission to be done.
“If it comforts you,” Anakin said, a weary smile gracing his face, “Neither do I.” He sighed. “I never thought Obi-Wan and I were going to...” He trailed off; he didn’t even want to say the words fight or duke it out or anything of that sort. Obi-Wan is going to be all right. Obi-Wan is going to be all right. And yet at the same time, he wasn’t certain if that was the case or if it was just him telling himself lies to dull the pain a bit. How could he, how absolutely could he –
Satine gave a strained chuckle. “You continue to be an odd man as always, Anakin.” Then she grew more somber. “If fate is on our side, this may not need to come to blows at all. There has, after all, been enough suffering for a lifetime.”
“Then let’s hope fate’s on our side,” Anakin said. “Just...be careful out there. And carry this -- just in case.”
Even now, handing Satine the Echani vibroblade, he felt uneasy. Even such a simple action felt as if he was manipulating Satine into killing her own husband, which he didn’t want. If anything, he mostly wanted Satine to be safe. Satine was a good woman, a strong and brave woman, but her views -- if they hadn’t gotten her in trouble before, they would now. He didn’t want to believe that Obi-Wan would possibly kill Satine for seemingly “getting in his way”, but knowing people like Dooku and Grievous and the Zabrak Maul -- they weren’t going to show mercy.
And Satine dying...
After his mother, after Aayla and Serra, after Ahsoka, after Obi-Wan
he had not died in body, but he had died in spirit
he couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.
Satine gave him a quizzical look.
“I found it on Jabiim,” Anakin said. “Quite a while ago. I think you’ll need this.”
“Those that bring weapons to negotiations -- ’’
“I know,” Anakin said, “But if Acheron attacks, you might need it. That or a lightsaber.”
A faint smile seemed to show on Satine’s face. “That is true enough, I suppose. But I do promise, Anakin, should the meeting go awry, I will signal you.” As if sensing Anakin’s confusion and irritation, she said, “Considering the circumstances, I believe it’s best you stay put. Nothing good is going to come of adding a Jedi to the mix.”
“Either way, Acheron’s going to suspect a trap.”
“True,” Satine said, “But traps can work in your favor, as you well know.”
That, Anakin supposed, was a good enough argument.
Even so, cramping himself below the control panel of Satine’s ship, trying not to be seen while still keeping tabs on the interaction between Obi-Wan and Satine, he could not help but feel that somehow, this was going to go awry.
Please Force, let Satine be all right...
But even then, a sinking feeling told him that the Force was not on their side this day.
***
Even facing Acheron, Satine could already sense that something was wrong with him. She never wanted to bring a weapon to negotiations -- it was almost counter to the spirit of negotiations. And yet at the same time, something in her told her that this was not going to be like the other instances -- not that negotiating had always worked out in her favor.
“Satine.” Acheron’s voice was flat, almost cool. “I never wanted it to come to this.”
“Neither did I. But I have no choice -- I saw what you did back in the Temple. Killing younglings -- I expected so much more from you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are a good man -- you are not a killer. If you have any good left in you at all, you will surrender and come back with us to stand trial for your crimes.”
Acheron merely looked at her, with those sad, almost inscrutable eyes, eyes that seemed to reflect almost nothing at all.
“Obi-Wan, I am not going to say this again,” Satine said. “Surrender or die.”
Silence. Even now, looking into her husband’s eyes, Satine Kryze questioned whether or not she had ever known him at all.
“So this is it,” Acheron said, coldly, “After all we’ve been through -- you turn on me.” He sighed. “I never thought you would have to resort to violence, Satine.”
“Neither did I,” Satine said. “But it seems that changed quickly.”
Acheron drew his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it -- even now, looking into the blue blade, Satine knew that she didn’t stand a chance. But at the very least she could buy some time. And, perhaps, find backup.
Anakin. Quickly. She gestured towards the ship, towards Anakin.
And Anakin walked -- no, sprinted -- down the loading ramp towards Satine’s side, lightsaber blazing.
Acheron looked over him, and for a moment, Satine could have sworn that she saw a flicker of hurt in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “You...brought him here?” To kill me? he was no doubt saying, at least in his eyes.
“I had hoped,” Satine said, “That it would not come to blows. But you leave me no choice.”
In contrast, Anakin seemed less at ease. In the interest of fairness, neither was Satine, but years in politics, years at war, had conditioned her to hide it. To appear -- or even feel -- numb to such emotions. Anakin, on the other hand -- Satine didn’t need the Force to feel the sheer grief and fury and confusion pouring off the boy. She felt the urge to reach out, to comfort him, but not now. Not here.
“You’re going to pay for all the Jedi you killed today, Acheron,” Anakin said, his tone seething with anger. “Every last one of them.
“And you call yourself a Jedi? You know that vengeance is not the Jedi way.”
“I only do what I must.”
“Indeed? We’ll put that to the test soon enough.”
