Chapter Text
'the sound of your breathing hits my ears,
the world reappears,
and it breaks us new'
- woodwork, sleeping at last
---
The cantina reeks of stale alcohol and the breaths of inebriated aliens all crammed into a small space. It's dingy and dark and Clarke wrinkles her nose against the brunt of the stench as she leans inconspicuously against the damp wall - a perfect vantage point.
Raucous laughter fills the air, the clinking of glass and harsh alien tongues filtering through her ears; her brain is working in overdrive - sure, she's fluent in most languages, but she still has to work for it when she's eavesdropping on countless people, all at once. She has a wary eye on the group of Republic soldiers huddled around a table at the corner of the cantina who whisper in hushed, secretive tones.
Her mission is clear. She cannot forget her master's words echoing in her head.
"The Jedi do not send their Barsen'thor on a worthless mission. Find out what the Republic is planning on Tatooine, apprentice."
Yes, master, she'd had to say, like a damn slave.
Honestly, it feels like she'd become a Sith Lord only to run errands for lazy Darths.
Chalmun's Cantina in Mos Eisley wasn't usually a place for the standard Republic trooper to get their next drink - but she had spotted a few of them entering the joint and so she had followed. All she needs to do is blend into the crowd, keep her hood low over her eyes, and no one would think to bother her. She supposes the two lightsabers strapped to her belt are enough of a deterrent as well - the troopers wouldn't dare cross a Sith if they valued their lives, and in a lawless place like Tatooine? It's a free-for-all.
She remembers the first time she'd displayed her Force sensitivity. Her father had been so proud of her for making her toy shift across the floor with a wave of her pudgy fist, his deep-bellied laughter matching her excited high-pitched giggling. She'd been five. Innocent.
Her father. She grits her teeth.
She feels the waves of pain and hatred course through her, feels the dark side pulse within her like it is the very heart that fuels her.
In a way, it is.
When she'd been discovered, the Sith had whisked her away from her mother's side. It'd been almost an honor for them, for a lowly Imperial medic, one of no significance, to birth a child of such strong Force-sensitivity, but Clarke knew better: Her father had been a Jedi.
And when she was taken to the Academy, Clarke embraced the dark side in the death of her father at the hands of her mother.
She had been one of a hundred acolytes who attended the Sith Academy on Korriban - a place of horrors, of death, of nightmares. Tombs littered the dusty and barren planet, stained orange from sand and the vile creatures that walked its surface - it provided a test for only the strongest of trainees, strong in the dark side of the Force, to survive. She had seen friends die, she had been forced to cut down rivals with her training sword - but she survived, one of only five who had passed their trials. She does not look back fondly on her time there.
Clarke can sense her presence before she even sees her - the Barsen'thor, Warden of the Jedi Order, moves calmly through the crowd as she makes her way to an unoccupied table. She is bathed in Light - the force she exudes is palpable and it washes over Clarke with painfully familiar emotions of how Jake Griffin's Light had felt.
When Clarke shifts again uncomfortably on her feet, setting her jaw, she glances up to find sharp green eyes tacked onto her from across the room. The Jedi has found an empty table to rest at, two mugs of beer placed in front of her - and she's found me, her mind adds wryly - the Jedi has not looked away since she's sat down and her gaze is calculating, cold.
Not one for shying away from the challenge, Clarke takes a moment to observe her foe. She is dressed in common clothing, a simple brown and white cotton robe with her hood down. Her lightsaber is not hanging from her belt, likely hidden beneath her cloak. She does not want to be recognized, she realizes.
Her eyes drift back up to her face and she is struck again by the Jedi's unwavering gaze. Like gazing into a forest, green as the trees on Alderaan. She is beautiful - cheekbones slope elegantly and sharply across her face and her brown hair falls delicately around her shoulders in soft curls, held away from her face by a simple gold band across her forehead with a gear-like symbol carved into the centre.
Before her mind catches up, her feet carry her the distance and she finds herself in the chair opposite the Jedi, who masks a flash of surprise with the intensity of her steely gaze. Never have I seen that much green in the whole galaxy.
"Barsen'thor," Clarke greets with a nod, not unkindly. She knows she's different from the usual Sith - they are usually murderous, psychopathic. She's heard of Sith who rampaged just because they could and tortured innocents to simply feel a rush. She does not walk that path, although she does not deny the power of the force in her veins. She is loyal only to the Empire - but she is not an animal who runs with her emotions wild.
No, she has been burned by death before - she will not be its harbinger.
She owes it to her father's legacy - the Jedi that he had been - to, at the very least, not immediately draw her lightsabers and cut down every Jedi that crosses her path.
Tilting her head to the side, she surveys the woman in front of her, whose hands are neatly folded in her lap. Clarke curls one hand around the glass of beer and takes a gulp, eyes never leaving the Jedi's. She is wary. Curious. The Jedi is far from relaxed around her, but she is also not openly hostile.
"Sith," is all the Jedi says in greeting, eyes carving a path straight into Clarke's soul.
Clarke purses her lips, amused at the frigid conditions she's met with in the stuffy cantina. "What was it that tipped you off, I wonder - was it the yellow, glowing eyes?"
"I have a strong affinity to the Force. I can sense the darkness in you, just as you probably can sense the light in me," the Jedi shrugs with indifference, without ego - she is simply stating a fact. She quirks her lips slightly. "But yes - your eyes are very telling. The fact that you walked over here, however, intrigues me."
"How so?"
"You are polite. Calm. Most Sith would have leapt across the room with their lightsabers drawn," she shrugs again.
"I'm not like most Sith," Clarke replies with a wink, delighting in the flicker of something that flashes across the usually-stoic Jedi's face. "Though I do enjoy using my lightsabers."
"And will you use them against me today?"
"Have you done something that would warrant a death sentence today, Barsen'thor?"
The Jedi finally cracks a smile and it looks incredible on her. She folds her arms across her chest, "What would warrant a death sentence to you, Sith? Not much, I presume?"
"Not much, no," Clarke agrees. "But I do believe that having a modicum of self-restraint and pragmatism has its perks."
The Jedi pauses, thoughtful, before she says, "Then we are not so different after all."
***
Their conversation flows smoothly - far too easily than Clarke is comfortable with. Soon it has been hours, and their beers have long sat empty on their table.
She is delighted by the Barsen'thor - there have only been a select few in all of history that have been chosen to represent the Jedi Order as its protector and diplomat, and she can see why the galaxy whispers of her deeds, her mannerisms, her title. She is reverent; a higher being; poised and elegant, and finally relaxing in Clarke's presence, as though she knows she cannot be touched with her connection to the Force.
One thing's for sure - the whispers do not do her beauty justice.
More importantly, she smiles at Clarke like she truly enjoys her company.
The cantina and its noise seem to fade and blend into the background - all Clarke can see and hear is the woman before her. They talk of the Republic and the Empire - of course, they do not talk about the intricacies of the on-going war between their factions, but they exchange their different cultures, trade stories of grand battles that they had been a part of in the past.
The Jedi eventually reveals her name to be Alexandria - Lexa, for short - and she bows graciously when Clarke introduces herself as well. (She does not reveal her last name and neither does Lexa - it seems that they both have legacies that define them - legacies that they wish to forget.)
They talk of the history of the Jedi and Sith, the pull of the Light and the Dark, their warring philosophies, but Clarke has approached with an open mind and no hostility. She can feel the Jedi responding in kind.
"The Sith Code - it sounds like the exact opposite of the Jedi Code," Lexa says, quirking an amused brow. She's right. Even Clarke admits that the original Sith could have used some lessons in creativity.
"No, no, I'm pretty sure that 'peace is a lie' and 'there is only peace' have the exact same meaning," Clarke snarks with a wicked grin.
Lexa furrows her brow, feigning confusion. "And here I thought that the Sith placed emphasis on intelligence..."
She breaks into a cheeky, toothy grin and Clarke is too busy trying not to swoon that she doesn't have it in her to be offended.
She doesn't want to admit it, but Lexa is - well, she's funny. And so smart. She hums with wisdom and she takes gentle, pacing sips of her beer and never looks away from Clarke's gaze.
It's refreshing to interact with someone who won't try to stab or shoot at her; who doesn't look down upon her like a roach to be squashed as her training masters once did. Even her current master treats her like dirt, even years after she's earned her title as a fully recognized Sith Lord.
Lexa looks at her like she cares, like she's genuinely interested in what this Sith - her enemy, no less - has to say.
Clarke wonders how far she can push her.
She drops her hook with a twist of her lips: "You know, I was part of the team that raided the Jedi Temple on Tython during the Galactic War."
The bait does not catch. Lexa simply tilts her head with a slow, sleepy blink of her eyes - an acknowledgement, nothing more - and replies evenly, "And I destroyed the Sith Academy in retaliation."
Clarke falls just a little bit more in love with her.
She grins at the Jedi. "Why are you here, Barsen'thor? I imagine the Jedi Order does not have many dealings in the backwaters of Tatooine."
"I could ask the same of you, Sith," Lexa deflects, raising at an eyebrow at her.
That's fair. Lexa probably knows that the only reason why Clarke had approached her at all must have been for an agenda.
Clarke clears her throat, shifts in her chair, wondering if her next words were too revealing. "Maybe I was curious and followed you here."
Lexa quirks her lips and honestly, Clarke thinks, that is so ruinous. "I suppose you'll have to continue following me then."
With that, Lexa is out of her chair before Clarke can fully register her words. She watches her leave, utterly dazed, her soft robes billowing around her and Clarke flushes deeply when Lexa turns around to look at her - a soft smile gracing her lips - just before she exits the cantina. Did she just…?
Clarke shoots up from her chair so suddenly that she nearly topples the table over. The Gamorrean at the table next to her grunts in displeasure as he spills his drink in shock. He rises to his feet before he eyes the lightsabers hanging from her belt and sits back down dejectedly - he cannot win this fight and he knows it.
Clarke glances at the exit with determination.
Right. Time to chase a Jedi.
She winces as the glare of Tatooine's suns hits her full force the moment she exits the cantina. It's still midday and the port is busy with Jawas milling about their stalls, peddling their tech scraps on sale; a group of moisture farmers sell their precious cargo of water just across from her. But she pays them no mind, searching resolutely for Lexa.
Catching a flash of a brown-and-white cloak in the distance, the glint of the gold band, she quickly weaves her way through the busy port. She doesn't even think about what Lexa could be planning - she could very well be walking into a trap. Just because she'd enjoyed the Jedi's company didn't mean Lexa had enjoyed hers. She could have been faking interest the entire time to capture her.
The thought hits her like a freighter and Clarke is left breathless - it's not so much the thought of Lexa possibly betraying her that jolts her into stopping in the middle of the busy street, but the sheer force of the disappointment that hits her. She grits her teeth, feeling the flare - the heavy pulse - of the dark side in her veins again, and she pushes forward.
Whatever happens, the Force will sustain me.
She finds Lexa leaning against a speeder near the Taxi droid, and she can tell that the Jedi is slightly startled when their eyes meet and sees the sheer amount of vexation reflected back at her. Lexa steps forward with a curious tilt of her head, her hands up in front of her placatingly. "Sith?"
Clarke eyes the speeder warily, yellow eyes flaring at Lexa with suspicion. Her mind is clearer now - what had she been doing? Had her drink been drugged for the past two hours? Had their entire conversation been a lie?
She says instead, "What game are you playing at, Jedi?"
Lexa softens in understanding, and tilts her head to gesture to the hover-taxi that seats two. "I was going to show you why I am here on Tatooine. Or is that not what your master desires from you?"
Clarke's eyes narrow in distrust, but Lexa presses on, "Several pirate gangs in the area have been raiding Republic outposts, and I am here to confront their leader - a rogue Jedi named Quint. That is my mission, Sith. I would be honored if you joined me."
She searches warily for any signs of dishonesty in the Jedi's eyes - Clarke is usually spot-on with that - and finds none. Lexa is expressive and bare and she even manages a smile when Clarke grudgingly climbs into the passenger seat of the hover-taxi.
While Lexa pilots the speeder through endless sand dunes, Clarke studies the horizon - she's been to Tatooine a couple of times before, but she hadn't strayed far from the Imperial base. The planet is hot - scorching at times, even - and filled with... absolutely nothing. The Hutts hold power here, along with multiple warring pirate gangs that have suddenly united under a rogue Jedi's rule. It is lawless; dangerous.
She's not sure why humans chose to make this dusty ball their home, but she supposes that not everyone is lucky to belong to a faction - or was it the other way around? These people were free to live their lives however they chose. Clarke's life had been railroaded into the structured path of a Sith the moment she felt the Force in her veins.
"Clarke," Lexa mumbles, so softly that the Sith Lord almost misses the whisper. Clarke suppresses a shiver when she realizes that this is the first time Lexa has said her name in full, not just Sith, and her heart skips over Lexa's tongue clicking on the k in her name. She turns to study her companion – stunning with the wind in her hair, face serene and calm as always, though her cheeks are tinted with pink - it is hard to look away. She continues, "Thank you for accompanying me on this. It's always nice to have back-up on missions."
"You're welcome, Lexa," Clarke says. She adds with a teasing huff, "As long as you're not lying and leading me straight into a Republic trap. That would warrant a death sentence, no matter how much I enjoy your company."
Lexa chuckles in the seat next to her - Clarke decides that it is a sound she wishes to hear repeatedly for the rest of her life. Green eyes gaze into hers and with a twinkle in her eye that makes her heart swell two sizes too big, Lexa says, "On my honor as Barsen'thor, Lord Clarke, I will not betray you."
***
They share a knowing glance the moment they arrive at the compound, dismounting from the vehicle only to take cover behind it. There are over thirty pirates milling about - some are positioned behind shields and others immediately begin to fire at them with rifles.
Clarke draws her twin lightsabers, searing hot with orange crystals at their cores, easily deflecting the blaster bolts with smooth arcs of her blades. She watches from the corner of her eye as Lexa pauses grenades in mid-air, sending them flying back into the ranks of the pirates with a wave of her hand.
The Jedi draws her own lightsaber - one with a mint-green tint to its blade - and leaps towards the nearest pirate, sending a shockwave of force that knocks most of their thirty-odd assailants to the ground in a heap. She twirls gracefully, the lightsaber an extension of herself as she cuts down those brave enough to stand in her way, and nods appreciatively when Clarke jumps into the fray as well, cutting down an attacker that had been about to fire off a blaster bolt straight into Lexa's back.
Only minutes later, they are surrounded by bodies. The rest have already fled on speeders, back to their hideouts, deciding that their lives were worth more than credits and the wrath of a rogue Jedi.
Quint meets them at the entrance, snarling out his displeasure at the interference. He is older than them both and a scar runs menacingly across his face from his forehead to his jaw. He spits at Lexa's feet, recognizing her, growling as he draws his lightsaber.
"I'm honoured!" he snarls with narrowed eyes; he is anything but. "The Jedi send their lapdog to retrieve me."
Lexa shakes her head disapprovingly. "You cannot win this fight, Quint. Surrender."
Quint's only response is to charge at them.
The fight is quick but tough; he is a formidable foe to be able to hold up for that long with them peppering blows on him from two sides. Soon, the traitor is knocked out cold at their feet from the hilt of Lexa's lightsaber.
Clarke waits for Lexa to deliver the killing blow, but the Jedi only sheathes her lightsaber and pulls out her holocommunicator, intending to call for Republic troops to collect him and clear the compound of data and arrest the rest of the pirates.
"Are you not going to kill him?" Clarke asks, perplexed. "Why spare a powerful enemy when he will only return in the future with a vengeance?"
"I am not an executioner," Lexa replies simply, eyes flickering between the device in her hand and Clarke herself.
"I am." Clarke extends her lightsaber and swings it down onto the man's prone form, only going so far before Lexa has parried her slice - orange and green clashing spectacularly.
Lexa extends her hand, and Clarke slides backwards on her feet at the small burst of force that leaves it.
"That was not smart, Clarke," Lexa warns, a dangerous glint in her eyes, but she immediately sheathes her weapon at her belt. The message is clear: Do not test my patience further.
She throws her hands up in frustration, pacing as Lexa returns again to her holocomm. "Is this the incompetence of Republic bureaucracy? Is this the Jedi Order and your stifling, oppressive Code at work? How could you ever hope to beat the Empire with such passivity?"
Lexa looks utterly unimpressed, but Clarke can see her hard exterior cracking in the downward curl of her lips, the wrinkle that forms between her eyebrows as she shows her displeasure. "Oppressive? Does the Empire not have an iron fist around its people? Around the planets that have had to surrender or risk massacre?"
"The Empire brings order to the galaxy - they keep their would-be enemies in line, it is prevention - precaution!"
"And the Sith slaughter for fun - they torture innocents without restraint. The Republic brings democracy, freedom, peace. The Jedi fight for this goal."
"Peace is a lie," Clarke hisses at her and her eyes glow orange with rage - there is only passion, she finishes in her head, knowing the Sith Code by heart. She is an inferno but the Jedi is stoic - there is no emotion, there is only peace. Their earlier camaraderie is forgotten. "Do not presume that all Sith are the same - I do not slaughter blindly, Lexa."
"And while I follow the Light, I do not embrace all of the Jedi Code, Clarke. You should not presume that all Jedi are the same.”
She takes in a deep breath as she shuts her eyes. When she opens them, Lexa's eyes peer into her. It feels like her soul has been taken from within her and wrung out across the sand, battered. Clarke deflates, feeling the anger leave her in a rush of breath.
"You are right. I apologize," Clarke says with a bow, replacing her lightsaber at her belt.
The Jedi smiles sadly at her in response, shaking her head gently. "I am sorry as well. I suppose we both have prejudices to get over, if we hope to ever see peace in our galaxy."
Clarke nods, swallowing around the lump in her throat - she never usually has to swallow her pride. She is glad that Lexa has swallowed hers as well.
"Since he is strong with the Force, he will be returned to the Council and rehabilitated with the Grandmaster," Lexa explains. She continues, quietly, "We do not let our enemies go free, Clarke, but the Jedi believe in second chances - I believe in second chances."
Clarke thinks that there is so much more to that when Lexa looks at her like that - tender and patient.
***
Their mission is complete - well, Lexa's mission is - Clarke still needs to contact her master back on her own ship. She thinks she'll leave out the part where she conspired with the Barsen'thor herself to complete it - or that she's completely smitten with her.
When they return to Mos Eisley, Clarke is antsy and restless. She finds that she doesn't want to leave - which is odd, seeing as how she's been itching to get off this dusty ball for the past week.
She sneaks a glance at the Jedi matching her pace at her side - that is, an extremely slow stroll - and flushes heavily when she finds her already staring back. It feels good. It feels like the dark side but better. Passion instead of hatred or pain.
They walk slowly into the port. Clarke's ship is docked in a hidden hanger, which is a testament to the reach of the Empire - the dock workers had been paid off beforehand to keep her arrival a secret - and she knows that Lexa will leave to ferry her wayward prisoner to the (now rebuilt) Jedi Temple on Tython.
They have reached a crossroads with their respective goals on opposite ends. Clarke would stay in this moment if she could, anything to prolong the way that Lexa looks at her now - is it longing? Is it the same hesitance to leave that she feels? They are of two different peoples, on opposite ends of a war, but Clarke feels the connection between them as clearly as she feels the Force.
She has known Lexa for all of five hours now; she will not be able to forget her for years to come.
Clarke finds herself pulled aside, away from walking traffic, to lean against a wall. Lexa has grasped her elbow gently and Lexa does not let go as she grins at her. Clarke tries not to embarrass herself by melting into a puddle on the ground - she's a Sith Lord, damn it, she'll act like one.
"Thank you, Clarke," Lexa says warmly. She inclines her head toward her in respectful bow. "It has been a pleasure to have met you."
Clarke, for the life of her, is utterly disarmed. She lowers her head with a shy smile - like a blushing teenager, her master would have her head if he ever found out. Her voice seems have deserted her so all she can do is return her bow.
"May we meet again - and may the Force serve you well," Lexa says, and then she is gone.
It is only later, when her mind clears and she rests on her cot, that Clarke finds Lexa's holocommunicator in her pocket. She is lulled to sleep by the gentle humming of her cruiser's engine in her ears.
When she dreams, she sees only green.