The Return of the Sith

Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own Star Wars, I don't. George Lucas refused to give me the copy write *scowls* Anyhow, onto the story. I only own Nyree, her family and the random workmen.

Many thanks to my wonderful Beta Xaja Silversheen, and my Grammar-Nazi, Araloth the Random.

Chapter One—Death, or is it?

He has been waiting for this moment for years. The moment when he can prove himself to his master, and rid the galaxy of one of the most troubling Jedi it has ever spawned . . . Qui-Gon Jinn.

He fingers his double-bladed light sabre in anticipation, sweat beading on his forehead, his heart beginning to race with anticipation. He cannot afford to ruin this chance…not now. He has come too far. Too far to turn back.

He moves quickly, blocking, feinting, slashing...then he sees it. The Jedi has left an opening in his defence. He seizes the moment and stabs, the beam cutting through flesh like a hot knife through butter. But he has underestimated one important thing...the Padawan. He starts as the younger man leaps through the opening door. He blocks the first few blows, and then kicks him down the hole in the floor.

He smirks as he effortlessly taps the boy's lightsabre over the edge of the opening, then he turns to leave. But he fails to ensure the Padawan's death. He watches in shock as the boy leaps back up, seizing his master's lightsabre and striking the fatal blow. He is not prepared for this to happen, and fails to block.

The pain is intense, burning, agonising...he cannot believe he has been beaten by an apprentice...

And now all he feels is calm. He is floating. Then another rush of pain, and darkness envelopes him as whatever powers of mercy allows him to slip gradually into the void of unconsciousness.

-o-

Nyree Sair stared in horror at the mutilated figure brought to her mother's door. The four year old stifled a gasp when she saw the man's face, for red and black tattoos adorned its surface and he had horns on his head. His injuries seemed fatal, most of his bones were broken and he had been almost sliced in half. The rough bandages were soaked in gore and blood.

"Mama, Mama!" she gasped. "They brought a man to the door..."

Inyri Sair was the village healer, and was said to have a healing touch. At the frantic call of her daughter, she hastened to the door.

"A Zabrak," she breathed when she saw the man's face, with its bold red and black tribal markings. She glanced up at the workers bearing the body. "Where did you find him?"

"He was at the bottom of the Theed Generator Complex. It looked like he had fallen," one of them replied gravely.

Inyri's eyes widened. "And he is still alive? No one should be able to survive a fall from that height!"

While her mother was talking, Nyree had edged closed to the man, and with the innocent curiosity of a child she reached out and touched his hand, wanting to comfort him. He responded with a gasp of pain, grabbing her wrist in a crushing hold.

"Nyree!" In a rustle of skirts she felt her mother rush to her side. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Nyree nodded, whimpering softly. "It's alright, Mama. I touched his hand an' he grabbed me. It hurts. . . "

-o-

He can feel the pain again, exploding and rushing through his body. The black is receding, slowly being replaced by a blurry red. He tries to move, but is weighed down by something, something heavy. He panics. Why can he not he move? His eyes won't open.

Is this death? He wonders briefly. If it was, then it was a strange place of torment. He hears voices, muffled, as if the people are talking through cloth. He strains to understand what they say, but he can't.

Then he feels a burning pain in his hand...something has touched him! He grabs it. A hand...a human hand. It is so small. He cannot remember knowing anyone that small. He cannot remember a lot of things, not right now.

There is a sudden coolness on his face, a voice, and he can open his eyes. . .

-o-

When the workers left the small adobe hut, Inyri passed a cool cloth over the Zabrak's face, wiping the crust from his eyes. He hadn't relinquished his grip on Nyree's hand yet, and she was whimpering softly. She was amazed the man was still breathing; his injuries should have killed him.

"Have no fear, my friend," she whispered as she rinsed the cloth and proceeded to wash his head-wounds. "We only want to help you."

His eyes opened suddenly, and she recoiled. They were a sickly yellow, rimmed in red, and they exuded burning hatred.

He turned slowly, painfully, to look at Nyree. The girl stiffened as the man reached out with his other hand and touched her face.

He gasped in pain, and his hand dropped. Inyri grabbed the stretcher and called to her son to help her move it.

-o-

He opens his eyes slowly and sees a human woman. He glares and painfully turns to the thing that touched his hand...a child.

How could a child dare to touch him, the apprentice of the sith. A mere child. But she looks no more than four summers old. She did not know what he was. How could she? No one did.

The thoughts crowd into his aching head and his gaze turns to one of frank curiosity as he reaches out his hand to her face. She stiffens as his fingers brush her cheek. The pain bursts through his body again and he gasps involuntarily. No! He can't show pain...he is a Sith...and the Sith don't...show...pain...His arm drops, and his face burns with embarrassment; but none can tell, for his blushing face is hidden behind the mask woven by the red and black. A sign of weakness, he feels angered, though no one knows that he is ashamed.

He can't even hold his arm up, and the pain...it's too much...he doesn't know if he can make it.

In fact, he realises that he doesn't really want to.

-o-

X'lor, Inyri's eighteen year old son, ran out and grabbed the end of the stretcher. He started when he saw the mutilated Zabrak.

"Ma?" he said, "What is he?"

"He is a Zabrak, my son," she answered softly.

X'lor nearly dropped the end of the stretcher in surprise, and the sudden jerk elicited a slight and painful groan from the injured one. He stared at his mother in shock, and silently helped her carry the stretcher into the house.

Nyree followed, thinking. The strange man had looked so unbelievably frightening, but after he had woken up, he had been so gentle. Maybe he hadn't meant to hurt her before. Her Mama had always told her that the Zabraks were bad and nasty, but maybe her Mama was wrong...maybe they had some good inside them? She decided she was going to find the good in this strange man, and prove to her mother that there was good in everyone.

This was a little short, but my brother killed my muse. .

Review, people . . . you know you want to.