I bought him on a whim.

Crystalline blue eyes stared at me almost accusingly as I purchased him. The rest of the time they were disturbingly blank and devoid of emotion. The ginger hair had been cut sloppily, close to the scalp. His lean, muscled body was scarred and tense. He had the look of a wild animal with his legs slightly bent, as if ready to bolt, and with dried blood splattered on his skin. He was pale under the dirt, probably because he was kept in a kennel until it was time for him to fight.

He was a gladiator. A man who fought other men for the sport of others. He was very, very good at it. After my first few questions, his former owner told me something how he had become a slave. He certainly hadn't been born one.

He had been caught on an Outer Rim world. He had just been sitting in the middle of the street, oblivious to his surroundings and he hadn't eaten in days, the slavers were told. The locals had named him Ben. When the slavers approached him, they were told that he was extremely dangerous and not to bother him. So they were cautious. But when they put the slave collar on him he didn't react; he was completely docile as they led him along back to their ship. They laughed, thinking how easy a capture it had been. The man was physically fit and only in his early thirties. He would get a good price on the market.

Then one of the slavers had casually hit him. 'Ben' moved so fast that the slaver never even saw it coming; he was alive one minute and had a snapped neck the next.

Then he became completely docile again, before the slavers even had the chance to react. He didn't follow up on what he had done; he just went back to blankly staring. The slavers – quicker than most – realized that their capture was actually mentally damaged in some way and only responded to a direct threat. Otherwise, he was virtually catatonic. Utterly docile.

He did well at the arena, a place of continual violence. A little too well, perhaps.

I was the widow of a wealthy man. My husband had controlling stocks in the Kuat Shipyards and the like. Since we had had no children, I was the sole inheritor of his estate. We never had the energy for a baby and it was too late by the time I considered it. A decade together and not once did we talk of children. When he died I found myself depressed and I slowly made friends with the wives and mistress of wealthy, highly suspect men. Their wives and mistresses, I soon learned, were just as amoral as their husbands were.

My girlfriends had heard of the arena and convinced me to go. Jaded and depressed, I agreed to go and watch death for fun. We went to Tezen, which was renowned for their arenas and slave markets. We watched in drunken bemusement as the slaves fought and killed each other. The sands became soaked with blood as the fights went on over the day.

The arena was a large circular area; tradition, we were told. Huge stands were built up around the sand interior. The pit as it was sometimes called. It was dry and hot with pungent smells drifted around the area.

We toasted at each death; and why not, when barbaric ways are all that we have left? The Empire killed it's citizens so ruthlessly that I was surprised there are any left and the Outer Rim got more  and more brutal as each day went by. Even the so-called civilized space of the Inner Rim was slowly degenerating into death and misery. The state of the galaxy seemed to mirror my melancholy.

The galaxy wasn't the only thing degenerating. I think my mind was as well.

Then Ben was thrown into the bloody arena, still full of the dead and dying. The crowd, obviously familiar with him, cheered and booed. Some seemed to like him . . . and some did not.

Ben did nothing as the managers waited for the crowd to calm down. He looked at the sky somewhat absentmindedly. He did not cower in terror as some did, or show off for the frenzied crowd as others did. Gazing at the sky as if it was a new thing, something he had never seen before, he almost looked like a lost child in an unfamiliar place.

Then they set the wild animals loose. There were four of them; two were cat-like beasts of some type, though much larger and ferocious than usual. The other two were giant arachnid beasts twice was tall as he was. Their gray leathery skin looked odd against the faintly pinkish sand of the arena. The coated beasts slashed coats stood up well against the arena, which was probably why they were chosen.

Two of the animals decided the dead and dying would be easier prey than something kicking and fighting. The other two converged on the listless man who stared at them blankly.

Then he moved. The spider-like beast went first; he snapped two of its four legs while he went through something that seemed to be a set movement of some kind. He used his arms and legs to do it. He ripped off one of the legs while the creature bled onto the sands and stabbed it in the eye with its own limb. It died instantly.

The snarling tiger was next. He moved even faster with this one than he had with the spider. He ducked out of the way when it leaped for him and somehow managed to hit it in the ribs. The creature yelped and rolled away. Furious now, it leaped at him again. He rolled underneath it and came up behind it. Before it could react to the new development, he grabbed its throat and ripped it out with his bare hands. Dark red blood splattered on him as veins were torn. The creature collapsed.

I expected him to leave it there to die slowly, or perhaps torture it. Most of the fighters did such things – it got the crowd riled up. But this one didn't. He walked over to the dying creature and snapped its neck. I thought I saw him do with sadness, but I convinced myself that I had imagined it.

The fight lasted all of two minutes. Ben was declared the winner, of course. As the crowd booed at how quickly the fight had ended, I realized that was why he was both popular and unpopular. He always won too quickly for their tastes. Guards who wouldn't even touch him took him away, back to the kennels in which all the arena slaves were kept.

I was fascinated, so I bought myself my first slave.

********************************************************************

I owned a luxury yacht. I don't know a much about my ships, but my dead husband did and the one I had – he had it custom built – was apparently quite a beauty. I used it to traipse around the galaxy in my boredom. I paid my pilot well to stay out of my way. We were currently heading nowhere. My friends – if you could call them such – had gone their separate ways after Tezen. They would meet up with me again, I knew, when they got bored and decided to drag me along to some other splendid vacation spot. Guiltily, I knew that I let them drag me along to such places. Buying Ben surely proved that I was just as immoral as them.

I sat on the comfortable, slightly worn chair in my lounge. My lounge consisted mostly of a few comfortable tan couches and chairs – one of which I was sitting in – and a nice, fully stocked bar. The room was not large; while comfortable the ship was of no great size.

Ben played with the carpet. It was soft and fluffy; when you step onto it, you sink into it up to your ankle. Ben's fascination with it was childlike. We had just gotten back to my ship; Ben was still dressed in only the loose pants and he definitely needed a shower. That became even more obvious against the white carpet he sat on.

I took a sip of my alcoholic drink, the taste bitter but smooth to my tongue. It was a nice year and after only one drink I was already getting buzzed. I felt a smile tug at my lips for no particular reason.

I turned my attention to my purchase. Took another sip as he did nothing. He didn't seem aware of my stare, or even how filthy he was. I thought about getting him cleaned up, but since the pilot was the only person on board, I would have to do it myself. I was fairly certain that he didn't bathe himself, or at least wasn't used to it. The guards on Tezen had used a high-pressure hose.

"So where do you come from, Ben?" I asked, not really expecting a response.

I didn't get one. He looked up and around, as if he realized someone was talking but couldn't figure out who it was. That blank confusion made me feel pity. What had happened to such a skilled fighter to make him lose his mind so completely?

Absent mindedly, I began to talk. "I'm from a planet Csh – Casheen." I nodded to myself. "That's right. Casheen. Met my husband there while training to be a philosopher." I laughed. "Me! Good old Dela, a philoshoper." My words were beginning to slur. But what did it matter? Only Ben was there, and he certainly didn't care. "Married him and gave up my career –" I lifted my glass. "Not that I was going to have mush of one."

Ben seemed to be focusing more intently on me now. Or perhaps it was my imagination.

"I did love him, you know," I said, focusing on him with drunken intensity. "It kind of fell apart, after the first few years. But I still loved him, it was just everything else, our relationship, his job, that was messed up."

I sighed deeply. "Maybe it was the wealth, after everything fell apart," I muttered, gazing at the wall – or whatever you call those things in ships. I frowned, suddenly irritated. "Deck? No, that's the floor. Damn." What was it? I tried to take another sip of my drink but realized it was gone. I frowned, reached for the bottle.

"Bulkhead."

I jumped, dropping the bottle. It landed on the soft floor without breaking. But on the floor it seemed to be an impossible distance away. I looked at it for a long moment.

I stared up at Ben, who had spoken. He stared blankly past my shoulder.

"What did you say?" I whispered. "What did you say?" I repeated, louder. No response. "What is this, some kind of game?"

When no response was forthcoming, I leaped up from my chair, swaying for a moment. Then I picked up the bottle and threw it at Ben's head with a scream of rage. I didn't know why I raged. But then, why did it matter? I was drunk, drunks do stupid things.

He ducked and it hit the wall – bulkhead – behind him with a loud shattering noise. Then he just continued to sit there. What, no trying to kill me? I found myself disappointed. I snorted.

I clumsily wiped my face with the back of my hand, breathing hard. Then my breaths began to come in huge, hitching sobs. I sank to my knees, and then backed up against my chair. Suddenly I felt overwhelmingly depressed and I wept for the loss of my husband and for no reason at all. Two years ago and I still can't get over it.

Sinking into a mire of self-disgust and misery, I almost didn't feel the arms that gently pulled me into an embrace. I leaned against Ben, not even caring that he was dirty and half naked. A hand stroked my hair and without quite realizing how, all my dark emotions drained away.

I let myself stay in his comforting – if surprising – embrace for a long time. But life is no fairy tale and I eventually shifted away from him. He let his hands fall loosely to his sides. The eyes, pale against his skin, no longer seemed quite as blank, but the emotionless quality in them still disturbed me. As did the fact that he had comforted me.

I touched his cheek gently. His eyes drifted shut and he leaned into my touch. I watched with undeniable fascination and stroked his cheek with my hand. He sighed, his eyelids fluttering.

It went no further than that as a few weeks passed. Ben was like pet, knowing when something was wrong but not really understanding why. He would come to me, seeming to always know when I was upset or drunk, even when I was not in his presence. To my relief, he seemed to have figured out how to bathe by himself. But I had to make him eat. Otherwise, it seemed like a forgotten issue for him. He slept on the floor, either not recognizing the bed for what it was or not wanting to sleep on it.

I was having a nice cold drink in my bedroom – cabin? – when I got the message. I rose from my bed, a large, luxurious one that was completely white. It looked startling pure against the wine colored floor and walls. I had spilled some alcohol on my bed, leaving a stain that coordinated with the rest of the room. It didn't matter. I could afford it.

I got up unsteadily, dressed in faded blue pajamas. Hopefully it wouldn't require an immediate response; I was not in any state of being able to think. I went over the commstation and clicked receive. To my surprise, it was a text message. A letter.

From the Empire.

Despite my dazed state, I was worried. I opened the file.

Adela Dalaan Medorn,

It is my duty to inform you that your brother, Alec Dalaan, was executed for treason against the Empire, by order of His Highness Emperor Palpatine. This royal order was carried out two days ago by a firing squad on Coruscant. Your brother was put on trial and convicted of helping dissidents . . .

I ignored the rest. I stumbled away from the commstation in shock. My younger brother was dead.

"No!" I hissed. Tears fell from eyes and slid over trembling lips. "No," I moaned. My little brother. He had joined the Empire with some idealistic notion of helping the galaxy under Palaptine's New Order. My sweet brother. Dead.

I smashed my palm into the commstation. Made of sterner stuff than my hand, it didn't break or shatter. Instead, my palm hurt. Growling in frustration, I began ripping my room apart. I threw a chair at a bulkhead clumsily, my attempt mostly unsuccessful, as the chair was too heavy for me to lift properly. I ripped my bedding to pieces and threw my clothing everywhere, out of the closet and onto the mess I had already made. Huge sobs clenched my chest as I did so.

I didn't realize Ben was there until he spoke my name. "Dela."

I whirled and stared at him. His eyes were soft with something like sympathy. For once, those eyes were full of emotion. As if my pain could stir him out of his catatonia, even if the possibility of his own death could not.

I clenched my fists, wanting to regain control of myself. I looked at the mess I made and knew that I had gained no release, no satisfaction from letting loose my rage. My body trembled with the force of it and I hated myself for my lack of self-control.

Ben slowly walked to me, each step somehow calming me. By the time he had reached my side I was ready to practically melt into his arms. So that's exactly what I did. His coarse tunic was rough against my face – he seemed to prefer his clothing that way, I didn't know why. My slave was such a mystery to me – almost as much a mystery as why I had bought him in the first place.

"The will of the Force," Ben murmured into my hair, as if responding to my thought. We were actually the same height, but when I sank into his grip, I did so literally. He was all that held me up.

He fell to his knees and I went with him. "My brother," was all I said, wondering if Ben would even understand. If his comment about the Force – a hokey religion if I ever saw one – was just another one-time response.

"It will be all right," he said softly, instantly dispelling that notion.

I felt such serenity in his arms. I always did, I realized. His mere presence calmed me down and I didn't know why. I was about to ask him about it when something interrupted me.

The commstation beeped.

Another message? I struggled out of Ben's grip and he let me go. Feeling somewhat dazed and confused, I walked over to it, figuring it was probably just one of my friends asking about my new slave. I felt a sense of unreality as I approached the station. Getting a message now just seemed so . . . awkward.

I opened the message, yet another text-only one. As I read my rage came back even stronger, fueled by indignation. My body tensed, suddenly taut with furious energy.

I turned away from the commstation and message, wisely not hitting it this time as I knew that it would be a wasted effort. I began to pace furiously with my fists clenched by my sides. I walked past the fragments of my once elegant room without noticing the damage.

Finally, I released my fury in a vocalization. "Damn that Palpatine!" I screamed, halting in the middle of my bedroom. My face felt curiously stiff.

Ben flinched back, a strangely thoughtful expression passing over his face for a moment. Then he just went blank. I ignored his reaction, too deep in my own pain and fury to notice or care.

"Damn Sith Lord, I hope he burns in hell," I muttered, raising my hand to my face. It shook as I clumsily pulled my dark hair out of my face. I didn't notice as my rough action tore out tiny clumps of hair. The pain seemed fitting; it matched what was inside of me.

"Sending me – me – an invitation to some damn ball?" I shrieked, my voice breaking at the last word. I laughed, the sound putting me on edge. Palpatine truly did cater to the powerful and wealthy, which I suppose I was. Not a good idea to try and do that, however, when you've ordered the execution of that someone's brother.

A strange, mewling noise interrupted my thoughts. My feet rooted in the thick carpet, I turned my head to my left slowly.

Ben was curled up into a fetal position. He was the one making the strange mewling noise – not me, as I had first thought. His body trembled; I could barely see it, but it was there. His eyes were wide and staring, the blue color looking flat. His muscles twitched as if some violent action was threatening to be let loose.

I grabbed a glass and threw it at him.

I was slammed into the wall with stunning force. It took me a long moment to realize I was no longer where I had once been. My hands clumsily fell around me and I grasped for something to help me up. My hands met only the smooth bulkhead. My vision clearing, I looked at Ben. He was still in the same place and I wondered dazedly how I had gotten to the wall.

He was crying. "I'm sorry." He kept whispering the words as he rocked back and forth while holding himself tightly. His eyes were squeezed shut and tears slowly leaked out. The trembling was more visible now, but it seemed less violent, as if he were no longer trying to control himself. As if it was not necessary anymore.

I got to my knees, my head still throbbing. I tentatively touched the back of my head and then drew my hand back to see if there was any blood. There wasn't. I slowly licked my lips and remembered that Ben had been a gladiator. A man trained to kill, to be ruthless.

"No," Ben whispered, seemingly answering nothing.

I gathered my courage and crept to him. I knelt by him and gingerly touched his short, fuzzy hair. When he didn't react, I grew bolder and gave it a sweeping caress. I grieved for my brother, but I had the feeling that Ben was grieving for something long past.

I put my arm around his shoulders and drew him to me, offering comfort as he had for me not long ago. He tensed for a long, nervous moment and then relaxed, permitting the contact.

When his head rested under my chin, the words seemed to spill out of him without control.

"I never suspected – never knew – oh how could I have been so blind? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Padme . . ."

"Ben," I whispered. Whether I was trying to gain his attention or something else I don't know.

"She was pregnant, you know," Ben said with a sudden calm. "Twins. Less than two weeks along. And he killed her – not that he intended to, that, I think, was an accident."

I paused. Just what was I hearing?

"He reacted without thinking – he was fighting me, and when she came to stop him, he killed her on reflex. The lightsaber went right through her. She didn't even look surprised . . ."

Lightsaber?

"I couldn't do anything," he whispered. "I couldn't save her. And Anakin just lost it. I was looking at her when he knocked me out, I don't know why he did that."

"You're a Jedi," I whispered, thing suddenly falling into place. The reluctance with which he killed. How my pain could affect him when the possibility of his own death did not even gain a reaction. It suddenly hit me that, at times, he had reacted to my thoughts, not my actions.

"He was my Padawan," Ben whispered. "And then he fell, and was Palpatine's apprentice."

I could only listen in silence as a strange, disjointed story was unfolded.

"I don't know how it started. Not exactly. Anakin was friends with him, I think, for years. Without me knowing. My Padawan associated with a Sith Lord, and I didn't have a clue. And then Padme, he married her. I think he did love her, twisted as even that became."

I stroked his hair silently. His body was shaking violently now and I held him tighter, as if I could dispel what haunted him by brute force.

"I don't know why he didn't take the chance and kill me that day. I expected him to, in his anger. But he didn't. He brought me to him instead." Ben reflexively held me tighter, almost bruising me. "They tortured me," he whispered.

"But that's over," I whispered.

"When the Temple was destroyed, they burned the memory – all those screams, the tearing of the Force – into my brain. They forced their way in and made me relive my Master's death over and over. I begged them to stop. I hated myself for it, but I begged. It hurt so much. They broke me, drove me to insanity until I saw things. Horrible things."

I said nothing. I might be a drunk, but I knew that Ben had to exorcise his demons.

"I don't remember what Vader was doing to me that time," he said softly.

Vader. The name of Palpatine's pet killer.

"But I was so skinny by then, I slipped out of the restraints." A long pause. "I snapped his neck as he stood over me, gloating. Before he could react. He didn't even have time to get angry – just gave me this blank look of surprise."

The facts bombarded me. Vader had disappeared. Vader had been Ben's Padawan. Vader had been called . . . Anakin.

"I killed my Padawan. Dela, I killed my Padawan," he whispered, the soft words barely audible. But I could hear the horror and self-hatred in them.

His former Padawan or not, Vader had been an evil individual. He had killed millions. Not many would blame Ben for his actions. I certainly didn't.

"Vader deserved what he got," I replied, my tone very firm.

Ben drew away from me for a moment, so he could look me in the face. His eyes were no longer emotionless, but the brokenness remained.

"I deserved what he got," Ben said sadly, tears slipping from his eyes even as he turned away.

I shook my head violently, taking his chin in hand so he would be forced to look at me. "No." A deep breath. If he could not care for himself, could he care for me? "If that had happened, where would that have left me?"

And I kissed him. His lips were warm and I felt his sudden intake of breath. Surprise or passion, it didn't matter.

"Perhaps we are both broken," I whispered, feeling tears slip down my own cheeks. He drew me into a hug and I felt his lips brush my neck tenderly.

We both cried for what we had lost.

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For anyone who is actually reading this, I'm not sure when the next part will be up (this is a work-in-progress). However, it will be up at some point.

Thanks for reading.