Private Dark Harvest

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Theed Gardens
Interacting with: Fenn Stag
Items: x x x x x

The wisteria shifted softly, its lilac tassels bowing with each winter breeze. Sibylla stood beneath the vast vining canopy, wrapped in a hooded cloak lined with soft fur, feeling the chill needling at her slightly pink cheeks.

It was cold. Winter. She loved snow, but hated being cold. But there was a necessity in winter, just as much as there was in spring.

It was the cycle of life.

A soft hum fell from her lips as the Intrim Queen waited. It was an unorthodox meeting, yes. Perhaps even unwise. But curiosity had a way of prying her out from behind walls, and instinct insisted that this step needed taking. Not just to satisfy her own curiosity but as much as to determine what was Fenn's next step?

Her guards were stationed close enough to intervene but far enough to grant her what she required. Privacy. Autonomy. The space to let words fall without too many ears catching them. And while their previous conversation had been had in the midst of the chaos of a fashion show at a bar, the intimacy of the discussion, even while on high alert, did not fly far from Sibylla's thoughts.

So, what had caused Fenn Stag to betray his retainer? To what purpose? So many questions percolated in her mind and even then, one didn't know if they would all be answered.

But at least the door was open to the conversation.

 

[Fenn Stag]

He was constantly watched. He knew that.
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The incumbent royalty of Naboo had asked- not summoned, to a more secluded area of Naboo. He knew what she wanted. A line of questioning. He’d come several days ago and received payment and thanks. Blood money for a betrayal of the highest order.

Not that Mauve was only betrayed by one person alone.

He was unarmored still, and had taken to wearing traditional Naboo clothing for their meeting. His hands were together as he approached, his boots crunching the compacted snow beneath his feet. He didn’t appear to be cold- an insulating layer underneath the clothing kept him toasty warm. A slight electrical current ran through a wire harness, warming him up slightly.

His eyes flicked to the guards, the threats. The corners, the shadows of where they were. He came to rest just out of arm’s reach of her. He looked down at her. They were not far apart in age, as he discovered. Just a few years at most.

She had much responsibility. Much more than he could fathom.

And he had much more weight, anger. Much more than she could fathom.

The Queen and the Killer.

He bowed, courtly manners now on his mind.

“Thank you for having me, your majesty.” He said, rising to a stand. He wasn’t unsure of the proper title- highness or majesty. He could not recall the difference. But he tried at the least.

And so he waited. He offered nothing else presently except silence. He wanted the silence to be his words at the outset- he had no idea what she wanted. He wanted her to tell him, and the silence gave her plenty of opportunity. It wasn’t tense, but as always-

It was unnerving.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Theed Gardens
Interacting with: Fenn Stag
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla lifted her gaze at the sound of boots crunching through the snow, the wisteria above her swaying softly as if acknowledging Fenn's arrival. Her fingers stayed tucked inside her sleeves for warmth, though the posture made her look far more composed than she felt. The guards lingered at their discreet posts, but the moment still drew close around just the two of them, a private pocket carved out of winter.

He wore no armor again, reminding her of the galant attire he had worn at the fashion show, only this time, it was within the drape of traditional Naboo garb. Truth be told, out of the shadows and hololights of the fashion show, as soon as Fenn came to a stop before her, she could see it.

How young he was.

Perhaps, not much older than she. But even then, the stark angles of his face and the deep set of his eyes, those blue eyes, told her far more clearly of the depths and horrors he had walked through. For nothing could soften the tension coiled beneath his composure, for he carried it like a second spine, sharply set beneath the quiet.

"Good morning, Fenn," she began, the smile gentle on her lips even as she quietly let her concerned gaze drift over him. And while she was aware of his capabilities and the reason he was here to begin with, she honestly just wanted to check up on him. Something was different.

The smile brightened as he thanked her, and she gave a slight nod, "Of course, no trouble. I wanted to speak with you as well," she admitted, even as the silence filled the din afterward. Unnearving, yes, but not unexpected.

Sibylla could handle unnerving. She could handle truth. It was the unknown that truly affected her.

After a thoughtful beat, she ventured quietly, "Fenn, how are you doing? Are you alright?"

It was a genuine question out of concern for his well-being, because at the root of it, perhaps understanding him would illuminate the rest. Why had he turned on Mauve after praising her for giving him direction? Why would a man who claimed Miss du Vain had offered him purpose choose betrayal instead?

 

[Fenn Stag]

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"You've asked me that many times. I still won't have a good answer for you."

He was not alright. He figured he never would be. But he stood there quietly, contemplating, his hawk-like eyes flicking to and fro before settling back on her. He angled his head upwards and to the right, just slightly. Inquisitive, cautious and full of doubts. He was unsure of her as she was of him. But she called him here, to speak, to exchange words, ideas, thoughts. But he really knew why she called him here. It was not to wax poetic about his sins and forgiveness. It was to ascertain why he did what he did to Mauve. Why he was a turncoat, a traitor to Mauve.

"You want to know why."

Immediately, his reaction was a slight twinge of anger. She was rich, influential, beautiful. He was poor, damned, and scarred. Was she asking for altruistic reasons? The Republic had already paid him quite a sum- he figured, in most circles, that was thanks enough. Not even the King of Naboo wanted to ask why. So why did she? Immediately his thoughts fled to selfish reasons on her end- using Fenn as a tool, a weapon. Bringing him here to secure her position through force and violence. The thing he was good at. What he was born to do, trained to do, and made to do, and kept doing.

That thought crossed his mind quickly, and in a hurry.

But then, a sad realization hit him:

Maybe she did care. Maybe she was one of the few nice people that he'd met in the galaxy that cared about his well-being. And maybe she just wanted to know. But it was unfair of him to assume. But on the safe side, on the side of caution- he assumed she was more looking at him like a freak, a monster, a leashed animal.

His eyes twinged, twitching. Control.

He was in control.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Theed Gardens
Interacting with: Fenn Stag
Items: x x x x x

Sibylla listened as Fenn spoke, her breath holding for a quiet moment for when he said she had asked him many times and still would still not get a good answer. The words landed with a muted weight in that familiar that tugged at something inside her. She understood that kind of admission. The kind that wasn't refusal so much as a wound still too raw to name.

And when he cut to stating plainly that, you want to know why, Sibylla felt that truth ripple between them, catching the edge of anger in his tone. But she didn't step back. She didn't flinch. She let him feel the space as his own.

Instead, there was thoughtfulness in her gaze, but no judgment. Only a patient kind of understanding.

"It need not be a good answer, nor a perfect one," she murmured. "Only an honest one...and if you find you are uncertain how you feel at all… well, that too is an answer. I have had days much the same."

Sibylla let her gaze drift to the garden beside them, to the winter-worn trees and the wisteria shifting in the cold breeze. She let the stillness settle before returning her attention fully to his face. She took in the slight lift of his head, the set of his stance, the twitch at the corner of his eye, the tension that threaded through that spoke of both vigilance and doubt. There was no doubt about it, Fenn was studying her as much as he was bracing himself.

"I will confess that I do wish to understand why," she said softly, her tone a more gentle inquiry than demand. "Yet even that is of less importance than knowing whether you are truly alright… or whether you are in need of help."

It was his underlying behavior that called to her, not the one that bled, that he was a danger, no, although she certainly felt that tension as one who would be standing next to a Tusk Cat, fully aware it could attack any moment, as much as be unbothered.

But the one that reminded her of those she'd seen assisting military and refugee medical tents. The kind that spoke of an injury that ran deeper. She'd sensed it in how he spoke and what he told her back on Nar Shaddaa, and that in feeling lost he had found some sort of home by serving Mauve. Acceptance. Purpose.

Sibylla had seen her fair share of traitors and disloyal attendants or Senators who'd acted in ways that would be for their own profit and gain. No different than some ambitious nobility as well within the Great Houses.

But Fenn seemed different.

"Whatever the circumstances, you are in control in this moment. I am simply asking whether you wish to share what happened. On your terms."

 

[Fenn Stag]

Stand Unshaken
Sibylla Abrantes
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Another long, deep breath in through his nose. Something she said angered him, or perhaps stirred something unpleasant in him. She did not know how she felt, nor could her days spent withering in her palaces, never cold, never tired, never hungry. Her worst day was politics. His worst day was death and destruction unfathomable to her.

He let the stillness grow, the only movement the flowing of his cloak- fine material, his bounty money well spent in the shops around Naboo. Wealth did not suit him, it fit him physically but his very presence betrayed the fine linens. Nothing about him was noble, posh, put together. However good he looked, neatly combed his hair, styled in the manner of the nobles and wealthy elite- he simply did not belong in that life. So that's why her words, perhaps etched at him. Jealousy of a life spent in comfort, wealth, ease.

He struggled every day he was alive.

"What is wrong with me, you cannot fix."

He had no idea how right he was. In his mind- there was no chemical solution to a spiritual problem. He did not understand his own affliction. Thus far, no one had. He took one step towards her, fast, sharp. Not threateningly fast, not how he'd move towards an enemy, a victim. No, just a step. But he moved fast, always. He closed the distance between them, in that single step to better speak.

"You haven't met anyone like me, have you, Sibylla? From the darker corners of the galaxy, the uglier truths of it." He turned his head slightly.

"Or perhaps a Mandalorian who wasn't waxing poetic and prancing about titles, singing songs and making merry with the enemy." A sharp exhale from his nose. A scoff, if anything. The idea that the Mandalorians she was used to were of the same caliber he was trained by and fought with seemed evident. Fenn was not often an elitist, but there was little doubt in his mind and through his posture that the Enclave and Protectors were vastly better to what was offered to his people as of late, Empire or not.

"Or a killer."

He let that last word linger in the air, the debt he incurred from his violence to his soul settling into the air. "You will have your answers to what you wish to know. Who am I to deny royalty?" A slight curve of his lip. A cruel joke- perhaps a jest aimed at her, or the idea of royalty itself. Fenn had an odd sense of humor, and usually it seemed to be at the expense of others, or musings that were darker in taste.

"Before I begin, why do you think I did it?"

His voice was softer then. Curious. Less callous. Less accusative. Softer than he had been with anyone before.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Fenn Stag

Sibylla did not answer Fenn at once. She let his words settle, let the weight of them press against her ribs as she steadied her breathing. When he stepped closer, her heart leapt despite herself, a flutter rising to her throat before she could still it. She drew in a slow breath, allowing her shoulders to ease, willing calm back into place even as awareness prickled along her skin -- but she did not step away.

"No. I have not met anyone like you," she began quietly, eyes lifting to meet his, "But that lack of knowledge doesn't imply that we cannot have a conversation."

She took another breath and then let it out quietly, as she understood what he meant by emphasizing her interm royal status.

"I think," she continued with that quiet conversational tone, "that perhaps it may be because you were shaped by a life that never allowed for easy choices."

And while her tawny gaze did now waver, her voice did soften.

"I think when the world narrows to its ugliest truths, one does what one must in order to endure." A small pause, thoughtful rather than accusatory. "And perhaps, in that moment, betrayal felt less like a choice… and more like an inevitability."

She drew another breath, the winter air cool against her lungs.

"But that is only my understanding and that is shaped by listening, not by living what you have lived," she added gently. "I do not wish to decide your reasons for you."

Tawny eyes met Fenn's directly but not in challenge, but in genuine concern.

"I would rather hear them from you, Fenn, in your own words."

 

[Fenn Stag]

A life rebuilding a past he never knew
Sibylla Abrantes
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“Conversations.” He said, letting the idea of that word linger in the air. “Satiating curiosity, gaining insight, or are you trying to see if I won’t come after you in the middle of the night?” He turned his head. “Mandalorian conversations are simple. Or they were, at one point. They were not long-winded. I care little for those who speak too long. It irritates me.” He said, glancing around the garden again.

“I’m a clone, which, you may already know. A clone of Preliat Mantis . Perfected. Made whole by the work of the best scientists in the galaxy. Tell me, my lady, what was it like to have a mother? A father? A brother? A home? Your own room?” He said, turning his head to the snow-glistened garden. He seemed sad for a moment, especially due to the fact there were no flowers for him to enjoy.

“My choices were rarely my own. Looking back, I might not have never picked up the title of Mandalorian if I knew where it would lead me.” He looked down at his hand, his remaining organic one at that.

“The Black Sun gave me refuge. I was cast aside and unwanted. The Protectors and the Enclave faltered. Fell apart at the seams. The Crusaders the same. The Empire came but- without boring you of the politics and semantics, I too, am unwelcome and unwanted. And mostly due to my own volition.” He turned his head.

“So where to go, when your people are scattered to the winds? Gone! Your reason for being, a soldier to be of the Republic- gone?” Another moment of silence. He gave her time to process his words and thoughts. He seemed to know that she was introspective and formulating things in her mind, and his brief pauses were intentional and somewhat a courtesy.

“You look. You search and search until-“ A finger went up.

“Someone, or something, takes you in. But as I went on, the Black Sun did not care about me. And my soul, damned as it is, can only stomach so much wickedness. But as I realized they didn’t care about me, I realized what they cared about.”

“Only what I could do.”

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