This is a little Christmas-themed one-shot about my Sith Inquisitor, Murlesson, who I previously wrote about in my massive Inquisitor-story-rewrite, Devil’s Due. This event was hinted at in the original epilogue of Devil’s Due; I ended up not keeping that epilogue, but the material in it I’m going to recycle later, as Murlesson/Aristheron/Akuliina fans may be interested to know that I’ve begun writing a sequel to DD called The Devil You Know. I will probably not publish anything for a long time as my writing process can be very time consuming (I started writing this holiday fic last April), I still haven’t played the game past Ilum, my ambitions for the story arcs are high, and my workload is as bad as ever, but hey some bits of the start of a draft exist (and even some snippets for a third fic to follow that!).

An important change: you may recall I had established Pyron’s family previously on Ziost. This was a mistake. I knew Ziost was important to the Empire, but I didn’t know it was the ice version of Korriban until I started writing this fic (back in last April, actually). : P And now that I’m determined to put them in a super normal North American-style suburb, that really doesn’t fit! How can you have a lovely cheesy special white Christmas Life Day if the entire planet is always cold? (suburbs are the city version of cancer but many people grew up with them, so I thought it would be neat to use them here.) But seriously, does the Empire have any nice planets?? (Besides Commenor and Kuat, apparently? Which in my stories I developed, not BioWare : P )

I keep putting Sith Lords in domestic situations because it’s funny. Hands up if you want a full-on coffeeshop AU where everyone’s still Sith? (Or a sequel to Something to Prove : P) (I’m kidding I don’t have time to write either of those)

 

A Sith Lord’s First Life Day

Darth Nox got out of the taxi cab and looked around at the houses surrounding him with an amount of trepidation that surprised even himself. For someone who was used to cities filled with skyscrapers, looming, impersonal, and seething with activity, he would have thought himself easily equal to this very simple environment.

But there was something vaguely creepy about being surrounded by these endless winding rows of private mansions, or so they seemed to him, each done in a stylish modern design but nonetheless near-identical to the next in every other aspect. Each had a low wall protecting a precisely perfect lawn and front garden smothered in several centimetres of snow, and the effect was forbidding from the outside. The silence was only broken by a few distant speeders and a cold wind.

To look at him, no one would have guessed he was on the Dark Council of the Galactic Empire. He was a red Zabrak, tall but still filling out into adulthood, dressed in a warm woollen coat and scarf and loose knitted cap instead of his usual plain black robes. His face was tattooed like a skull below his shaggy mop of red hair, through which baleful yellow eyes gleamed. He looked like a cranky teenager, and actually, that was exactly what he was.

“So this is a suburb,” he said to himself. He’d seen them in holodramas, especially the holiday holodramas he’d binged on fast-forward to research for this visit, but never in person. He still hadn’t waved the droid in the taxi to leave.

Drellik had gotten out of the other side of the taxi and came to stand beside him. “Is everything all right, my lord?”

“…Yes,” Murlesson said, and let the taxi leave. It was silly to be having second thoughts about this whole business now, just because the neighbourhood was weird.

Though that wasn’t the only reason, was it? He should never have agreed to this.

The snow crunched under his shoes as he shifted his feet, and the sky was dark grey though it was mid-afternoon. Winter here on Commenor was a little bit grim, but it made the warm yellow lights shining out of the windows of the dwelling before him seem all the more inviting, on second glance. He adjusted his grip on the wine bottle he held, and started forward through the open gate, Drellik behind him.

When he pressed the buzzer, it didn’t buzz but it made a melodious sound. There were scampering noises from inside, and barking, and the door was opened by Moff Pyron, holding back a medium-sized canine and two medium-sized human boys. “Down, boy!” he was saying to the canine, who just barked more loudly. “Hello, my lord, Lieutenant Drellik. Come in, come in. You have good timing.” Handing the canine to the boys to take care of, he beckoned Murlesson and Drellik inside, taking their winter outerwear to hand to a butler droid. Murlesson handed him the bottle of wine with as much grace as he could muster, and a smile that felt nervous and forced. Drellik saluted and Pyron returned it, and then followed up with a hearty handshake that left Drellik beaming with surprise.

Murlesson found his footsteps slowing as he followed Pyron towards the next room, a room from which he felt many presences. For someone used to people attempting to kill him on a near-daily basis, he would have thought the prospect of socializing with guaranteed allies very agreeable, not frightening at all. And yet… the only people here whom he knew, trusted, and was trusted by were Drellik and Pyron. He wasn’t here in an official capacity, just as… ‘himself’. So he wasn’t supposed to be intimidating. He wasn’t supposed to be lordly. He was wearing a cardigan and a beanie to be the opposite of lordly. In fact, the success parameters for this event depended on not being intimidating or lordly, and despite all the holodramas he’d watched, he was not at all confident in being able to act well enough to convince nine people at the same time that he was ‘normal’. He was pretty sure they weren’t at all interested in his real personality, neither the black sarcasm that he’d have to work on holding back, nor the deeper-held private thoughts that he would be hard-pressed to unmask before strangers anyway.

No doubt Pyron had intended this to be some form of relaxation from the intensity of his daily life, a break from the military and political grind, but Pyron was not Force-sensitive. He had no idea that entering this room was like entering just another battlefield.

 

It had been only a week before, in a routine meeting after Lord Murlesson’s ascension to the Dark Council, that the idea had come up. Pyron chose his moment carefully. “Before I go, my lord, I had a thought.”

“Yes?” Lord Murlesson looked up from sifting through the datapads on his office desk, having just found the one that he wanted on the bottom of the pile.

“Perhaps this is rather personal, but do you have plans for Life Day?”

“I thought it was forbidden for Imperial citizens to celebrate a Republic holiday,” Lord Murlesson said, putting his head on one side in curiosity. “I’m going to be working, of course. Why?”

“Well…” Pyron considered. He was a law-abiding Imperial citizen, as was his family. “Of course we don’t actually celebrate Life Day. I’ve heard it’s originally a Wookiee tradition, and we don’t do anything they would do. Still, it is an excellent notion to take a day of the year to spend with friends and family. It’s simply easier to call it ‘Life Day’ and no one needs extra explanation.”

“Ah.”

“I have been talking to my wife, and we would consider it a great honour if you would be inclined to visit our family this year.” The young man had probably never experienced anything like it, if the hints he’d picked up about his past told the story he thought they did. But this was not… pity, exactly. A Sith wouldn’t accept that.

Lord Murlesson froze. “Why?”

Pyron hesitated. The real reason – that he felt a paternal urge towards him – was probably too emotionally charged to be brought up in conversation with the overly logical young Sith. “Er… One reason, perhaps, is that I still owe you a great debt. Perhaps you would not consider this much thanks in return, but it is a gesture I can make. You could meet the family whom you protected on my behalf. Or you could consider it a celebration of your Ascension, since I don’t recall you mentioned marking the occasion at all.”

“I didn’t,” Lord Murlesson said, going back to his datapad. “There’s been too much to do. There’s still too much to do. I can’t take time off to go to Commenor now, except if there’s work there.”

“A holiday will prevent you from burning yourself out, my lord,” Pyron said reasonably. “I don’t think I’ve heard a report of you taking any time off since before your kaggath.” When he had been recuperating from a serious, if mysterious, illness.

“I can’t imagine anyone inviting Thanaton over for Life Day,” Lord Murlesson mused absent-mindedly, and Pyron restrained a smirk at the image. “I can’t deny I am curious.”

“We should be glad to indulge your curiosity, my lord.”

Still he was surprised – though not as surprised as Lord Murlesson, it seemed – to hear him say: “Why not, then. Yes. I’ll come.”

 

The first thing Murlesson noticed was that he was the tallest person in the room. That wasn’t completely unusual for him, being nearly two metres tall, but all the other adults were a good twenty to thirty centimetres shorter than him. That wasn’t going to help him be less intimidating and, again, that was not the goal.

The second thing he noticed was that the canine just would not stop barking. At him, he realized, and wondered if it was because it sensed his Darkness or if it sensed his nerves. “Petr!” Pyron said. “Take Rocco outside, would you?”

“Yes, Grandpapa!” said the older boy, and pulled the canine into another room and closed the door. The volume dropped to a bearable level. But there was still tension, fear, hostility in the room. Everyone except for Pyron, Drellik… and the younger boy, he noticed, was afraid of his status and reputation. And he couldn’t use the Force to influence them to like him, Pyron would probably notice. He choked down the urge to turn around and head straight back out. He could do that now. He was a Sith Lord, not a slave, no one would or could stop him. But he’d agreed to be here. He was regretting it. If he wanted a holiday, he could have spent it in bed with a book.

“I apologize for that, Lord Murlesson,” Pyron was saying. “Usually he’s friendlier with strangers. Perhaps you can get better acquainted later and he’ll warm up to you then. May I introduce my wife, Sandana?”

He had to pull himself together now, the socialization was starting. He bowed to the lovely older woman who had come to stand at Pyron’s side; she smiled to him a little uncertainly, but he read in her that she was determined to please him for her husband’s sake. She would be easy to deal with, then. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. He must have said it right, because she seemed to relax immediately. “It’s a great honour to have you here. I hope you enjoy your time with us.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your hospitality in inviting me into your beautiful home.”

“Such a polite and charming young man you are, my lord,” she said, smiling more fully, and he blushed. Why would that make him blush? “And Lieutenant Drellik, it’s lovely to see you again, under much better circumstances.”

“And you, Lady Pyron,” Drellik said, with a cheerful salute. “I’m glad Lord Murlesson brought me along.”

“My son, Jost, and his wife Ariad,” Pyron went on, and more greetings were exchanged. Murlesson was mystified. Ariad Pyron was utterly terrified of him, and trying valiantly to hide it. What had he ever done to her? Or more likely, what had a Sith ever done to her? Was it going to be an issue? It certainly wasn’t his business.

“And my daughter Immerne with her husband Ellaur.” Immerne didn’t trust him, he could tell, didn’t like that her father had brought a Sith into their family circle at a family-themed celebration. Ellaur felt… eager. They both greeted him politely enough, but it set his teeth on edge.

“Am I doing something wrong?” he whispered to Drellik.

“You could stand to stop glowering, my lord,” Drellik whispered back.

He… wasn’t glowering? But… frak, he’d forgotten to keep smiling the more nervous he got. Would a smile even help, or would it just make him look more sinister? He tried one tentatively and felt no discernible change in the room.

Pyron gestured to the two boys. “And my grandsons, Petr and Aerin. Jost and Ariad’s children.”

Petr, the taller, bowed carefully, and watched him carefully, mumbled a wary greeting. Murlesson sensed that he had been warned to be on his best behaviour, warned that Sith were dangerous and capricious and easily insulted. Probably not from Pyron, but it was fine. It was a good lesson to know. But the younger boy, Aerin, bowed to him in a quick, rote way that had no real respect in it.

He found that he didn’t mind. “Hello.”

“Do you zap people a lot?” Aerin asked eagerly. “I heard you zap people with electricity when they don’t obey you. How many people do you zap per day?”

“Aerin!” scolded his mother, and Murlesson felt the tension surge in the room, the strangers holding their breath to see what the Dark Councillor did with such impertinence.

Murlesson sat down on the floor to be closer to his level. “As many as I have to.”

Aerin sat down in front of him. “Did you ever zap Grandpapa?”

“No,” Murlesson said, wanting to laugh at the ludicrousness of the moment but also marvelling at the absolute fearlessness of this child. “How old are you?”

“I’m seven. Petr’s nine. Grandpapa is sixty-seven. That’s the same as me, plus sixty. How do you zap people? Do you have an electric blaster?”

“Aerin, leave Darth Nox alone,” protested the boy’s mother, Ariad, reaching down to pull him away. Even the non-threatening position Murlesson had assumed seated on the floor had not quelled her fear, enhanced now by her reckless son.

“It’s all right,” Murlesson said. He flicked his wrist to demonstrate, and a couple of sparks crackled from his fingertips. Everyone except Drellik jumped. Aerin’s eyes were aglow with fascination and he leaned in closer. Murlesson pulled his hand away, not ready to be mauled by a child, or to let the family think that he’d let a child get hurt. “Aerin. Have you ever moved things without touching them?”

“Oh, yes, all the time!” Aerin exclaimed, and ran off. Surely he wasn’t Force-sensitive, he hadn’t a whiff of it about him.

“That doesn’t count!” Petr called after him, and followed him.

Aerin returned with a contraption in his arms that he plonked down in front of Murlesson. “Look what I built! You set it up like this, and then you push the button, and it moves the cart, and that pulls the string, and that trips the ball, and that-“

“I see,” Murlesson interrupted what was likely to be a five-minute detailed explanation. This child was the budding mechanic in the family, if he recalled correctly. “May I?”

He should have been interacting with the adults. Pyron had invited him here, and adults were more useful to have on his side. He was legally an adult, after he’d had his records sliced. …But he’d never seen something like this before. And Aerin had just… made it?

Aerin had been thoroughly distracted from asking about the Force, and was happy to gabble away about his toys indefinitely, and that brought Petr out of his shell to interrupt and correct his brother. Pretty soon all three of them were messing around with some kind of construction kit, and Murlesson was… enjoying himself.

And so were the boys, if their rising volume was anything to go by. “But then you should put this part like this,” Petr told Aerin. “It’s supposed to go like this!”

“No!” Aerin yelled, and Murlesson flinched.

“Shush!” he commanded them, panic absolutely flooding his body, and they pulled back, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone was staring. Ariad was about to faint. What? What had he done wrong now? He didn’t intend them any harm, he was afraid for them, children who were too loud were…

Normal. Loud children were normal. The fact logically presented itself to his brain, emerging through the panic, and he took a deep breath and forced his hands to stop shaking. “My apologies. Carry on.” Don’t explain. Sith don’t have to explain.

“Please don’t mention it,” Pyron said politely. “I’ve been remiss – Lord Murlesson, would you like some refreshment? A drink, a sweetbread?”

Nobody knew what had just happened, and he was going to keep it that way. “I’d appreciate that.” He got up, away from the boys, who were still confused, but went back to playing as if they hadn’t been interrupted. “Sorry.” They ignored his muttered apology, engrossed in their activity.

 

Pyron handed him a glass of something cold and opaque; when he sipped it, it was sweet and creamy and completely loaded with alcohol. He resolved to treat it with caution. “We were just discussing the Imperial Reclamation Service with Lieutenant Drellik. I was not aware that their duties were so wide-spread.”

He was grateful to Pyron. An opening for him to speak eloquently, to perhaps win over the rest of the family by showing them he wasn’t just another power-hungry murdering Sith Lord. Or a graceless weirdo who yelled at kids. It was how he’d won over Pyron, partly, when they first met. “Yes, I met him because I had need of their services. It was my first time seeing professional archaeology in action. It was quite thrilling.”

“Thrilling, my lord?” asked Jost, the boys’ father, as if doubting his ears.

Should he be insulted that this normie considered history to be boring? “To know the past is to grasp the future. But no one can know the past if it’s not properly documented, carefully, with appropriate procedures. This is partly why I assumed the position as Head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, to ensure the past is recorded correctly.”

“Yes, the Reclamation Service now answers ultimately to Lord Murlesson, and a better choice I could not imagine,” Drellik said. “I have hardly known anyone else so passionate about our work.”

“You flatter me,” he murmured, but Drellik’s mind held no deceit.

“Does that mean history grants power, my lord?” asked Ellaur, the son-in-law, and Murlesson was immediately on his guard. Ellaur’s wife Immerne elbowed him in a way that was meant to look subtle but wasn’t.

“It grants me power,” he said. “It would probably do very little for you unless you’re trying to discover ancient Force techniques or historical battle tactics. The patterns of conflicts and peacemaking. You’re not a politician, are you?” He could tell Ellaur was not, and was wondering how hard he should slap down the attempted bootlicking – or if he should ask Pyron to do it. It would ruin the mood if he did it himself in public.

“No,” Ellaur said. “I’m just interested. How do you learn these things from history?”

“It’s a very long, rigorous, and intensive process,” Murlesson told him. “We have thousands of years’ worth of records, but eventually, most electronic data breaks down unless it’s copied to a new medium. And much of it was not; deemed useless and overwritten, or simply forgotten about in lost, slowly decaying computers. So we must often rely on physical artifacts and the Force. One holocron is more valuable than a million potsherds, but you’re more likely to find a million potsherds.”

“That’s fascinating,” Ellaur said. “I have a bit of interest in history myself, you know. My knowledge is hardly as extensive as yours, of course. But it’s… it’s very interesting, of course.” From the look Immerne gave him, he was completely making it all up – or at least had never spoken of any such interest before.

Murlesson held onto his patience and drank more of his drink. Would alcohol help with this, or would it amplify his annoyance? “And what do you normally do, when not indulging in your interests?”

“Ah… I’m a data systems analyst on the dreadnaught Terrorhawk.”

“That’s assigned to the 23rd fleet, correct?” Murlesson asked.

“Yes, exactly,” Pyron said. “Commanded by your friend, Lord Laskaris.”

“Really?” asked Jost. “Small galaxy.”

“Well, given my circumstances until recently, I would not have wanted any of my family to be associated with the 44th,” Pyron said. “That has now changed, but Ellaur is secure in his position where he is.”

“I wouldn’t mind transferring,” Ellaur piped up. “Everything has happened quite fast, though.”

“Indeed,” Murlesson murmured, thinking with dark amusement on how he had nearly thrown it all away in the last confrontation with Thanaton to save Ashara. The Pyrons didn’t need to know about that, though. And he didn’t need Ellaur in the 44th. People might talk of nepotism – and while on most levels he didn’t care, it wouldn’t be untrue, either. If Ellaur messed up under his command, he might not be able to mete out fair correction. “Lord Laskaris is the most honourable Sith in the fleet, and much more focused on proper military matters. Of all patrons you could have, he is probably one of the least dangerous.”

“I don’t think you’re terribly dangerous to your subordinates, my lord,” Drellik said hastily into the resulting uncomfortable pause. “Khem Val aside, of course.”

That made him snort. “No. But Khem expects it, so I give him what he expects. Otherwise, I of all people can certainly understand that fear is not a viable long-term motivational strategy.” This wasn’t helping. What ought he to say? There weren’t any holiday holodramas with Sith in them. “No, I am not dangerous to my subordinates. Certainly not to the two of you,” he said, looking from Drellik to Pyron. Drellik was maybe the closest thing he had to a real friend, after all.

“I’m glad to hear that, my lord,” Sandana said. “You don’t know how worried I was for my husband during those long years he was Admiral under Moff Bilsane and Thanaton.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Murlesson told her. “I don’t have so much ego that I damage valuable resources out of petty irritation. It’s very inefficient.”

Pyron chuckled to himself, but Sandana looked confused. “Inefficient?”

She probably didn’t like hearing her husband referred to as ‘valuable resources’, and now he felt embarrassed. “And I’m… rather fond of him,” he mumbled reluctantly. Pyron smiled. Murlesson gave him a dour look and excused himself to use the refresher.

 

In the confusion of Ellaur making a fool of himself, Ariad had quietly left the room. She didn’t know if she could take much more of this. She had managed to keep herself safe her entire life – until Jost told her only that morning that Moff Pyron was inviting his patron Darth Nox to dinner, far too late for her to escape. She had considered pretending to be sick, but her husband would see through that. Though she was very close to actually being sick now, with fear… and the Sith could probably tell. Any longer in the same room as him, and everyone else would be able to tell as well.

She went to the guest bedroom and locked herself in, trying to control her breathing, to bring her heartrate down, to stop the cold sweats that rippled over her every time Darth Nox looked at her or her children or opened his mouth. At this rate she would not be able to sit down to dinner with the others. And that would probably be better.

There was a knock at the door and she nearly screamed. “Y-yes?”

“Why do you fear me so much?” asked Darth Nox, and her heart nearly stopped. She barely registered that he was asking in a curious, conversational way, not a threatening way – but that hardly mattered, he didn’t have to threaten to be threatening. She had seen him on the news, when he destroyed Darth Thanaton on Corellia. She had seen what power he held inside him. And he was an alien; not that that made him any worse than any other Sith, but she did not know many aliens and she didn’t know what to expect of them even with they were not Sith.

“I-I-I don’t feel well, my lord,” she managed faintly, moving behind the bed away from the door. For an instant she entertained the ridiculous idea of jumping out the window, but that wouldn’t save her. He was a lot younger and more in shape than her. She shouldn’t have run away from the group after all, there was safety in numbers! “Please forgive me.”

The door lock clicked without anyone touching it and the door hissed softly open, and there he stood, inhuman yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly on her. “You’re Force-sensitive, aren’t you.”

She pressed herself into the corner of the room in a panic, knocking over a holo-frame on the sidetable. “P-please… Please don’t… I have a family…” What did Sith care about families?

He frowned in what looked like genuine confusion, leaning on the doorframe. “I’m not going to kill you, you’re no threat to me. No… that’s not it, is it?” He paused, probably feeling deeper into her mind. He still looked confused. “I am not going to remove you from your family. You… think all Force-sensitives become apprentices?”

“Are not all Force-sensitives required to go to Korriban?” she whimpered.

“No?” His expression was clearing. “No. You have no need to fear that. At least not from me. You have the gift, but it is weak and untrained – you are far more important to your family than you could ever be as Sith at your age.”

She had no choice but to accept his words. He could simply be saying it to keep her calm for the rest of the evening and then she might disappear later… But there was no way she could fight him in any capacity.

Suddenly he was right in front of her, holding out his hand to her. She jumped and slid to the floor, sitting against the wall staring up at him. “I swear, you are in no danger from me. Nor are your children. There’s not a breath of Force-sensitivity between them, if that’s a worry that troubles you.”

If she took his hand, would he wipe her mind? Still she cowered.

His alien red-yellow eyes were tired, much too tired for someone his age. “I don’t mind that you don’t trust me. It’s to your credit that you don’t trust me, or any Sith, and that you teach your children the same. I, too, know what it is to hide this power for fear of a fate worse than death. But you are under my aegis now. If anyone were to give you the slightest issue over your secret, I will deal with it. Only let me know and it will be done.”

He was right that she was weak. Her sensitivity only lent itself to reading the tone of the people around her – and having a preternatural ability to sense when her boys were getting into trouble. Not for guessing if Dark Councillors were telling the truth to her. She could barely sense his immense strength, he was so much stronger than her. And the deep-seated fear that she had carried inside her since childhood was not to be tamed so quickly. But logically, she guessed he might not be lying – Moff Pyron was useful to him, and if anything happened to Pyron’s daughter-in-law, especially something mysterious, that would be distracting, and make him less useful to Nox. She took his hand and did not feel any change in herself that she noticed. “I-I will believe you, Darth Nox. I am very grateful…”

His hands were covered in scars, she noticed as he gave her a hand up to her feet again. She saw them on his neck as well, behind his red hair and just below the edge of his beanie cap, old marks that had been left to heal without kolto, maybe without medical assistance at all. And he looked so young… “You have so many wounds…”

“Occupational hazard,” he said with a wry smile.

He was barely more than a boy, he didn’t deserve to have so many scars, even if he was a Sith. She couldn’t bear the thought of her own sons having such scars… how did his parents feel? …Did he have parents? He didn’t, did he? If he did, he would be spending this holiday with them. She clasped his hand more fervently, trying to  impart some warmth to him.

Now he pulled away. “Don’t,” he said in an intense whisper. “I’ve had too many mother figures, and they’ve all tried to kill me.”

That was even worse! But even as she thought that, his gaze hardened. “I have never had parents. I’ve never needed parents. Despite what Pyron is trying to do here, I am not part of your family.”

So that was what Pyron was doing. She had wondered. And suddenly she agreed with him. “Everyone deserves family,” she whispered. “You were playing with my sons so gently…” Even in her fear and distrust, she had seen that.

“I… like children,” he confessed. “I like your sons. I wish I’d had what they have. But it’s too late for that.”

“It isn’t,” she said. “It never is.”

“You believe that because you were raised with it,” he said, and took his hand away. “I’ll see you with the others.”

She watched him leave – the door closing and locking again, the way she had left it – and tried to gather her thoughts.

 

The adult gathering was humming along as if he’d never left. He slotted himself back into an empty gap, ignoring the invisible bristles radiating off of Immerne who ended up being beside him, and tried to be interested in local economics and what local people thought of them. Sandana was telling her children how the costs of basic foodstuffs had changed since the war began, and how it was rather unbelievable, worse than the last war. Murlesson thought it was perfectly believable – but he’d never had to run a household. And it didn’t sound like she’d adjusted for inflation.

It was boring as sand but he knew how to look interested. The information would stick with him as long as he was paying the least bit of attention, that wasn’t a problem. But he had to wonder how the others were as invested as their minds showed they were.

“Lord Murlesson, Lord Murlesson!” The boys were back, and he welcomed it. “Can we show you what we made?”

They’d built a fanciful spaceship, with more guns than hull, all in bright, mismatched colours. But as soon as they’d showed it off, Petr seemed to think of something. “Do you… never mind.”

“What is it?”

“I mean… you wouldn’t know any games, would you? Do Sith play games?”

They play games with our lives, he wanted to say, but settled for a chuckle, setting his drink safely on a low table and sitting on the floor again, long legs bent up to fit more compactly. “Did you think I was born on the Dark Council? I know some games. Would you like to learn them?”

“Really? What kind of games?” Aerin shouted and Murlesson winced again. “What kind of games?” Aerin asked again at a normal volume. “Can you show us? Do you need to download anything to show us? I can get a datapad.”

“All you need is a hand with fingers,” Murlesson said. “Sometimes two.” He still remembered the hand games he’d learned in captivity as a small child, though he didn’t know if most of them had real names. Maybe the boys were too old to learn some of these, but what the heck, it was worth a shot.

“How do you know so many?” Petr asked, halfway through a game of finger arithmetic tag. “I’m going to teach these to everyone at school.”

Murlesson shrugged. “When you have no toys as a child, you find ways to entertain yourself without them.”

He looked up with some irritation as the adult conversation faded. “Like I told my apprentice, if you’re going to get quiet and sad every time I mention my tragic past, you’re never going to get anything done. Please continue.”

“Why didn’t you have toy-” Petr cut himself off, connecting some sort of dots. Though glancing into Petr’s mind, the boy only guessed that he had been poor. Ah, the innocence of middle-class children. 

The adults were guessing closer. Ariad and Sandana looked shocked. He could sense Pyron’s sadness, despite his poise. Even Drellik, who knew the most about it, was wincing. The past was over and done! He hadn’t gotten over it but that was his life, not theirs – and he despised being pitied.

And their pity was digging into him, reminding him that he’d grown up with little in the way of joy or safety or comfort, how he’d been sold to a egomaniacal sadist, how even though he had been lucky in so many ways he had still endured labour, deprivation, fear, and torture, how he’d had to brutally murder his owner and that had only led him to being captured by the Sith. He looked at these children who had never known any of that, who had been loved and cared for and downright pampered, and the jealous envy that howled up in him nearly choked him.

The lights in the room dipped alarmingly and the light emitter of the lamp in the corner shattered before he could get his Force back under control. Everyone jumped, and Sandana moved to the window, looking out through the decorative slats. “I hope the power doesn’t go out. I didn’t think there was that much snow…”

Murlesson caught Drellik looking anxiously at him again, and glared. He was in control again, everything was fine. Drellik restrained a sigh and looked away.

“You have a lot of bumps on your hands,” Aerin commented, already moving on to the next thing that caught his attention.

“Yes,” Murlesson said dryly, letting his fear and envy go. Maybe he should have worn gloves to cover his many scars, since both Aerin and Ariad had commented on them. But who wore gloves indoors with civilian clothes? And he’d hardly expected to be playing hand-games with children. Or shaking hands with their mother. At least they hadn’t noticed his synthetic fingertips. “A word of advice: try not to catch blaster bolts with your hands.”

“With your hands!?” Petr exclaimed, and then, having figured out at least that Murlesson didn’t like yelling, covered his mouth with his hands. “Um, you can’t catch blaster bolts with your hands.”

The adult conversation was getting quiet again. “So don’t.”

“But you did, and that’s why you have bumps on your hands?”

“If you can make lightning with your hands, you can do it,” Murlesson said. “If you can’t, you’ll just lose your hand.”

“What are those marks on your face?” Aerin asked, pointing rudely.

“They’re tattoos.”

“Mama won’t let me get a tattoo. She says they’re disgusting.”

Ariad was looking much better than before, but now she flinched. Murlesson shrugged. “To my people, these markings mean that I am an adult, and a great warrior.” Actually he needed to look into getting more. Maybe they’d cover up some of the more uncomfortable scars he’d acquired – not on his hands, but the rest of his body at least.

“Mama! I want to be a great warrior so I can get tattoos.”

“Maybe when you’re older,” Ariad said, looking uncomfortable.

“You’re not a Zabrak,” Murlesson said. “They’d just look silly on you.”

“Oh.” Aerin deflated. “Mama, can I be a Zabbak – um – an alien so I can be a great warrior and get tattoos?”

She looked even more uncomfortable. “No, dear, that’s not possible.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” Murlesson said. “Aliens don’t get any respect.” Even from his fellow Dark Councillors, there were several who had made snide remarks about his race. Murlesson just considered himself lucky that Pyron had never seemed to care. Had cared about his youth more than his species.

“You have horns,” Petr noted. “They’re neat. Do you use them for anything?”

Sandana hurried over before he had to refrain from saying anything about headbutting malicious snitches who wanted to shank him. “It’s just about time for dinner! Petr, can you show Lord Murlesson where to wash up?”

“Yes, Grandmama,” Petr said.

 

Ellaur went to wash up after Lord Murlesson, and approached the refresher just as Lord Murlesson was coming out of it. The Sith boy opened the door and stopped there, waiting for him. “Ellaur.”

“Y-yes?” Ellaur didn’t see why he had to stutter there, he had nothing to be afraid of. His plan to make friends with the Sith seemed to be going well. And being friends with a Sith could only mean good things for his career. He did seem like a kid, happily playing with the same toys as his wife’s nephews, and… well, kids were easily manipulated.

But then again, the light in the refresher was haloing Lord Murlesson, casting his face into shadow. Deeper shadow than should be normal for that hallway. And he’d been having the nagging feeling that Lord Murlesson could see right through him. 

Well. That was just because all Sith were a bit sinister, right? Even if just by the reputation of their fellows. He decided to be extra polite anyway, with a friendly smile. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

“You should stop,” Lord Murlesson said bluntly.

Ellaur kept smiling. “I’m not sure what you mean-”

“Yes, you do,” said the boy, in tones of annoyed certainty, and Ellaur felt his smile and his blood temperature drop rapidly as the shadows began to crawl around him. How was he doing that? “I am not your friend. I will not be your friend, not while you want something of me. Do you think Sith are so easily manipulated? We are dangerous. And we can tell when you’re lying.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?” Ellaur shrank back from those gleaming yellow eyes, somehow bright in that dark-shadowed face.

The shadows relented slightly, but not much. “Nothing,” Lord Murlesson said. “You’re not worth my attention.” He leaned forward and Ellaur leaned away. “See that it remains that way.”

A thought rose and died half-formed in Ellaur’s mind – but the Sith suddenly put his head on one side as in curiosity. “You… don’t want to hide behind your relationship with Pyron. That’s interesting, at least. Why?”

He was dropping his plan, so the Sith didn’t need to know why… but under the unspoken command of those terrifying eyes he blurted it out anyway. “I don’t want to just rely on my father-in-law for my family’s well-being. I-I want Immerne to be able to rely on me.”

“Well, you chose an inestimably foolish way to go about it,” Lord Murlesson said, and the shadows snapped back to how they normally were. The boy looked… like a normal teenager suddenly. “Have you told her that?”

“Told who what?” Immerne said from the end of the hall, and Ellaur decided he wanted to have death instead of dinner.

“See you at dinner,” Lord Murlesson said, and brushed past them.

Ellaur shivered. The Sith had given the choice to him, which he was a little surprised about, but that didn’t mean it was any easier. And who ever heard of a Sith offering relationship advice? Especially – apparently – free? “W-well…”

“Were you trying to bother him again?” Immerne said, coming up to him and putting her hands on her hips. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you this evening. It’s bad enough Father invited him to start with, but you- What are you thinking?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Ellaur said. After all, he wasn’t going to do it any more. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Well, it’s… I want to… Look, your father’s great, and I really appreciate everything he’s done for us, but I feel like… like we just lean on him for everything. Or that people treat us differently because he’s your father. I was just trying to… I wanted to find a way to support us independently. ”

“Are you feeling insecure?” Immerne asked, and suddenly seemed to realize how unsettled he was. “Hey, are you okay?”

He managed to smile. “I’ll be okay. Really. And yes… maybe a little bit.”

She hugged him. “Thanks for telling me. Maybe we can work on that. But the nerve of that-”

“Shh!” Ellaur certainly didn’t want the Sith mad at his wife either.

“You can’t stop me, Ellaur. I need to give him a piece of my mind on my own account, anyway.”

 

The food of the dinner was very good. Sandana explained she had an antique chef droid, and even though she had been able to afford a state-of-the-art chef droid even before Pyron had been promoted to Moff, the results just weren’t the same as her beloved, clunky old droid. Murlesson didn’t really care, but he was interested in the food. It looked very much like the food in the holiday holodramas, and it was different from anything else he’d ever eaten, though that wasn’t difficult – the list mostly consisted of slop, military rations, and junk food. And the couple of times he’d been out with Ashara or Aristheron. Had Ashara ever eaten food like this…? He couldn’t think about that.

He’d been making good progress in dividing-and-conquering the opposition in each individual family member, he rather thought. Pyron and Drellik had been on his side from the start, and Sandana had only needed to be shown that he had manners. The young boys had warmed right up to him, Ariad was no longer perpetually about to have a panic attack, and Ellaur was treating him with proper respect. 

That left only… Jost, cautious and thoughtful, was still watching him, and Immerne was hardly bothering to hide her glares after he’d quelled Ellaur’s ambitions. She wasn’t sitting across from him – Pyron had put him at the head of the table, and Murlesson spent about two seconds overthinking that decision before he accepted it – but she was close enough.

“Now what did I ever do to you?” he asked, once the edge was off his hunger. He knew perfectly well, of course, he was an intruder and his being invited by her own father did nothing to mitigate the depth of his sin in the eyes of her feelings, not when she hadn’t been consulted.

She said as much. “I’m sure you know exactly what I think without my having to say anything, Darth Nox.”

“Immerne,” Pyron scolded her, but Murlesson waved off his concern.

“But I’ve been on my best behaviour,” he said, smiling. “Oh, go on, tell me what you think. I can take it.” She didn’t really hate him, could hardly hate him more than Thanaton, and he almost wanted to goad her, to challenge her to try to get under his skin, unbound by social rules and the expectations of the occasion.

“I won’t be so rude to a guest,” she said. “Certainly not one who got my father promoted.” Ooh, he liked the sarcasm.

“And his unjust superior torn down,” he reminded her. That had been the majority of Pyron’s problem, at least from Pyron’s point of view. The promotion was just a bonus. “Is this a battle of wits, then?”

“If it is, I suppose you’ll say something like ‘I don’t duel unarmed opponents’,” she said.

He grinned. “I will absolutely duel an unarmed opponent. I’ll cheat, too.” Maybe he shouldn’t be too smug about… using ‘unconventional tactics’, but it was too funny not to be. “I wouldn’t say you’re completely defenceless, if it makes you feel any better.”

She glared. “You’re not making me feel any better about my father working for you. It almost got us killed.”

Okay, not a bad point; he was uncomfortably reminded of how that had gone down – how Thanaton’s apprentice had brought in extra reinforcements, and his own wilful apprentice had decided to focus on a direct attack instead of a tactical one. But that was back when Xalek had been brand new to his minions, pushing his boundaries, not knowing to respect his master just because he was ten years younger than him.

He didn’t lose his smile. It had been close, but it still come out a win, thanks to his other allies. “Not while you had Mandalorians with you.”

“Mandalorians,” she scoffed, and on that, at least, Murlesson knew Pyron agreed with her. “We still got shot at.”

“It was awesome,” Petr said under his breath.

“It was a risk,” Murlesson admitted, letting his face become more sober. “But that’s why I cheat.”

“So you can gamble harder?”

“I actually don’t like gambling,” he said. “I’ve only done it a few times when I was really desperate – and those had nothing to do with you. …Besides, most casinos require humanoids to be over twenty-one years of age.” Even his hacked records hadn’t aged him up that much.

That wrought a chuckle from a few people, and even Immerne snorted in reluctant amusement and allowed the subject to change.

“And casinos probably don’t cater to Dark Lords anyway,” Pyron said. “Don’t you have some sort of precognition?”

“Precognition, reflexes, mental suggestion, and telekinesis,” Murlesson said. “We are the worst nightmare of casinos and Jedi throughout the galaxy. Of course, only the Jedi can tell right away…”

 

The rest of the dinner continued without incident. Immerne seemed to have tacitly agreed to a truce, at least. After dinner, they returned to the living room, apparently just to continue talking. Murlesson followed them… reluctantly. He was getting tired of even trying to be normal.

There were too many people there, and they were all aware of him in some way or another. The downsides of power. It made him miss… being an apprentice, at least, where no one important paid attention to him. But the upside of power was that he could do something about it.

He faded into the background, putting out an aura of unimportance, suggesting to all the family that no one else was there, that they could be comfortable. Even to Pyron, though he wasn’t quite sure it would work. Pyron’s mind was shaped by years of military service, both in being malleable enough to take orders and in being strong enough to give them. Murlesson could have controlled his thoughts before, when they were near-strangers to each other, but after several months of collaboration he would have to exert far more power than was subtle to make him completely ignore him. Even Drellik was easier to suggest, especially when semi-relaxed and not focused on him, as now.

And then he lurked in a corner away from the light and watched them: real people, not characters in a holodrama, interacting like real people who liked each other. As he expected, Pyron looked faintly confused and looked around once or twice without seeing him, but everyone seemed more or less focused on including Drellik in their conversations. And Drellik responded readily, with his genial, slightly awkward confidence that allowed him to gracefully slip into casual society so easily. Murlesson watched him and was proud and jealous at the same time.

They seemed to avoid talking about politics and the war, except to hope that it came to an end in the Empire’s favour. Instead they talked about Petr and Aerin and their schooling, of Jost’s recent promotion to chief quartermaster of his district, of Immerne’s intention to enrol in advanced geo-engineering education, of Sandana’s novel club.

There was one thing that he was painfully, insistently aware of. Seeing Immerne and Ellaur snuggled together on a sofa, seeing Jost and Ariad holding hands, even seeing Pyron and Sandana look at each other fondly as they sat in adjacent chairs, filled him with an awful loneliness. Ashara was out there in the galaxy somewhere, probably having a perfectly nice Life Day with the Rurouni. Without him.

He wondered if she was thinking about him at all.

The loneliness among all these people was rapidly becoming unbearable, so he quietly got up, went out to the entryway, found his shoes, failed to locate his scarf and coat, and slipped outside into the snow. The cold without wind was refreshing, and he walked aimlessly down the drive, down the street, into the dark evening, hoping to quell the ache in his hearts.

 

Pyron blinked and looked around again at the group in his living room. There had been an odd feeling in the back of his mind for the past few minutes, like he was forgetting something important…

Lord Murlesson had disappeared. How could he not notice that? Unless… Unless Lord Murlesson had not wanted anyone to notice him, even not wanted anyone to notice that they weren’t noticing him. He remembered how easily the young Sith had infiltrated the Acrimonious, his flagship, when they had first met. He looked over at Lieutenant Drellik and saw him also looking around with concern. The rest of his family carried on, oblivious.

Pyron rose. “Excuse me. Lieutenant?”

“Sir!” Drellik nodded with relief and came with him. Pyron wasn’t sure how to search for him – the boy could even elude or trick droids and holocams. But his shoes were missing, and Drellik hastily activated the front door to reveal a line of fresh snowy footprints meandering down the landspeeder drive to the street, where a tall dark-clad figure stood, hunched with his hands in his pockets, staring at the sky.

“My lo-” Drellik began, but Pyron held his shoulder and the snow swallowed his words before they got to the end of the drive.

“How old is he?” Pyron asked.

“Eh, he’s seventeen now,” Drellik said, and Pyron hadn’t not been expecting that, but he also hadn’t quite been expecting that. Even younger than he had thought. …He probably should not have given him the rum-nog. “He’s forgotten his coat…”

“He’ll be all right,” Pyron assured him. “This age can be quite unpredictable.” Probably accentuated by an unusual and horribly deprived upbringing, if the hints Pyron had been able to piece together were anything to go by, not to mention the traumatizing events he himself had partly witnessed. A literal teen on the Dark Council. His own children had been rather moody themselves at that age, though they had had no dark power to manifest with it. “I expect he’ll return when he’s ready.”

Lieutenant Drellik sighed. “I know you’re right, sir, he’ll be back, but I still worry. He broke up with his girlfriend during the kaggath and though they ultimately parted ways on good terms… Well, I’d hoped this visit would be a distraction to him to lift his spirits.”

“That was my intention indeed,” Pyron said. They watched the figure trudge off down the street.

 

Murlesson did not take too long on his walk – the others would surely notice he was gone now, without his will to turn their attention away. And indeed when he returned to the room, Pyron and Drellik noticed, even if the others did not. He tried not to slink in guiltily, taking a seat on the floor next to Drellik’s chair as if that was where he’d been all along, just returning from the refresher or something.

But he had breathed his dark feelings into the cold still night, and now he was himself again.

Petr was stifling a yawn, but Aerin jumped up suddenly. “Is it time yet? Is it time yet, Grandpapa?”

“Yes, it is time,” Pyron said, and everyone turned to look at the neat stack of gifts on the side table. He had been wondering when that part happened. Had they been waiting for him? Could they have been if he was suppressing their awareness of him? Should he feel guilty about that too?

Petr and Aerin, showing no signs of sleepiness now, were passing out one gift to everyone at a time, and Pyron invited Murlesson to open the first one. It was a dark blue mug with a heating element built into the base to keep caf – or any hot drink – at a constant temperature. Murlesson looked up to see the two boys watching him eagerly. “I will make great use of this. Thank you.” He really would. Caf was his lifeblood.

Murlesson’s gifts for the family had been obtained in a bit of a hurry, and actually Drellik had obtained them on his behalf through some hastily scribbled direction, so they were a bit generic – a bottle of fine aged whisky for Pyron and Sandana, money for their children, a chemistry set for Petr and a mechanical toy building set for Aerin – of a type that was compatible with the toys he already had, Murlesson noted. Nothing was insultingly small or embarrassingly opulent. Drellik had known what to get.

Though Pyron seemed impressed that he had remembered those details about his grandsons’ interests, dropped casually in conversation months ago. Well, Murlesson had always had an excellent memory when it came to facts – it was how he remembered the content and details of all those historic texts and treatises, often after only one reading, and how he had plowed through the schoolwork Zash had set for him when he first became her apprentice.

Pyron gave to him a copy of Odile Vaiken’s journals, with a note saying that they had been invaluable to him in his own career, and he hoped they would be helpful to Murlesson as well. Murlesson didn’t mention he’d already read them – though he hadn’t obtained his own copies, so there was that at least. Jost and Ariad gave him a weighted blanket as a stress-relief device, and Immerne and Ellaur gave him a scent diffuser for the same purpose. Strange items, but there was nothing to be lost by trying them out. He wondered if Pyron had obtained them and then assigned them to his children to give, seeing how last-minute it all was. It didn’t really matter.

He watched with odd anticipation as Drellik opened his gift to him, eager to see his face when he realized what it was. It was a carved gold ring in a small transparisteel display case, and Drellik’s jaw dropped as he held it up. “I- It can’t be! The ring Naga Sadow wore to Marka Ragnos’s funeral, when he first made his claim as Dark Lord of all Sith! But surely it’s – no, it can’t be a replica, the lustre is genuine. My lord, I… This is too great a gift!” He thought Drellik was about to cry with happiness.

“I didn’t think so,” Murlesson said mildly. “There is no great Force aura within it, so as far as the Sith are concerned it’s a mere ornament. And there’s a very good replica already on display in my office with a number of other Naga Sadow relics. I thought you’d be quite a worthy keeper of the original.”

“I thank you a thousand times, my lord. My own gift to you is in comparison hardly… well. Open it, I hope you like it anyway!”

Murlesson turned to his last gift, opening the wrapping paper as meticulously as with everything else he’d been given. Inside was a book- “Blood in the Sanctum of the Lost, by Irviean Yardlok. I remember you-” He had to stop and choke back emotions of his own, because Drellik had remembered how excited he’d been to hear about it, back when they first met. “Thank you.”

“It’s my own copy,” Drellik said proudly. “They aren’t easy to find anymore, even in data files, and of course I wanted you to have the nicest copy I could find.” He lowered his voice as if it was a secret, which, maybe it was – “Also, to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Drellik- you shouldn’t have…” He was resisting the urge to give his small minion a hug, he was so touched. He didn’t like hugging people! “I will take great care of it.”

“I know you will, my lord!”

 

The evening wrapped up not long after all the gifts were gone. The boys were put to bed, and Drellik and Murlesson bid the adults farewell. Everyone wished him well, even Jost – at some point during the gift giving, Jost had finally made up his mind about Murlesson, and it had been positive. He supposed his unguarded emotional reactions had been convincing, or something. 

Murlesson couldn’t help feeling relief that it was over, but it had actually not been terrible in retrospect. He could stand to be in a room with all those people again in the future. Musing about it on the taxi ride back to the spaceport, he stared blankly out the window, wondering if he would ever again have the opportunity. 

It didn’t really matter. It wasn’t likely he would see them much again. But if he did, he could coast on the goodwill he’d established, the personal connections he’d made. The effort expended was probably not wasted. Which was an awfully clinical way to think about it, even he recognized that. But the clinical relieved feeling was not able to overpower the strange glow from having earned their trust.

Back on the Viper, he entered his cabin with his arms full of gifts, feeling the residual warmth of the giving in his soul, and put them down carefully. He could try out everything on the trip back to Dromund Kaas – but not tonight. He needed to rest after all that.

His console was blinking; a new message had come in from his cult. He always had new messages coming in, of course, and had deliberately turned off his comm while at Pyron’s to avoid being distracted and rude; otherwise he really would have spent the entire time working as normal. But he could check the messages from the cult before he rested.

Two messages of importance, both regarding the holiday. He’d pre-recorded a rather bland holiday message for them before he went to Commenor – if anyone knew the value of using traditions to manipulate others, it was him – but he hadn’t expected any replies.

The first was a holovid from Rylee and Destris, with a crowd of cultists behind them, thanking him profusely for his attention, asking him for his continued guidance in the coming standard year, and wishing him well.

The other… was from Ashara, routed through the cult, and he felt his heart race as he opened the text file.

Hey Murlesson! I wanted to say Happy Birthday, cuz you probably don’t have a lot of people to say it to you. Shin and everybody here is well and wish you a Happy Birthday and Life Day too. I can’t really send you any gifts right now but you did tell me once you didn’t need loot so I’ll just say I hope you have a lovely day and stuff. Hugs, Ashara!

She was still thinking about him. They’d broken up under dramatic circumstances and while she’d parted from him without animosity, he hadn’t dared hope she’d still think well of him in the company of proper Jedi. Well… the Rurouni had been kind to him for no reason on several occasions. Maybe the Rurouni wasn’t a proper Jedi. But she’d remembered him, and that they’d agreed that his birthday would be on Life Day, and she still thought well enough of him to write to him, and he felt his face smiling and his eyes welling up involuntarily.