[ Naturally, Anakin responds. Sarica feels how he tenses, no doubt feeling those words sink right into his lower body, same way Sarica does. Not comfortably, but present and sometimes, presence is all you get and you'll cherish it as such. He keeps his hand curved over the other man's neck, feeling how he leans back into it, letting the horse do all the work and it's a good thing Sarica's stallion is so reliable, isn't it? It knows the way. Save any mares on the road, it won't stray.
Then, Anakin tells him something that both does and doesn't have everything to do with what's sexy and what isn't. He tells him, he wants power - which comes as no surprise, Sarica had figured, it's the arrogance, the willfulness, the strength, of course he wants power to support all that. However, what he also says, implicit, is that he feels powerless. No one craves power who has power, that's logic. Simple.
Sarica stays very still against him for a long time, frowning and following the structures of the trees they pass by, the lines the crowns draw against the blue sky. Power... Such a deceptive concept. He should know, he stays very, very close to it, a part of it. Turning his face to Anakin's back now, Sarica strokes his neck for a moment, caresses him, tugs at little strands of his hair. His truly incredible Anakin Skywalker, look. ]
Sometimes the incredible and the terrible are one and the same. I wouldn't say it's a matter of control as much as context. What we do of incredible things in one context will look terrible in another, but if they make the same sense to us in both? It is what we make of it. [ Finally removing his hand, only after having pressed his thumb in softly right above Anakin's pulse point, feeling it beating like a scared little bird, he returns to holding him, both arms around his waist. Don't leave, it means. ] I was sixteen when my father passed. Except, Anakin, my father didn't pass, I made him leave. I killed him. An incredible act, for me, no doubt terrible to everyone else, but it is what it is. It is what I've made of it.
[ There's a long moment of silence during which Anakin would've been worried about Sarica's response if the other man hadn't kept his hand against his neck, his fingers pulling at the strands a little, gentle tugs, all of them grounding. Be still, it says, and wait. He's never been good at either, granted, but this is a new place and right now, they're stepping into a new reality, him and Sarica. There's room for the unexpected.
Which is fortunate for them both, it seems, because Sarica proceeds to tell him about incredible and terrible things, how sometimes, they are sides of the same coin and Force, he's well aware. He breathes out shakily as the other man presses his thumb over the beating pulse in his neck, just briefly, before he curls his arms around Anakin's middle, holds him tight and tells him that he made his father leave.
That he...
It takes Anakin a long moment to reply. He's staring straight ahead, eyes wide open now and lips slightly agape as he breathes, just breathes, feeling Sarica's body against his own, Sarica, who is a murderer just like him, who did what he had to do and made himself into something terrible in the process. Hand trembling, he reaches up and presses his palm over his eyes. He doesn't cry but he feels as if he could, easily. ]
When I was nineteen, my mother was killed. [ His voice trembles. ] They took her apart so I took them apart, in turn, all of them. Their mothers. Their children.
[ He looks down at his hands. Then, he leans back against Sarica's embrace, resting his head against his shoulder and looking up at the sky. The horse keeps going, unperturbed.
Sometimes, he thinks, it must be nice to be deaf to the world. ]
But I think - you understand, then, don't you? How sometimes, these things are just, even when they are also too awful to comprehend. [ Quietly: ] To live with.
[ He becomes small again, as he listens, Anakin. Sarica feels it, feels how he's all wide-eyed innocence, seeing something like this for the first time, but only belatedly does he realise that what makes Anakin wonder isn't any variety or version of how could you, but rather a sense of, you as well? You as well. Because the other man tells him, hand pressed over his eyes like he can't even look at it, and they can't have that, the hand has to go, so Sarica reaches up and pulls it away, brings both his hands to his midriff, to Sarica's hands, holding him.
He has killed many, of course. Anakin Skywalker was a peacekeeper and you keep the peace by force and by violence and by war, there are no other methods. However, these people who killed his mother didn't do so within a framework that allowed the killing and you meet the unjust with justice, you strike and you strike hard. Sarica is a legislator, isn't he - oh, he understands. He understands theoretically, but he certainly understands on a purely emotional level as well.
Sometimes, needs must. You must.
Must.
He lets the other man rest against him, his head on Sarica's shoulder and Sarica carries him, letting the horse carry the rest. It still follows the right course, they can afford not to care at all. ]
We don't live with these things, you must understand. [ Sarica's voice is soft and gentle, an unfamiliar quality in him, but Anakin awakes that, it seems. He would find it amusing, if he wasn't so busy being angry that no one else has ever told this man these things, how life works, how humans do. ] They are what gives us life. Could you have lived with yourself, had you not avenged your mother? Could I have lived with myself, had I allowed my father to carry on?
[ No, is the logical answer. Sarica allows it to hang unspoken between them, but unmistakable, too. As people would say some things cannot be excused, like massacres and patricide? Sarica says, it can't be excused not to do yourself justice. You owe it to no one else. No one. ]
We are the results of the terrible, but more than that, we are the results of the incredible we become due to it.
[ Turning his head a little, he nuzzles in against Anakin's neck, kisses the warm skin there, his hair tickling his nose, his forehead, his cheek... Sarica lifts his head a little and kisses him on his temple as well. ]
Look at you, my friend. Look at the amazing thing you've become, because you did what you did. Look at the amazing thing you've turned into.
[ Softly, then, and gently, too, so unlike him and yet, Sarica feels himself become a new version of himself, this is the incredible. He did the terrible, now he gets its opposite. You get rewarded for just behaviour, after all. It's deserved, he wants to think. He wants to think he may keep it, even. ]
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no subject
Then, Anakin tells him something that both does and doesn't have everything to do with what's sexy and what isn't. He tells him, he wants power - which comes as no surprise, Sarica had figured, it's the arrogance, the willfulness, the strength, of course he wants power to support all that. However, what he also says, implicit, is that he feels powerless. No one craves power who has power, that's logic. Simple.
Sarica stays very still against him for a long time, frowning and following the structures of the trees they pass by, the lines the crowns draw against the blue sky. Power... Such a deceptive concept. He should know, he stays very, very close to it, a part of it. Turning his face to Anakin's back now, Sarica strokes his neck for a moment, caresses him, tugs at little strands of his hair. His truly incredible Anakin Skywalker, look. ]
Sometimes the incredible and the terrible are one and the same. I wouldn't say it's a matter of control as much as context. What we do of incredible things in one context will look terrible in another, but if they make the same sense to us in both? It is what we make of it. [ Finally removing his hand, only after having pressed his thumb in softly right above Anakin's pulse point, feeling it beating like a scared little bird, he returns to holding him, both arms around his waist. Don't leave, it means. ] I was sixteen when my father passed. Except, Anakin, my father didn't pass, I made him leave. I killed him. An incredible act, for me, no doubt terrible to everyone else, but it is what it is. It is what I've made of it.
no subject
Which is fortunate for them both, it seems, because Sarica proceeds to tell him about incredible and terrible things, how sometimes, they are sides of the same coin and Force, he's well aware. He breathes out shakily as the other man presses his thumb over the beating pulse in his neck, just briefly, before he curls his arms around Anakin's middle, holds him tight and tells him that he made his father leave.
That he...
It takes Anakin a long moment to reply. He's staring straight ahead, eyes wide open now and lips slightly agape as he breathes, just breathes, feeling Sarica's body against his own, Sarica, who is a murderer just like him, who did what he had to do and made himself into something terrible in the process. Hand trembling, he reaches up and presses his palm over his eyes. He doesn't cry but he feels as if he could, easily. ]
When I was nineteen, my mother was killed. [ His voice trembles. ] They took her apart so I took them apart, in turn, all of them. Their mothers. Their children.
[ He looks down at his hands. Then, he leans back against Sarica's embrace, resting his head against his shoulder and looking up at the sky. The horse keeps going, unperturbed.
Sometimes, he thinks, it must be nice to be deaf to the world. ]
But I think - you understand, then, don't you? How sometimes, these things are just, even when they are also too awful to comprehend. [ Quietly: ] To live with.
[ A smile, fragile and thin. ]
I've met no one like you. Not ever.
no subject
He has killed many, of course. Anakin Skywalker was a peacekeeper and you keep the peace by force and by violence and by war, there are no other methods. However, these people who killed his mother didn't do so within a framework that allowed the killing and you meet the unjust with justice, you strike and you strike hard. Sarica is a legislator, isn't he - oh, he understands. He understands theoretically, but he certainly understands on a purely emotional level as well.
Sometimes, needs must. You must.
Must.
He lets the other man rest against him, his head on Sarica's shoulder and Sarica carries him, letting the horse carry the rest. It still follows the right course, they can afford not to care at all. ]
We don't live with these things, you must understand. [ Sarica's voice is soft and gentle, an unfamiliar quality in him, but Anakin awakes that, it seems. He would find it amusing, if he wasn't so busy being angry that no one else has ever told this man these things, how life works, how humans do. ] They are what gives us life. Could you have lived with yourself, had you not avenged your mother? Could I have lived with myself, had I allowed my father to carry on?
[ No, is the logical answer. Sarica allows it to hang unspoken between them, but unmistakable, too. As people would say some things cannot be excused, like massacres and patricide? Sarica says, it can't be excused not to do yourself justice. You owe it to no one else. No one. ]
We are the results of the terrible, but more than that, we are the results of the incredible we become due to it.
[ Turning his head a little, he nuzzles in against Anakin's neck, kisses the warm skin there, his hair tickling his nose, his forehead, his cheek... Sarica lifts his head a little and kisses him on his temple as well. ]
Look at you, my friend. Look at the amazing thing you've become, because you did what you did. Look at the amazing thing you've turned into.
[ Softly, then, and gently, too, so unlike him and yet, Sarica feels himself become a new version of himself, this is the incredible. He did the terrible, now he gets its opposite. You get rewarded for just behaviour, after all. It's deserved, he wants to think. He wants to think he may keep it, even. ]
I've never met anyone like you either.