Title: Black Knight
Author: Kate Jinn
Email: katejinn(@)wattosjunkyard.com
Rating: PG13
Characters: Tarkin, Liana
Timeline: 2 years after ROTJ
Archive: Sure, just email me.
Feedback: Pleeeeeeeease?
Summary: Tarkin didn't die on the first Death Star…
Disclaimer: Star Wars and all related characters are property of
George Lucas and Lucasfilm. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: oh, this is all your fault… I'm moving in 24 hours. I don't
have time for this. Of course, I *had* to read Attack of the Killer
Plot Bunnies at the archives… <grumble> I'm finding Tarkin harder and
harder to resist ;)

Black Knight
By Kate Jinn

Corellia

Carrying a tray of drinks, Liana walked over to the table where the
regular sat staring forlornly into an empty glass.

"Can I get you another?" she asked him quietly. He looked up in
surprise, obviously not expecting to be interrupted.

"No, thanks. I should be going." He handed her the credits to cover
his drinks and sighed, then turned and walked out. She watched him
for a moment, before moving on to her next table. He carried a
certain air of dignity about him, despite his somewhat dusty local
clothing. She absently set the drinks before her customers, still
dwelling on The Regular. She didn't know his name or where he came
from-but by his slight accent he wasn't a native. She'd often
wondered what his story was-he always seemed so lonely. She wondered
if coming here was the only contact he had with other humans.

<><><>

"The usual?" she asked when he returned the next evening. He nodded
absently and she set up the glass of ale before him. He glanced up
at her, blue-gray eyes boring into her soul. It was the first time
he'd met her eyes and she was compelled by his piercing gaze, the
loneliness there.

"Feel like some company?" she asked him. "My shift's done about
now." He nodded after a moment's thought and she slid into the chair
across from him.

"Don't talk much, do you?" she asked, taking her drink and handing
her tray off to her replacement, who'd agreed to cover for her. He
shook his head in response to her question and sipped his drink.

"I'm Wil," he told her after a moment. His voice was confident with
an air of authority and sent a shiver down her spine this time.

"Liana," she told him.

"A beautiful name," he told her, and she blushed. She glanced at her
drink and set the glass aside. Best to keep her wits about her, with
this one.

"So what's your story?" she asked him. He smiled thinly.

"My dear, you don't want to hear it."

"Try me," she answered with a smile. "Believe me, I've heard a lot
of stories, in my line of work."

"You don't recognize me, do you?" It was not meant as a question.
She shook her head.

"Should I?"

"Perhaps not. I don't imagine there's been much talk of me in the
past few years," he said sadly. She looked at him, waiting for him
to continue. "My full name is Wilhuff Tarkin," he told her, and she
blinked in surprise. Now that she was looking she could see traces
of the old Tarkin in him. It was that air of authority she'd noticed
before, the accented voice, the gray-blue eyes that so captivated
her. One of the terrors of the Empire, and he was sitting across
from her! In her bar! She'd served him drinks every day for… she
counted back the years. He must have started coming here as soon as
he'd arrived on Corellia-it had almost been six years. Five and a
half, easily.

He must have seen the sudden recognition in her eyes when he'd said
his name, for he smiled.

"Heard of me?"

"Who hasn't?" she asked him. "Alderaan…" he flinched visibly at the
name. The sight seemed odd, somehow.

"The Butcher of Alderaan, they call me. I've heard the term." His
voice was quiet.

"The New Republic has certainly made no secret of your order to
destroy it," she told him, feeling ill. Alderaan had been her home
world… she had been off world during it's destruction and come home
to find debris where her world had once been. She had thought that
she would hate this man if she ever met him, thought she'd want to
wring his neck with her bare hands. To her surprise, though, she
found that she couldn't hate him. He'd been watching her face during
the brief pause and nodded, almost to himself.

"You are Alderaanian," he realized. She nodded.

"You're very perceptive, Governor Tarkin," she acknowledged. She
sighed. "I've often wondered what demons haunted you."

"Now you know… it is your people, Liana. It is an image I cannot
erase from my mind. It… it is why I have not rejoined the Empire."

"You're starting to talk as though you'd be willing to join the
Rebellion," she teased, hoping to wrench a smile out of him.

"And take more lives? Those of my own people? Is that what you want
of me, Liana of Alderaan?" his voice was bitter, and she sighed.
He'd missed her intention completely.

"I want nothing of you, Governor. I was trying to make you smile.
I've never seen you smile, you know," she told him. He blinked in
obvious surprise, staring at her as though she'd gone mad.

"You have just been confronted with the Butcher of your world, and
you are trying to make him smile?" his tone was curious. "How loyal
are you to your world, Liana of Alderaan?"

"I love my world, and I miss my people and my family. But nothing
can bring them back, Governor. Vader or the Emperor would certainly
have given that order even if you had not… and probably killed you in
the process for being weak." Impulsively she reached across the
table and touched his hand. "I don't blame you, Wil—and I can't hate
you." He met her eyes, then, but glanced back down into his empty
glass. She dropped some credits onto the table-more than enough to
cover his own drink, he noted, and reached again for his hand.

"Come on," she told him. "I've been cooped up in here all day. I
need some fresh air." He let her lead the way, something, she noted,
he was obviously not used to. Still holding his hand, she led him
out the back door and ran, laughing, up a grassy hill not far from
the back door and sat down on the other side. They were, he
realized, suddenly in a new world entirely from the dimly lit bar.
On the downward slope of the grassy hill, a river flowed through this
part of the town he'd never seen before. He stared at her, seeing
her for the first time not as his usual waitress, but as a living,
breathing human-from Alderaan, no less!-who did not despise him for
the things he'd done. The things he despised himself for.

He watched her now as she sat down on the grass, laughing, her long
black hair glistening in the moonlight, the sounds of the city
strangely muted as his ears rang with her laughter. She pulled her
hair out of its ponytail and he was rewarded with the sight of it,
thick and rich, falling into place as she shook her head. He wanted
to run his fingers through it, but did not move.

"This is my favorite place," she told him. "It reminds me…" she
remembered who she was talking to and broke off, not wanting to
offend him.

"Please go on," he told her, sitting down next to her. She smiled,
and he was momentarily dazzled.

"It reminds me of the K'Tan river back home, where I used to play as
a child."

"Dreaming of a knight in shining armor?" he questioned, eyebrow
raised. He was *teasing* her! Smiling, she nodded.

"I always thought it strange," she said, her tone a bit… odd. "My
imagined knight… he looked like you," she told him. Tarkin was
silent for a moment, then leaned in and kissed her, light-tentative-
as though he wanted to see what she would do about it. Caught off-
guard, she did not immediately respond. Then, she wrapped her arms
around his shoulders and returned his kiss, urging him closer. Her
mouth opened under his and she moaned, returning his kiss. It was a
long moment before he pulled back to look at her, her lips still
parted and her eyes half closed. She smiled.

"That was nice," she told him as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"Come back to my rooms, Liana," he pleaded. She smiled.

"I'd like that, Wil."

<><><>

Liana opened her eyes when the sunlight began to stream in through
the window, and for the first morning in a long time, smiled. She
felt content, at peace, even next to a man she barely knew. She
smiled at the irony as she trailed a finger over Wil's cheek while he
slept. If someone had told her a week ago that she'd be lying next
to Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, the Butcher of Alderaan, this morning,
she would have laughed in their face. But here she was, Tarkin
asleep beside her, and she was perfectly happy. She trailed a finger
up his strong chest and was rewarded with a grunt. To her delight,
she had discovered last night that the great Tarkin was ticklish.

"Good morning," she murmured. He grunted and opened his eyes to see
her leaning over him.

"Good morning," he returned, pulling her down for a kiss. She
enjoyed the taste of him for a long moment before pulling back. She
smiled, but was surprised to see Wil's face serious.

"Liana…stay with me," he pleaded softly. I want to be your knight in
real life," he told her. "Come with me, away from here. We'll find
some place that's out of the way, away from the Rebellion and the
Empire, from all this death. Please," he whispered. Staring into
his eyes, she realized he was serious, and nodded.

"I'll go with you, my Knight," she told him. They kissed, sealing
their promise forever.

~Finis~