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The Art of War	By : Aggy Category: Star Wars (All) > General Views: 2646 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Wars movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Disclaimer: Star Wars
is owned by George Lucas. No profit was
made off this story so please don�t sue me.

Note: This fic will
eventually contain human/alien sex so if that�s not your thing, please don�t
read!

You have been warned!

Now onto the fic!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Art of War
Chapter 1
Aggy

Gavin Darklighter was strong. Living on Tatooine made strength a necessity,
not a luxury. If a being wasn�t strong,
he or she didn�t survive. On that harsh world,
any sign of weakness could be fatal. His
loving family had tried to lessen the brutality of that truth, but he had still
learned that important lesson.

Skills that contributed to survival were valued on
Tatooine. The ability to get a farm to
produce a profit, marksmanship, piloting ability, even brutality were prized skills on the desert world. That was why he never let anyone find out
that he loved to draw. Artistic talent? Why
waste your time with such a stupid, worthless enterprise? Why practice shading and contour when
moisture vaporators needed to be repaired?

His family would have encouraged him, but Gavin never felt
comfortable sharing his sketches with anyone.
They were the solace of a lonely boy stuck on an even more lonesome
planet. So he�d kept his sketchbooks
hidden, drawing by light of glow rod or from the glare of sunsset after his
chores were completed.

When he finally got off-planet and joined the Alliance, he
thought that maybe, just maybe, he had found a place where he could let down
his guard. But his own insecurities and
uncertainties kept him from revealing his talent. He still hid his portfolio, keeping it
secreted away beneath his bunk. Sims and
studying kept him busy most of the time, but he found a way to slip into some unnoticed corner and hurriedly sketch out the events of
the day.

Being accepted into Rogue Squadron should have given him the
sort of protection needed to allow him to release his artistic nature. But even being chosen as a member of the most
elite group of pilots in the Galaxy didn�t lessen the need for strength. If anything, it made power even more
important.

His troubles started when he beat Bror Jace in the Requiem
simulation. The Thyferran pilot had been
confident that Corran Horn was his only competition in the race for the lauded
Ace position. Then Gavin Darklighter, a
young, innocent (aka stupid), farm boy blew him out of vacuum. It didn�t matter that Gavin�s cousin was the
legendary Biggs Darklighter. A sixteen
year old farm boy had beaten Bror Jace.

That situation could not be tolerated by the Thyferran.

Gavin had seen that sort of antagonism on the farm among
some of the animals his father kept.
Bror Jace wanted to be the alpha male of Rogue Squadron, or at least the
alpha of the newly formed squad. Even
Jace knew that it was foolish to try to best Wedge Antilles. He wanted to be the toughest, the strongest, the best, of the new pilots.
But that would never happen, not with Corran Horn flying.

Even worse, the CorSec agent rarely bragged about his
skills. He didn�t need to. He was the best of the �new� Rogues and
evident every time he flew.

Just as obvious was Corran�s excellence were Gavin�s own
failings. His youth, his inexperience as
a combat pilot, his lack of a formal education from a �civilized� world all
worked against him. He�d had to be
tutored by Lujayne to finally grasp the finer points of hyperspace navigation. During the Rogues� first few missions, Gavin
had been the worst of the pilots. Corran
had done some fancy talking to get Darklighter�s poor scores improved, but
Gavin, and more importantly, Jace had known the truth.

That had caused Bror Jace to treat the farmboy with disgust
that bordered contempt. If he had been
weaker, Gavin was sure that Bror�s disdain would have taken a physical form. In
the past, his size had protected him, and it protected him from Jace. Few beings wanted to fight with a man that
was as strong as Gavin. One of the few
advantages of growing up on the farm was a set of muscles that were used to
hard labor. One look at him and most
beings would think twice before starting a fight.

Jace knew that Gavin probably wouldn�t strike him if he�d
risked attacking, but if for some reason the young pilot HAD decided to fight
back, Bror would have been hurting. Even
worse, the squadron would eventually find out that Gavin had won the encounter,
causing Jace to lose face. Something the
arrogant pilot would never tolerate.

So Jace�s torments had been verbal, all of which Gavin could
easily ignore. It wasn�t as if Bror was
the FIRST being to call a Darklighter a hick.

As life settled into routine and he ignored Jace�s barbs,
he�d allowed himself more freedom to sketch.
But even with that new freedom, he never would have shown the Rogues the
crest he�d drawn if he hadn�t been doing so poorly in astronavigation. He�d known the drawing was good. Damn good.
It was simple, elegant, and captured the heart of what the Rogues were
meant to be. But those scores in
astronavigation were what finally allowed him to tentatively show the image to
Lujayne. If he was about to wash out of
the Squad, then he wanted something of himself to remain as part of the elite group.

After the unit became more of a family than a group of
strangers forced together, drawing became as routine as flight
simulations. He still kept the drawings
hidden but he quit submerging that important part of his nature.

It wasn�t until after Corran and Mirax married that he finally
found the courage to show his sketches to anyone. For some reason he couldn�t fathom, he gave
the pair a portrait he sketched after Wedge had married them. They had both looked so joyous that he
couldn�t help going back to his quarters and capturing that moment
forever.

When he was finished with the sketch, he stared at it for
hours. Normally he would have closed his
portfolio and hidden it away. But this
time, it seemed terribly wrong to hide the drawing. It had to be shared. And the only people who had the right to
share it were the beings it captured.

Mirax had cried when she saw the image. Corran looked stunned. Their reaction cut deeply. Gavin wasn�t sure what he expected from the
couple, but Mirax�s tears, Corran�s shock, pained him. He methodically closed
the folder that sheltered the portrait, offering to buy them a real gift as
soon as they were back on Coruscant.

When she could speak, Mirax gently pulled the oversized
folder away, explaining that strange female phenomenon of �happy tears.� Corran regained his composure, then startled Gavin by giving him a rib-cracking hug. Both of them raved about the drawing, saying
they preferred it to any of the holos the Rogues had taken of the
ceremony. Mirax swore that the portrait
would become her most prized possession.

Somehow, she managed to cajole him into showing her the
hidden portfolio. Actually, Mirax had
demanded that he show her his drawings and he was too frightened of her temper
to say no.

He�d never expected her to be so thoroughly impressed with
his work. She had praised. She had studied. She had carefully critiqued, never being too
harsh or too kind. Then she�d done
something that totally blindsided him.
Mirax asked to show his work to an art dealer.

Since Mirax had given up her illegal trade, she had moved
into the more legitimate business of acquiring art for a few of the galleries
on Coruscant. She was sure that one of
those galleries would want to showcase his work. At first, Gavin thought that these galleries
would only want his drawings so they could sell off doodles by a famous war
hero. Instead, they ignored his Rogue
connections, focusing on the strength of his art.

One gallery owner, an Alderaanian man named Stephan Keslin
had demanded the right to show Gavin�s work.
With Mirax�s encouragement, he had agreed. Which had led him to
attending a gala at the Violet Phase.

He still wasn�t quite sure why a gallery named the �Violet
Phase� would want to show his work. It wasn�t
purple. It didn�t have any color at all
except black lines on white paper. And
his drawing definitely wasn�t a phase.

Nervously, Gavin watched the crowd milling around the
gallery, trying not to pull at the hem of his tunic. He smiled faintly, remembering how his mother
used to fuss whenever he began fidgeting with his clothes. He�d ruin the fabric, she would gently
scold. //I wonder if she�d even
recognize me now?//

Inyri had tamed his hair into a shining tail held tight with
a leather thong. She had said it made
him look poetic, but when he looked in the mirror, he couldn�t understand the
comparison. Poets were rail thin and
pale. His wide shoulders and permanent
tan from Tattooine�s duel suns made it impossible for him to look poetic.

Gavin wasn�t in uniform, which was another reason why he
kept fidgeting with his clothes. Who
would have thought a Rogue would MISS his uniform? He missed the shielding it provided. When he wore it he was a New
Republic officer. Anyone looking at him knew his
accomplishments. But dressed in civilian
clothing, he was anonymous. He was
judged only by the merits of his art.

Which scared him more than he�d ever admit
to anyone.

He wandered around the space, smiling at his friends,
nodding politely to beings who were studying his art. Most of them didn�t realize they were
praising or critiquing his work, which allowed him to eavesdrop and learn what
areas he needed to improve in.

Gavin�s pace slowed as he noticed a Bothan female staring up
at a drawing he had finished only a few weeks ago. Her head tipped to one side, ears pricking
forward as she looked at the image of a Twi�lek mother holding her child.

She was the strangest Bothan he had ever seen.

Most of the Bothans he encountered dressed severely. This female was anything but reserved. Her skirts were almost blinding, one shocking
shade of green bleeding into an equally bright shade of blue. Her tunic was the purple of the artificial
flowers his mother kept in a simple vase on the kitchen table. As he neared the Bothan, he realized what he
thought were flaws in the bright violet cloth was actually red embroidery
scattered across the tunic. A strange
beaded band circled her head, sliding behind her ears, dropping crystal dangles
through her golden fur.

//Borsk would have a fit if he saw her.// The thought made him want to talk to her and
see if she was as outlandish as her clothing.

As he moved closer, one ear swiveled back, tracking the
sound of his footsteps. She turned, blue eyes bright with curiosity. That curiosity made Gavin
wonder what she saw when she looked at him.
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The Art of War