He did the same, holding the blade one-handed and to the side, his manner very relaxed and casual.
Mara raised an eyebrow. "And no Force stuff--that includes flips, jumps, accelerated speed, enhancing reflexes and messing with my perceptions."
"Is there anything I can do?"
"You tell me," Mara countered. "On one?"
"You need a countdown?" He stepped in, resting his blade against her own.
She narrowed her eyes; oh, she was going to enjoy the look in his eye when she landed a blow. "Three, two, o--"
That was as far as she got. He twisted her blade up in his own, powering it to one side and making a half-lunge forward which ended with the tip of his saber an inch from her throat, her own blade batted uselessly away to one side.
"You could have let me say 'one,' " she said, mildly embarrassed but determined not to show it.
"You said 'on one'--not after it," he countered evenly, stepping back to ready position. "Again?"
Grinding her jaw, Mara gathered her concentration up and set her stance ready.
"Do you want to count down?" he invited dryly.
"Are you gonna do that move again?"
"No, I'll do something else this time."
"Fine," she said tartly. "Three, two, o--"
She had a slightly tighter hold on her saber to stop him twisting it away this time, pressing her blade to his as the countdown started. None of which helped her as he dropped the tip of his blade, using her increased pressure to allow it to slide partway down hers before pulling it free and up in a horizontal line level with his shoulders as he stepped in. The end result was Mara staring at his lightsaber sideways on and inside her guard, an inch off her chest.
Instead of submitting when she knew he could have easily pushed it home, she back-pedaled wildly, knocking his blade aside.
He was fast--he let her knock his blade back, looped it in a wide arc to gain some power and took three short, rapid steps forward, swinging in low from the same side she'd just struck, knowing that all of Mara's force to that side was already spent. The massive blow simply plowed through her defenses, taking her own blade with it so that although he stopped before he landed the blow to her side, the tip of her own saber caught her leg as it was knocked away, giving her a jolt.
"Son of a..." She walked in a quick circle on the spot, shaking her trembling leg, much to Skywalker's amusement though he was trying not to let it show on his face.
Mara narrowed her eyes as she came back round to face him. "You know, the idea of saber practice is to actually practice--as in more than just one blow."
"The idea of lightsaber practice is to learn the most efficient way to duel. The point of a duel is to remove your opponent as quickly as possible, before they remove you." There was a touch of humor in his voice, though he was trying hard to repress it.
"Fine," Mara growled through pursed lips. "This time..."
"Maybe you should try without counting."
"Maybe I should."
"Just a suggestion."
"I don't need your suggestions."
"Then maybe you should stop talking and start fighting."
"Maybe you should..." She back-pedaled as he came forward in a burst of speed, five quick blows, nothing too taxing she noticed; easing her in this time, giving her a chance. Which was actually worse than simply being beaten.
Finally seeing her first opportunity as his blade passed her own, she swung her saber in a high arc to intercept with his chin--
He jerked easily back and to the side, surprising her by grabbing her wrist and yanking it down to pull her towards him, her saber pushed to the side by the action. She collided with his shoulder, her body stopped dead by his mass--
"Don't take obvious opportunities," he whispered, holding her there. "They're probably feints."
With an indignant yell she wrenched free and brought her saber round in a wide sweep which forced Skywalker to jump back in order to bring his blade round fast enough to counter.
The thrill of having swung a blow swift enough to make him think brought a grin to her face as she stepped back, moving slowly around him.
"You're half a step too close," he said, grinning now, completely caught up in the game.
"Not for m--"
He launched forward, saber held high for a heavy downward blow, but when Mara moved to counter he changed the angle of the swing, swiveling his hilt in the heel of his hand to bring it in almost horizontally at neck height. It took every bit of Mara's skill to move fast enough to counter--and even as she did so, she saw her error.
Unable to do otherwise, she caught his blade at the base of her own, pushing out and down. Skywalker nimbly stepped back, his weight on the same foot as he twisted three-sixty and roundhoused his own blade down to her ankles, the move given momentum by Mara's own defense.
She made a jump back but wasn't nearly fast enough to counter, all her weight too firmly planted against his first attack.
He stopped an inch before her ankle, the blade tip-down, hilt-up. She glanced up as he tilted his head in a 'told you so' gesture, rare laugh-lines forming at the corners of his eyes.
Letting out another infuriated yell she drove forward, landing several fast, light blows, sidestepping to find the advantage as Skywalker matched her move for move.
Finally he twisted swiftly to the side of a heavy downward blow, stepping in towards her rather than away and grabbing at the top of her arm to haul her bodily to him again.
"And don't be goaded into letting your emotions rule your actions," he whispered lightly, close enough that his breath rustled her russet hair. "Don't lash out blindly just because you're angry."
"You're Sith--isn't that what you do?!" She instantly regretted it.
His face changed, all humor immediately gone to be replaced once more by that distant calm. The insular, emotionless shield that she saw whenever Palpatine was near.
Releasing her, he stepped back and deactivated the saber.
"Skywalker," she began...
"Congratulations, Mara...you landed a blow." He turned and walked away without looking back.
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Luke stood in the still silence of the empty Throne Room, the cavernous space devoid of its usual chaotic throngs, the hour too early for Court to commence. What had drawn him here he couldn't say, only that it had been just that--a draw; a whisper at the edges of his thoughts that had built steadily in the months since his release from the cell, scratching at the back of his mind with ever-growing need.
He'd crossed the assembly halls of Outer Court without a sideways glance as the crowds subtly parted before him, whispers of curiosity from questing beings with envious minds. He didn't slow, didn't look--they merged to a dirty stain in his awareness, not worth the effort of unraveling.
The crimson-clad guards who barred the way to all simply stepped aside as he neared the lofty double-doors, pikes pulled upright as they stood to straight attention. He walked through unchallenged--not that they could have stopped him anyway. But the fight would have been satisfying; a burst of energy after too long in the stagnant torpor of this cloying place; a crypt to house those whose morals were dead, a monument to self-serving greed.
The doors skimmed closed behind him, the bustle of the power-hungry and the deceitful and the scheming reduced again to a background murmur which fed the shadows and the darkness.
And then there was this--this single tone, this faded whisper. His eyes traced the yawning space. Ashen lines of reedy light traced out from high, thin slits set into the far wall, barely reaching past the end of the dais. He walked the length of the vast hall without a sound, immersed in the silence which infused and enthralled, willing to be led, searching for the source of that singular timbre...