Where caged Wolves lie - Part I

[Darth Vader]

When Jon's eyes finally snapped open, he was not standing in the same busy, bustling metropolis as he was before.

Rather, he was being dragged along an open, lengthy corridor, two Stormtroopers clad in white flanking at his sides. The guard's arms were linked tightly with his own, preventing any means of making an escape or retaliating. Jon's body felt too weak and shaky to even throw a punch, besides. The blow to his head had took quite the strain on him. The bastard felt his legs scrape against the cold, hard floor, the troopers seeming to take no heed of his pain as they pulled their prisoner along. Peering out, Snow could see that the men were both armed, carrying blaster rifles each with their hands to spare. No getting away from this now, then... Jon grunted to himself mentally. Glancing down at his belt, he could see that his armoury was bare. They'd took his dagger, his bow, his arrows. Longclaw...

Jon bit down hard on his lip. He'd promised someone a long time ago he wouldn't lose that sword again.

Jon stirred and shifted slightly, groaning lowly as his gaze drooped to the floor. These sudden movements caught the attention of the Stormtroopers guiding him along. Or one of them, at least.

"He's woken up..." the one to Jon's left visibly pointed out, prompting a mere grunt from the other. "It doesn't matter. We're nearly there, just keep your grip on him."

Jon's senses alarmed. They were going where?

Snow tilted his head to look back upward, and take in his surroundings. Steel doors of a strange kind littered the hallway, each of them parallel opposite to one another. The most distinctly strange thing about them to Jon was that they lacked handles. How were they supposed to open? The bastard was still feeling the aftershock of his fall, so though hard to tell, he noted the symbols and letters that was plastered above each steel, cell door. A, B, C, and so on. Listening closely, for every few doors they'd pass, Jon could hear banging and knocking from within. And... muffled cries and pleas. ass though someone was tightly sealed shut within there, begging to get out. Begging for their freedom.

The Stormtroopers finally came to a halt as they reached the next door, this one titled F, Jon noted observantly. "Open it." the one to Jon's right barked in command. A commander or higher-up of sorts, Jon realised quickly. The other Stormtrooper paced forward obediently, up to a pad etched into the wall, hitting a few buttons simultaneously. Almost instantly, the two halves of the door receded, opening up and revealing a whole other room behind it.

Even that highly technical mechanism was enough to impress Jon Snow.

"In you go." the Stormtrooper holding onto him moved behind him, pulling Jon onto his feet by the scruff of his collar, and then sending a hard shove against his back. In a weak enough state already, Jon stumbled forward, tumbling onto his stomach with a groan, the cell doors closing behind him with a chink, closing the bastard off inside.

For a few moments, Jon didn't even dare move. He had not the strength too. There he layed on his cell's floor, defeated and shamed. The proud Lord Commander of the Nights Watch.

Jon slowly pushed himself from the ground, and too his feet. It wasn't easy. His knees still racked with ache and his head was still pounding, yet he was able to bring himself too. Snow drawed a deep breath inward, his hazel-brown orbs beginning to wander the room he had been sealed within.

There was a bed in the far corner of the room. Not a comfortable or welcoming looking bed, but it couldn't be half as worse as what they had back at the Wall. A wide metal bowl of sorts was stationed off to the side of the room, with water at the bottom of it. A substitute for a chamber pot, clearly, yet it looked fancier and still more sophisticated. Next to that was a supported basin, a turnable handle attached at the top. When Jon leaned forward to turn the knob, water gushed freely, as though it were a fountain.

The only other notable thing in Jon's new abode was a extremely narrow slant cropped into the wall, which was meant to classify as a window. It seemed impossible to actually see out of, though. It just served as the only source of fresh oxygen and air. It was hard to call the air in Corucsant fresh, though. The place reeked of craziness and instability. Jon didn't like it at all. Not a bit.

What lurked at the back of his head was the thought of home.

But where was that? And how far and wide would he have to travel to find it again? Jon didn't know, and perhaps he would never know again. He could only recall snippets of life before this, mainly his time spent at the Wall and Castle Black. Anywhere else was a blur to him. And the more he mulled on the subject, the more his head hurt. The cycle was a vicious one.

Jon glanced back at the sealed door, lips pursing slightly outward. "Those won't be opening again anytime soon..." the bastard murmured to himself conclusively. Jon was quite literally trapped. He could only wait, and have hope that the Stormtroopers would return hastily, so all this nonsense and madness could be cleared up and Jon could go.

Jon reached up to his shoulders, unclipping the black fur cloak that draped along his back and allowing it to drop freely to the ground. If he was going to be staying her for a while, he might as well get comfortable.

Snow plodded along toward the bed, taking a seat at the edge of it. He sat quietly, trying to gather and piece his thoughts back together, his eyes fixated to the door ahead of him. He felt his mind wander back to the events that had transpired down below in the second tier of the city. Was what he had done truly right? Or had he been too bold. There was no way of defusing the situation was what Jon kept telling himself. That the clash was inevitable. But was he right in taking sides? Was there really no other way?

And then... a sense of regret washed over him as he remembered. Crona... Jon realised. What had happened to the purple-haired boy after Jon had flee'd the scene. Had he met his grizzly demise at the hands of Sivo? Or worse... the Stormtroopers. Did they have him captive as well? And what was with the clumsy girl on the moped? And where was Adam when all the chaos erupted? So many questions went unanswered, and feelings of remorse and guilt racked and ate away at the Lord Commanders conscious.

Had the very one he was trying to protect fell anyway?

Jon breathed through bared teeth, craning his head to look out the etch in the wall that served for a window. It was still bright enough outside, though an orange glimmer shimmered through into the room, as though evening tide had just hit. Jon looked down at the bed he was sat upon. The best thing he could do right now was rest, he concluded. The headache was still there, and the bastard had the far-off hope that maybe, just maybe when he awoke, he'd be back where he truly belonged; at the Wall, with his brothers in arms and by oath.

Jon brought his feet and legs up, shifting his body so that was facing away from the wall, eyes closing over as he rested his head against the thin pillow provided. He did his best to drift off into a state of sleep, preparing himself physically for whatever was to come next.