A/N: The Star Wars canon and all related names, places, events and previously published dialogue belong to Mr. George Lucas.
The original idea for this fic, the quote as in the summary, came from my brother.
The name Ruen came in part from my Padawan.
...I didn't do much, did I?...
Anakin Skywalker remembered some of the feel of the old skill, in this new place, the dark-metallic underbelly of Cloud City. When the Sith Lord slammed down from above out of hiding--so pitiful how much blood had been charred! Now Anakin inhabited the body of what he had always feared to be, an eternal Padawan--Anakin could meet the red lightsaber with his own blue. Twist, both of them on a wide textured walk now, heat seeming to search for the synthflesh patches still needed on his skin.
He was driven back, room to passage down to alcove where an enormous slate-gray window, artistically and fearfully styled, looked out to an expanse, probably the secondary reactor shaft. Darth Ruen paced forward, took one hand from his lightsaber and gestured. Anakin rushed forward, taking his opportunity to the younger man's lowered guard, but he was buffeted aside by something metal colliding with his side, pushing him away to staggering footing. Metal tore and flew from the walls, almost gently pushing him around, bruising him--but the Sith would not let him die yet, and Qui-Gon had dissuaded him from working toward that eventual release. Darth Ruen retreated into the shadows, a twisted smile coming to his lips.
Anakin whipped hair out of his face in the maelstrom of Force-pungency and metal components hurtling off the walls. He stepped aside from a thick conduit and bisected it with his lightsaber, watching always tracking as--one half crashed through the window, and even while he ran back and crouched away from the glass natural wind picked up, cold, and threw him off balance, off his feet, out into the void--!
Darth Ruen paced toward him, red lined cloak flaring in the rare air of the shaft, and Anakin again lifted his aching arms with the lit sword.
They came together, clash clash. Sparks rained from the railing of this catwalk, victim of their clumsiness, Anakin's old weakness and Ruen's inhibition--why? One deft move of Ruen's saber took Anakin's left hand and lightsaber off at the wrist.
He had to realize what had happened, realize that he was screaming, lying weak at the Sith's feet. He lifted his hand of machinery to grasp the Force but its filaments slipped through the fingers of his dilute blood. Ruen lifted Anakin on lines of energy the Jedi could barely know, and slammed him against the cluster of sensor tubes at the walkway's finish, high above anything. Anakin found a low handhold and would not release it, and tried to ignore his maim, tried not to wretch--why had it hurt more the first time?
Darth Ruen, his sword put away, stood on the catwalk and towered over Anakin now. "You are beaten." He said evenly, quietly, in snarls. "There is no escape. Join me, and we will rule the galaxy together as the last Sith." He stretched out toward Anakin, human and yet monster-eyed.
Anakin struggled up and out of the way of his foe's reach, farther around on his precarious perch and farther above. So I must jump again-- He shouted, "I'll never join you!"
Ruen folded his arms over his ribbed body-armor, a meshwork of black and red. Calmly emotionless he said, "Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your child."
Anakin fought the hate and the tears in his eyes. If only he could leap, strike, control his younger self's unstoppable--enough looking back at the dead. "'He told me enough. He told me you killed it. He went and found--"
Ruen shouted, "No, Anakin! I am your son."
Anakin had come to far to speak. He went the unspeakable--he jumped again--