Large PrintHandheldAudioRating
Twisting The Hellmouth Crossing Over Awards - Results
Rules for Challenges

Duel of the Fates

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking

This story is No. 1 in the series "Lightsabers". You may wish to read the series introduction first.

Summary: Teal'c and Andrew Wells meet at a Star Wars convention, while Jack and Xander are tagging along. This cannot possibly end well.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > General > Theme: HumorWaveletFR1312,4386324,42814 Apr 1214 Apr 12Yes
Duel of the Fates

Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Star Wars.

Jack O'Neill was looking forward to some well-deserved vacation time. Seriously, after finding out he had been cloned by some sort of crazy Asgard Dr. Frankenstein, he so deserved some R&R.

Stretching his arms and then putting on his jacket, the SG-1 team leader contemplated his options, as he walked towards his office door. He could go for a fishing trip, watch some movies or drink some beer. Jack opened his office door and cocked his head sideways, mildly startled to see his Jaffa teammate standing impassively in front of his office door, hands behind his back. He supposed he could also hang out with Teal'c.

“Ah, hey, T. So, uh, what's up?”

“Nothing is up, O'Neill,” the Jaffa warrior replied seriously. “I have simply come to ask if you would accompany me to Denver for a cultural festival.”

A cultural festival? Jack looked at his extra-terrestrial friend askance. Cultural festivals weren't really his sort of thing. For that matter, he hadn't exactly figured them for Teal'c's sort of thing either.

“Well, I don't know, Teal'c. I mean, aren't cultural festivals more Daniel's sort of thing?”

“Daniel Jackson declined to accompany me, O'Neill.”

“Huh. Really?”

“Daniel Jackson informed me that he is not interested in this cultural practise of the Tau'ri.”

That was pretty weird, Jack thought. He would have guessed that Daniel would be all over a cultural festival.

“So, what sort of cultural festival is it anyway, T?”

“My research indicates that it is a place where the Tau'ri gather in order to honor great warriors.”

Well, that didn't sound so bad. Jack could also see why that sort of thing might not appeal to Daniel. Oh, what the heck. Spending time with Teal'c was always fun, and he hadn't really seen the big lug outside of missions much recently.

“Sure, why not? I'll come with you, Teal'c. When is this festival anyway?”

“It is tomorrow. Do not worry. I have already procured customary dress for you, O'Neill.”

Teal'c smiled at his team leader.

Wait a second. Customary what now? Oh what the heck. Teal'c was already leaving anyway, and he had said he would do it. Besides, it couldn't be that bad if it made Teal'c smile like that. Whatever it was, he'd just have to grin and bear it.

* * *

Xander Harris had been fairly ambivalent when Andrew had proposed coming here. Sure, they were searching for slayers in the mid-western United States together after Willow's spell had activated all the potentials, but that did not exactly mean that he and Andrew were close friends. There was this whole Andrew being formerly evil thing between them, and there was also the time that Andrew had held a sword to his throat, and, of course, he had once let his ex-demon, ex-fiance sort of beat Andrew senseless in the process of interrogating him. So the two of them had some issues.

One of the few things they agreed about was Star Wars. They were on the same page about both the original trilogy and the latest LucasArts money maker: trilogy one rocked, while number two deserved a trip to the trash compactor. While he was not as much of a geek about the whole thing as Andrew, who had painted his van with a giant Death Star at one point, Xander liked to think of himself as a Star Wars fan. Hence, when Andrew had insisted on stopping for a Star Wars convention in Denver, as Willow had not sent them the locations of any new slayers lately, Xander decided that it couldn't hurt. Of course, unlike Andrew, there was no way in Hell he was dressing up, but just attending the convention couldn't be that bad.

Andrew had apparently decided to attend the convention as Darth Vader, and had somehow acquired a replica of the Sith Lord's mechanical, black suit in his size. Where a person bought that sort of thing, Xander had no idea, and was not sure he wanted to know. The Scooby's own super geek had also apparently saved a replica, blood red lightsaber, which Warren had built before the trio had disbanded, from the destruction of Sunnydale. Even so, Xander figured that with his small stature and geeky voice, Andrew recalled Space Balls' Dark Helmet more than his intimidating predecessor.

One thing the one-eyed carpenter could say for Star Wars conventions, was that he liked the girls' style. More precisely, he definitely felt that the preponderance of metal bikinis was of the good. Andrew, however, had a different focus.

Andrew, in his Darth Vader costume, was striding confidently towards a tall, black man wearing tan Jedi robes and a brown cloak with its hood down, revealing an unusual golden tattoo on his forehead. Apparently, his Darth Vader costume had given Andrew far more courage than he normally possessed, as the man he was walking towards had at least half a foot on him, even with the lifts in Andrew's costume, and looked like the black man was made of solid muscle. His companion, an older man who looked to Xander like he still kept in good shape, was giving off a military vibe, so long as you ignored his strange, Yoda-eared, green hat, which he looked very unhappy to be wearing.

Trying and failing to deepen his voice in an intimidating manner, Andrew grabbed the black man by his cloak.

“Hey man. Are you supposed to be Mace Windu, because he so did not have some weird, gold tattoo on his forehead.”

“Is this a problem?” the black man intoned tersely, staring into Andrew's impassive Darth Vader mask.

“Well, yeah,” the geek replied in a whiny tone. “I mean, this is a serious convention, man, so your costume has to be, like, authentic, you know. You can't just randomly add tattoos to established characters.”

The black man looked mildly upset at this pronouncement.

“I did not know this. I apologize.”

He turned to go, but his companion grabbed his arm and stopped him, glaring towards the Vader-costumed man who had just insulted his friend.

“Hey, T- I mean Murray, don't listen to this guy. He doesn't know what he's talking about. You've got a great costume.”

The black man, apparently Murray, turned towards his friend.

“I was not aware that you were an expert on Star Wars conventions, O'Neill.”

“Well, I'm not,” the older man admitted. “But I know how hard you worked on that costume and how much you were looking forward to this, so I'm not going to let this jerk put you down.”

O'Neill glared at Andrew, the edge of his menacing look only slightly blunted by the cute Yoda ears he was wearing.

As he saw Andrew opening his mouth to start another rant which would probably get him pummeled, Xander decided that it was time to cut in.

“Hey, hey, guys, let's all calm down,” the former carpenter said, interposing himself between Andrew and the two other convention attendees. Smiling in an 'aw shucks' sort of way at the large black man, he continued, “I think your costumes really awesome, Murray. I mean, you might be even more bad-ass than the original Mace Windu, and you've even got a fake lightsaber.”

Murray seemed pleased at the first part of Xander's compliment, while his friend looked at least slightly placated. However, the black man appeared confused when Xander mentioned his fake lightsaber.

“This is not a fake lightsaber. It is fully functional,” the Mace Windu costumed man declared, pulling the blade from the side of his robes and pressing the button to activate it.

A shimmering violet blade sprang forth from the pommel of what Xander had assumed was a fake lightsaber. Then the large black man swung his lightsaber skillfully towards a nearby street sign, effortlessly slicing through the metal pole holding the sign up.

Xander and the man's companion both looked flabbergasted, as the top half of the sign fell to the ground.

“Teal'c!” the black man's friend practically screamed. “Where the Hell did you get a real lightsaber from?”

The larger man smiled thinly, apparently pleased with his weapon.

“This weapon was a gift from Samantha Carter during my previous birthday celebration.”

“What? I don't remember that at all!”

“I believe that you were distracted by Cassandra bringing the cake, O'Neill.”

Murray or Teal'c, or whoever the black guy was, swung his energy blade around in what looked to Xander like the beginning of a sword kata.

“This weapon is elegant, even if not the most functional in true combat.”

“Oh, fer cryin' out loud! Put that thing away!”

However, before Teal'c could acquiesce, Andrew felt the need to put in his two cents.

“Ha! Oh yeah! Well, that's nothing compared to this,” and then the young man pulled out his own lightsaber, activating the blood red blade and carving up another nearby street sign more clumsily.

Teal'c offered the Darth Vader impersonator a pitying look at his display.

“While your weapon is indeed well-crafted, your skill is not worthy of it.”

Furious at being disparaged by this half-rate, Windu knock-off, Andrew swung his blade around, nearly taking out Xander's remaining eye, and pointed his lightsaber towards his quarry.

“Oh yeah! Well unlike you, Mr. Fake Jedi, I'm a true master of the dark side of the Force!”

Teal'c's brow furrowed. O'Neill had informed him that such powers did not truly exist when they had watched the Star Wars trilogy together.


“Of course! Watch this!”

Then, as Xander looked on in horror and O'Neill looked disbelieving, the Darth Vader impersonator raised his left hand into the air, and, as dark power seemed to swirl around his outstretched hand, summoned dark forces which he had not commanded in years.

“Come to me, forces of darkness! Come forth and show this cheap Jedi knock-off the true power of the dark side of the Force!”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Jack O'Neill scoffed.

“Right,” he said rolling his eyes. “So much for Mr. Dark Lord of the Sith.”

Then the sky opened up above the convention center, and a veritable army of flying monkey demons descended upon them.

“Oh, fer cryin' out loud!” Jack yelled for the second time in a matter of minutes at the sight of the army of flying monkey things. What was this? The Wizard of Oz?

Pushing down his disbelief, the SGC colonel pulled out a handgun and opened fire on whatever sort of alien things were coming out of the sky. Beside him, he noticed that the man who had interrupted him and the weird alien summoning guy earlier had joined him in attacking the creatures, having pulled a freaking crossbow out of his backpack. Jack idly noted that the kid's aim wasn't bad considering that his eye patch had to be seriously affecting his depth perception.

However, Teal'c only had eyes for Andrew, clad in his intimidating Darth Vader armor.

“So you truly command the powers of the dark side?” the black man queried, suddenly dead serious.

Andrew simply laughed triumphantly. Okay, so summoning demons again was probably going to get him in some trouble with the Scoobies, but it wasn't that big a deal. He could always send them back once this poser admitted who was the real Star Wars fan here.

“Of course, you Jedi knock-off! Can't you see the dark forces I've summoned? I am Darth Andrew!”


Then, faster than Andrew could process, the black man was rushing towards him, violet lightsaber glowing menacingly. Andrew attempted to bring up his own lightsaber to defend himself, but, in an instant, he found the weapon's pommel cleaved in half by his opponent before the larger man placed his own weapon at the throat of Andrew's Darth Vader costume.

“You will surrender and force these creatures to retreat, Darth Andrew.”

“Okay, okay! I give. Just give me a second.”

Andrew raised his hands once more, intending to send the demons back to the Hell dimension from which he had summoned them, and then realized that there was a small flaw in this plan.

“Oh no! I don't remember the incantation to send them back!”

Teal'c's expression darkened. Then he swiftly struck Andrew's head with the pommel of his lightsaber, knocking the Star Wars geek unconscious. Turning towards the hordes of flying creatures, lightsaber in hand, the former First Prime of Apophis steeled himself for the battle to come. He was Teal'c, sworn to defend the Tau'ri homeworld. He would not permit the powers of the dark side to triumph here.

Two Days Later

General Hammond looked at his two subordinates from across his desk in disbelief.

“So, does one of you two want to explain to me just how in the Hell you managed to turn a few days off into some sort of crusade against an army of flying monkeys? And just who is that blond man you've imprisoned in the SGC's holding cells?”

Jack hemmed and hawed a bit, trying to come up with something that could placate the general. This was the last time he agreed to go to a 'cultural festival' with Teal'c. Honestly, after this fiasco, he might just swear off vacations entirely.

Teal'c was far less circumspect.

“The explanation is simple, General Hammond. Colonel O'Neill and I encountered the Dark Lord of the Sith Darth Andrew during our vacation. In order to protect the Tau'ri from his power over the dark side of the Force, we defeated him and his minions. Now he is imprisoned in our holding cell.”

General Hammond's eyes practically rose right off his forehead.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes, General Hammond.”

Jack reluctantly raised his hand slightly into the air, as if to offer information in a classroom.

“I did sort of see it too, General. He certainly did create or summon those monkey things out of thin air somehow, although I don't buy that's it's the dark side of the Force.”

“So, let me get this straight,” the general declared, smiling thinly. “You to gentlemen expect me to go up to the Secretary of Defense and tell him that the reason a fifth of downtown Denver was wrecked in a day long running battle was because two of my men were apprehending a Dark Lord of The Sith.”

“Well, general,” Jack offered, “I wouldn't want to tell you how to do your job, but that is about the size of it.”


General Hammond sighed in disgust. He was never giving SG-1 vacation time again.

The End

You have reached the end of "Duel of the Fates". This story is complete.

StoryReviewsStatisticsRelated StoriesTracking