Forced Bonds

"You defied them and went to war. Do you expect to be welcomed back with open arms?" Malak asked.

His tone was cordial, but his stern gaze was unsettling. Urela Toral braced herself for the battle of wills she knew was coming. "I don't expect a hero's welcome," she said quietly.

When word had gotten out that Urela was planning to return to the Jedi enclave on Coruscant, Malak requested she meet with him first. Alone.

In his private quarters, aboard his ship, Urela was in the midst of discussing her plans to leave, when she suddenly realized Malak was no longer listening. She sensed little from him, which troubled her immensely, because Malak wasn't shielding his thoughts and feelings-- she was unable to read them. The Force was becoming elusive. Difficult to wield. Even simple tasks were proving a challenge, not that she would volunteer that information. It was temporary; an ugly parting gift courtesy of her last assignment at Malachor V.

Malak poured a splash of Corellian brandy into an elegant snifter and offered it to her. Before the war, with the lectures of her masters still fresh in her head, Urela might have declined, but war had softened her position on vice. Months of close combat against the Mandalorians had taken its' toll and the stinging amber liquid offered a small amount of comfort. A brief respite from reality.

"What is it you want most of all?" Malak asked.

Urela eyed him warily. His question was the literary equivalent of a mine field and too dangerous to tackle directly.

"The war is over. There's nothing else I want," she said, feigning interest in a stack of old holovids.

He poured a second glass of brandy and looked at her sharply. "Don't play coy, Urela. You had an answer for that question back at the temple." Urela took a sip of her drink and summoned her best Pazaak face. "Did I?"

He nodded and motioned for her to sit next to him. "And that is the reason you must not return to Coruscant." A devious twinkle lit his clear, focused eyes and Urela settled back against her chair to watch the fireworks. The last time Malak sported that particular look, she had been persuaded to leave her master's tutelage to fight the Mandalorians.

"I see something in you, Urela. A spark of some deeper potential. It would be a shame if the council were to extinguish that spark out of fear or ignorance." His mouth twisted cruelly when he said the word Council. It made the hair at the back of her neck stand on end.

"What's your issue with the Council?" She asked.

His eyes narrowed. "You know as well as I, that by refusing to get involved, they played as much a part in the destruction of those worlds as the Mandalorians." Urela opened her mouth to protest, but found she could not argue his point. The Council preached patience, and in doing so, condemned countless innocents to death.

"Don't you believe in what we have accomplished?" Malak asked. The urgency in his voice startled her back to the present. Urela straightened the hem of her robe as she searched for an answer he might better understand. She believed the Mandalorians needed to be stopped, but the way this war was fought-- the way it forced her to fight-- she wasn't sure she believed in that.

"I'm pleased the Republic is safe, but the war is over, Malak."

"You're wrong. The war-- the real war-- is just beginning."

He reached across the space between them and covered her hand with his own. "You must know I care for you," Malak said softly. Urela's heart betrayed her, thumping loudly inside her chest.

"You remind me of my sister. Before I left home to begin my training, she was everything to me."

Urela pulled her hand away from his grasp. "Your... sister?"

She polished off the remainder of her drink. For reasons she did not entirely understand, it hurt terribly to hear his confession.

"I'm not saying you resemble her, but your laugh-- the way you purse your lips together when you're lost in thought," he chuckled slightly and directed a finger at her. "You're doing it now."

Without realizing it, he had given her the answer to a riddle that had puzzled her for years. Growing up on Coruscant, Malak and Revan were the equivalent of Jedi rock stars, and though Urela was pleased to have Malak lavish her with attention, she never understood his interest. She was just a padawan learner when they were first introduced, but even so, Malak trained with her. Favored her. Protected her.

"That's why you were kind to me... because... "

He nodded. "It's also the reason I can't allow you to return to the Council."

Her insides pitched violently.

His story was not unfamiliar. Several of the soldiers who served under Urela also mentioned that she was eerily reminiscent of someone they held in high esteem-- an old lover, a teacher, a trusted friend. This anomaly garnered her a strong bond with the men and women she lead into battle. It was a benefit that most of the other Jedi generals did not enjoy.

Urela was convinced this phenomenon was the will of the Force working through her, and since the Force was not without a sense of humor, she went along with the joke. But with Malak, it wasn't funny. Hearing Malak say he was fond of her because of his attachment to his sister only made Urela feel hollow-- like their entire relationship was built on a lie she had somehow constructed without even being aware of it.

"If I don't leave, I'll miss my shuttle," Urela said. She set her empty glass on a nearby table and was nearly to the door before he intercepted her. Grabbing her wrist, Malak twisted her body back to face him. "Are you really in such a hurry to be judged? Because they will judge you, Urela. They will force you to denounce the war and punish you for your convictions."

"Maybe I deserve to be punished," she countered, "Maybe we all do."

Malak tightened his grip on her wrist. "I won't allow you become infected with their hypocrisy," he said.

An inkling of the Force struggled to be heard. It was begging her to pull away from him, but instead, she chose to entertain childish thoughts. If she could persuade him to come with her, he might convince Revan-- and all three of them could go back together...

A wry smile escaped his lips. "Revan and I would sooner die than align ourselves with those fools," he sneered.

A mix of sadness and fury welled up from within her as she purposely wrenched away from him, "I'll tell the Council you and Revan send your regards," Urela exclaimed. She turned away, fully prepared to leave, when she heard the metallic hum of his lightsaber as it roared to life. "Urela, believe me when I tell you-- this is for your own good," he said, as he lunged towards her, poised to attack.

"That's enough, Malak."

It was Revan; leaning in the doorway of what Urela could only assume was Malak's bedroom, dressed in a tiny nightgown that draped over every curve like it had been painted on with fine brushstrokes. Urela blinked, unable to reconcile the scene before her: Malak with his lightsaber drawn and Revan wearing little more than a cantina dancer and clearly sleeping in Malak's bed.

Malak glanced at her briefly before bringing the weight of his stare back to Urela, "We can't allow her to leave," he reasoned. Revan gently brushed his shoulder with delicate fingertips and the tension in his body melted; his expression eased. "If she does not see the importance of what we are doing-- than she has no place here," the lithe brunette whispered. Urela felt her cheeks flush at Revan's indictment.

"But, she insists on going back to Coruscant-- back to the Council," he pleaded.

"Then wish her a safe journey," Revan admonished. Malak's features twisted in confusion, but he deactivated his lightsaber. "Safe journey," he grunted through clenched teeth.

"Thank-you, Revan...," Urela's voice broke off. She looked at Malak for an explanation, but he refused to meet her gaze.

"No, I should be thanking you. Your actions on Malachor V ended the war."

Urela fidgeted, uncomfortable in her own skin. "I was only following orders," she murmured.

"You aren't on Coruscant, Urela. You can take a little pride in your achievements," Revan chuckled. Urela smiled self-consciously and silently wondered why Revan would choose to wear a mask into battle-- when her pretty face was far more intimidating.

"I wish we could persuade you to stay," Revan continued. She shot a sideways glance at Malak who was still sulking in the corner and Urela suddenly became aware of an odd rift in the Force. It was only a flicker at first, and then, like a waterfall: she sensed tremendous, exhilarating power.

Urela gasped, unable to comprehend the density of the suffocating energy that radiated from Revan. It bathed her in an aura so alluring, so enticing, it defied description. And for the first time, Urela knew fear-- not of the Dark side-- and not of Revan or Malak. Urela was afraid of herself-- because in her heart-- she desired the Dark power that was now Revan's to command.

"Exile."

Urela awoke with a start to find herself aboard the Ebon Hawk, with Kreia standing over her.

"Bad dream?" The crone asked, with a hint of a smile.

Urela brought her legs into meditation pose. "It wasn't a dream--," Urela whispered, her breath coming in ragged fits, "It was real."

"What did you see?" Kreia inquired.

The Exile hesitated. She desperately wanted to discuss the dream-- but not with her master. Since Korriban, she had come to regard Kreia with some trepidation. Urela smoothed back a strand of perspiration soaked hair. "It was a memory returned to me because of the cave. It's nothing to be concerned about," she added.

"You were so unconcerned your whimpers woke me from my slumber." Kreia mused.

Urela offered her master a deferential smile, "I'm sorry for disturbing you," she whispered.

The crone knelt across from her apprentice and twisted her legs into meditation pose. "I find it curious you should have a dream warning you about the Jedi Council, just as we are about to meet up with the same individuals who sent you into exile," Kreia said.

Urela sighed. Apparently, her dreams were no longer safe from the increasing bond she shared with the old woman.

"It was a just a memory, shaken loose by Korriban," the Exile muttered, trying to control the edge that was steadily creeping into her voice.

Kreia fell silent for several moments, digesting Urela's answer before she spoke again, "In your weakened condition, with Malak at her side, Revan could have easily killed you. Why do you suppose she spared you?" She asked.

Urela snorted. "Why did Revan do anything?"

The crone did not respond to this. Instead, she let her sharp gaze coax the answer she desired from her stubborn charge.

"The odd thing is-- I forgot the whole incident ever took place. It's like my mind was wiped of all things Revan," Urela admitted quietly.

"That is odd," Kreia agreed, an enigmatic smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You should get some rest, Exile. I fear your meeting with the Council will be quite draining."

Watching the old woman stalk back to her bunk, Urela was reminded of a holovid she had seen documenting the behavior of kath hounds. In particular, a scene where a mother kath hound brutally attacks and kills a massiff in order to feed her cubs. During the attack, the holovid's microphone picks up a low, guttural sound-- almost like an engine.

The mother kath hound is purring as she rips out the throat of her prey.

Urela closed her eyes, but sleep would not come. Something about the old woman in the next bunk reminded Urela of that mother kath hound.