A Losing Battle, part 1

Revan.

The voice was barely audible, on the very edge of his consciousness, but it was enough to jerk him out of the half-sleeping state he had sunk into without even realising. "Yes?" he called out automatically, his eyes darting around the dimly-lit room. There was no one there, and not a sound to be heard except the faint, ever-present drone of the ventilation system.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. Had someone really whispered his name? Of course not; it had been an illusion, a product of his own overtired and agitated mind. It had been happening more and more often, just lately... He sighed and lay back, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room.

He couldn't remember when he had last slept well, or woken up feeling truly refreshed. Night after restless night he would toss and turn for hours in his bed, trying to find a comfortable position, always either too hot or too cold. Meditation didn't help -- every time he tried to clear his mind the thoughts would come rushing back, a thousand fears and memories overwhelming his attempts to calm himself. He couldn't find peace now, even in the Force.

Even when he eventually drifted off to sleep it would come only in short bursts, filled with shadowy figures and crying voices. And faces -- enemies he had killed, friends he had seen die in front of him, people he had tried to save and failed... When he awoke he would feel more tired than ever, his body aching all over, his limbs heavy as lead.

Despite his attempts to hide how ill he felt, he knew that the effects of these sleepless nights were beginning to show. His friends were starting to look at him with concern, and a few had even approached him about it -- but he brushed aside their well-meaning enquiries, insisting that there was nothing wrong. He didn't really feel he could confide in anyone -- not even Malak, his closest friend. Besides, Malak himself had seemed somewhat distant and preoccupied lately.

Revan knew how the other Jedi looked up to him, even those far older than he was. He was their leader, their hero, who had single-handedly changed the course of a war that threatened to destroy the Republic. How could he tell them that he now slept with the light on like a child, because he feared what he saw in the shadows? That he felt as if he were staring down into a gaping abyss, fighting a losing battle against the invisible forces dragging him gradually, inexorably closer to the edge?

"Revan, you need a rest." That had been the blunt assessment put forward by Admiral Dodonna, leader of the Republic's military forces, when he had last seen her. He had managed to dissuade her, even as he realised in his heart that she was right. There was nothing he would like more than to return to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and simply collapse, letting the calm and peace of the Light Side wash over him, feeling the Force cleanse him of the darkness that boiled up within him. But he couldn't leave the war now, just as it was drawing to a close -- the troops needed him, the Republic needed him. He had to finish what he had started.

He smiled faintly. In his mind's eye he could see himself as he had been at the start of the war -- the confident, idealistic young man, filled with energy and an almost religious fervour as he begged for recruits to his noble cause. Only four years ago, but it felt more like four decades. What had happened to him since then?

Reality had intruded, that was what. The man who had spent most of his life at a training academy on a peaceful Outer Rim planet had suddenly found himself responsible for countless millions of lives -- soldiers, civilians, other Jedi. He had been forced to make agonising, impossible decisions, and to see their effects first-hand. Tactics that he would once have found horrifying -- playing games of numbers, balancing a few thousand lives lost against another few thousand saved, abandoning and sacrificing entire worlds for the sake of a strategic victory -- had now become almost routine.

What would the Revan of four years ago think of his future self? He shivered again. Probably best to avoid thinking about it, and keep telling himself as always that the end justified the means, that all the deaths would be worth it when the war was finally won. If he could only remember what he was fighting for any more...

He rolled over again, wincing in pain as the mattress rubbed against a bruise on his side. A month or so ago, during an undercover mission on a deserted planet suspected of harbouring a Mandalorian communications base, he and the other soldiers with him had been ambushed and captured. Luckily his captors hadn't realised who he was, and he had managed to escape -- but not before suffering a severe beating. Even after weeks of medical treatment, the wounds had still not entirely healed.

Since then, the panicked Republic high command had barely let him out of their sight. He had been refused permission to participate in any further combat or reconnaissance missions; instead he was confined to one of the capital ships, helping to direct battles and offering tactical advice to both subordinate and superior officers. Although he had reluctantly accepted that it was for the best, knowing that the Republic could not afford to lose him at this stage, he constantly chafed against the restrictions placed on him. Despite all his training, patience had never been one of Revan's virtues - he wanted to be out there with the other Jedi, in the thick of battle, not sitting in a command centre issuing orders from on high.

But the war was coming to an end, and he was determined that he would not be left out of the final battle. The Mandalorians were a warrior race, and to them surrender was worse than death; he knew that they would fight on to the bitter end, refusing to yield until they were utterly crushed and annihilated. And what was more, he knew there was one person whom he alone could defeat.

Mandalore. Revan felt his fists clench involuntarily as the image of his arch-enemy rose before him, as it had done so many times before. This was the man who had unleashed death and destruction on an unimaginable scale throughout the Outer Rim, pounding helpless worlds into dust for the sake of his twisted ideas of 'honour' and 'glory'. This was the man responsible for the countless massacres and atrocities he had witnessed, for the images and sounds that had seared themselves into his brain and would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. The man who had turned him into what he was today.

"A Jedi does not hate." A short, bitter laugh escaped Revan's lips as he mouthed the words which no longer held any meaning for him. As he pursued Mandalore ever more relentlessly, hatred had turned to loathing and loathing to an all-consuming obsession, an obsession which remained long after the horrors he saw almost daily had lost their ability to shock him. If there was one thing that sustained his will to fight after all this time, it was the desire to see this man finally destroyed -- to make him pay for what he had done to the Republic, to the Jedi, and to him.

A wave of exhaustion rolled over him and he sank back, closing his eyes. Once he had defeated Mandalore, he would be able to rest at last. His thoughts blurred and ran together as sleep began to overtake him. Just a few more weeks and it would all be over, and he could return to Coruscant. He and Malak would be welcomed as heroes, and the Council would have to forgive their transgressions; perhaps then he could finally be at peace again...

He slept. Cheering crowds surrounded him as he walked through the streets of Coruscant; planes roared triumphantly overhead, friends waved at him as he passed, and he saw his former Master smiling proudly. But as he came closer the smiles gradually faded and twisted into expressions of terror; cheers turned to screams, and the crowds turned and fled in panic, shrieking and pushing and falling over each other in their desperate attempt to get away. He woke up shaking, the brief flicker of hope extinguished; all that remained was darkness, loneliness and despair at the prospect of having to face another day.

A frantic knocking on the door of Revan's cabin jolted him awake, brutally interrupting a few hours of badly-needed sleep. Swearing under his breath, he dragged himself out of his bed and stumbled towards the door, without bothering to put on his robe. It slid open to reveal a young Jedi - a Padawan by the looks of him -- who appeared to have arrived in a considerable hurry. He stood for a moment in silence, trying to catch his breath, his entire body radiating nervous excitement.

"Yes, what is it?" Revan spoke sharply, not even attempting to conceal his annoyance. The young man remembered himself and bowed hurriedly.

"Forgive me, Master Revan, I'm sorry to wake you." He took a deep breath and continued. "But Commander Malak is here - he says he needs to speak to you immediately..."

Revan blinked. "Malak?" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear the fog of sleep from his head. "I thought he was in another sector..."

"He only just arrived, sir. He's waiting in the command centre." The Padawan gestured vaguely towards the elevator at the end of the corridor. "He said he has important news about our operations..."

Revan didn't wait to hear any more. He grabbed his robe, yanked it around himself and strode off, pausing only to murmur a brief "Thank you, Padawan" as he passed the other Jedi. The young man stared after him in faint amusement as he practically ran down the corridor towards the elevator.

A minute later he burst through the door of the ship's operations centre, pale and out of breath. The Republic officers manning the control panels barely even glanced at him; by now they were used to seeing Revan storm into the room in the midst of some crisis, dressed only in nightclothes and a robe. However, the tall, thin Jedi who stood in the middle of the room swung round to greet him as he entered.

"Revan!" A slightly guilty look crossed Malak's face as he grasped his friend's hand warmly. "I'm really sorry about this -- I forgot that you might still be in bed..."

Revan shook his head impatiently. "Never mind that; tell me what's happened!"

"Hey, calm down." Malak raised his hands in a reassuring gesture. "It's not bad news." He smiled slightly and then, seeing that his friend still looked worried, continued. "You know that we've been in a standoff against the Mandalorians around Dxun for the past four days?

Revan nodded. "I thought Admiral Dodonna was sending reinforcements --"

"She doesn't need to. It's over." Malak's face broke into a grin. "One of the Mandalorian commanders panicked and ordered the ships under his command to attack - I guess he thought we weren't prepared." He paused for effect. "Well, we were. My fleet engaged them and we managed to break through their defences and attack the planet. We destroyed their communications centre before they could sort themselves out and organise a counter-attack."

"What? When did this happen?" Revan stared at him in astonishment and confusion. "I never heard anything about it."

"It started about 14 hours ago. We're still mopping up, but we've taken control of the planet and destroyed most of the Mandalorian fleet." His smile faded a little. "Though I'm afraid we've taken quite heavy casualties."

Revan sank down into a chair, trying to take in what he had just heard. "And I take it you've informed the Admiral?"

"Yes, but I said that I wanted tell you in person." Malak's face brightened again. "I left for hyperspace as soon as possible after I heard what had happened."

"Then..." Revan gazed up at the holographic star chart in the centre of the room. "Then that's almost the last of their bases! There's only Malachor V left and my forces have them surrounded..." His voice trailed off as he stared intently at the mass of small green and red shapes representing friendly and hostile forces.

"That's right." Malak took a step forward; normally the calmer and more cautious of the two, he could not disguise the slight quiver of excitement in his voice as he spoke. "We've won, Revan."

"Hold it." Revan snapped out of his reverie; suddenly he was Revan the military leader once more, detached and pragmatic. "Let's not get overconfident -- Mandalore's on that moon and he's not going to give up without a fight." He turned back to the star chart. "I suggest we launch an attack as quickly as possible, before they try to break through our lines and escape."

Malak nodded in agreement. "Very well. The rest of my fleet should have arrived within another 24 hours." He smiled at his friend. "Shall I leave it up to you to ask the Admiral for permission?"

"You want to launch the attack immediately?" There was a faint trace of concern in Admiral Dodonna's face. "Are you sure you don't need more troops, Revan? I can get reinforcements to you within 48 hours --"

"I think it would be better to attack quickly, Admiral," explained the Jedi. "The Mandalorians must be getting desperate -- it's best that we finish them off before they have time to formulate an escape plan."

"Well, you must do as you think best. You haven't failed us yet, Revan." She smiled at him and he looked down modestly. "Is there anything else?"

He raised his eyes again. "Well... there is one thing..." She waited as he swallowed and breathed in deeply, clearly somewhat uncomfortable. "I would like to lead the assault myself, Admiral."

"What, in person?"

He nodded. "Along with Malak, of course."

She pursed her lips and sighed. "Well, I suppose I can hardly deny you this after all you've done for us. Just... take care of yourself, that's all. And get some sleep beforehand, you look absolutely shattered."

It was his turn to smile. "Yes, Mother." He heard her laugh as the hologram flickered and disappeared.

Malak was waiting for him outside the communications room. "Well?"

"Yes." He inclined his head slightly towards the room. "She's given us the go-ahead."

"This is it, then." Malak grinned somewhat nervously. "Twenty-four hours. How do you feel?"

"I..." Suddenly Revan realised just how tired he was. He felt... numb, that was the only way to describe it. Could it really be that this was all, finally, coming to an end? "I'm not sure. I just want to get it over with, really."

Malak looked sympathetic. "Well, don't we all? These past few months have been hell." He shrugged. "It's a pity you couldn't persuade Bastila Shan to join us -- she might have made things a lot easier."

"Well, I couldn't, so it's no use complaining about it." Revan's voice was uncharacteristically sharp. "What did you want me to do, use a mind-trick on her?"

His friend looked at him in surprise. "Well, there's no need to get so defensive. I was just saying."

"I'm sorry," muttered Revan wearily. "I... look, I'm going back to bed." His face looked tired and strained. "Goodnight, Malak."

Revan removed his robe and flopped down onto the bed. Alone in the room with nothing but his own thoughts, he felt the dark clouds of depression begin to envelop him once more. Bastila Shan! Why did someone always have to remind him of her?

Revan had had a few lovers. He had long since abandoned any scruples where the Jedi Code was concerned, and it was not difficult to find women who were willing to do the same, even among his fellow Jedi. But they had mostly been casual girlfriends, attracted by his fame, power and good looks, but not interested in a serious relationship. This had not been a problem for him; the last thing he needed at the moment was to fall in love.

Bastila, however, was different. They had known each other since they were children; he had trained her in the use of the Force while he was still a Padawan. As a young girl she had adored him, regarding him almost as an older brother; and despite the difference in their ages, she was one of the few people he felt able to confide in when he had fallen out of favour with the Council.

He had not forgotten her, even after the war started. And then, a couple of months ago, he had got to hear of her newly-discovered talent for Battle Meditation. Secretly returning to Dantooine in an attempt to persuade her to use her abilities in the service of the Republic's fleet, he had found that the shy teenage girl he remembered had become a beautiful woman -- and what was more, a woman who cared for him as a person, rather than simply as the great hero of the Republic. And he had realised, with sudden and painfully startling clarity, that he loved her.

And what was more, he knew that she loved him. He cringed at the memory of how he had manipulated her into admitting it; he was not proud of his behaviour that night. But what stung far more was that he had begged her to come with him, laying bare a vulnerability he could never have revealed to anyone else -- and though he could sense that she longed to give in to him, she had refused. He had come so close, and yet he had seen the fear in her eyes even as he held her in his arms - she believed he was falling to the Dark Side.

He had left, angry and bitter, vowing to forget her. And yet, again and again the thought of her would steal treacherously back into his mind, even as he tried to concentrate on other things. Occasionally he would see her in his dreams -- her face, her voice, everything about her seeming so real that he would wake up aching to hold her, longing for the comfort that her touch would bring.

He groaned as he realised he had been daydreaming about her yet again. Whatever had happened to the self-control he was supposed to have learned as a Jedi? These days, it seemed that he had no control whatsoever over his emotions or even his own thoughts. He shook himself angrily; he had no time for this, there were more important things to think about right now. Moping over Bastila was no way to prepare himself for a battle.

He gazed over at HK-47, the droid he was constructing as one of his few distractions from his military duties. He had always enjoyed building droids; they did exactly what you programmed them to do, and they didn't judge you or talk back to you -- unless you wanted them to, of course. He wondered idly if he could program the droid to provide some kind of psychological assistance; at the very least it would be someone he could talk to, someone to whom he could express his innermost thoughts without fearing the consequences.

But all this was idle speculation; he might not even be alive this time tomorrow... Suddenly an icy shudder ran through him, and just for a second he felt an overwhelming sensation of dread -- a raw fear that he had never felt before, even when he was lying chained up in a filthy cell at the mercy of his Mandalorian captors. A moment later it had passed, leaving him with only a faint sense of unease and apprehension.

The Force? He closed his eyes, trying to sense any danger that lay ahead, but it was no use -- fatigue and a maelstrom of emotions were clouding his perceptions, preventing him from gaining any insight into what was to come. He sighed and shrugged off the feeling; what would be would be, and he would know his fate soon enough. For now, all he needed was to sleep.