For the Republic: Part 20B

A/N: While this is not the last chapter of FtR, it does mark the end of the story proper. The last two chapters will be used to close up loose ends and bring us the rest of the way to the game. Thank you all for sticking with me, particularly my betas, TascaLumina and VengaFett.

--- months/days before betrayal. [Victorious, Revan’s flagship]

Revan struggled against the weight of…something tight in her chest as she watched the dance of ships across the viewport. Hulking, monstrous vessels bled freighters and fighters into the space between. That small expanse of black was the whole universe for all that one could tell. And the Republic fought as if the fate of the galaxy were spread upon this single battlefield.

If Revan had her way, it would be the last of such battles for many years.

She counted time by the explosions, a living symphony surrounding Victorious. The flagship fought alongside the others, plasma cannons finding target after target. And in the background, the ever present staccato of Republic distress beacons followed by pleading voices from somewhere beyond the space within the viewport.

“Radiance, this is Inheritance. What’s your status?”

“Inheritance, we’re taking heavy damage. These Sith bastards keep comin’!”

Revan’s fleet had the clear advantage of numbers. Swarms of sleek, black ships produced by the Star Forge darted and stung at the larger Republic capital ships, easily outmaneuvering their fighters.

“Radiance, hold your position and wait for reinforcements.”

“Affirmative. Radiance, out.”

Revan’s chest tightened again. A dull ache made sharp by suddenness. It had been the same at Kuat, and it would have bothered her had she not been distracted by the next voice to echo through the bridge.

”Inheritance, this is Commander Cates of Gallant. We’re under fire from the Sith
flagship!”

“What’s your status?”

“Goin’ down fast! They have some kind of--”

“Lost your signal, say again.”

“—ma cannons. Dammit. Sending out pods, ship ain’t gonna last much longer!”

An urgent pull at her senses, through the Force, and Revan’s eyes found the ship. It floated just to the right side of the viewport.

“Adjust the screen! Get it on that ship!” she yelled, poking a gloved finger at the space before her.

“Yes, milord.”

The viewport shifted and Gallant filled Revan’s vision. Mesmerized, she watched Victorious’ plasma cannons pound into the Republic ship, watched as its meager shielding began to fail. And felt it. Felt the commander’s fear as a final plasma bolt ripped into the hull. Saw his children. His wife. His home on Alderaan. His memories paraded through Revan’s mind as if her own. His dreams and emotions. Sith…The Sith are no better than the Mandalorians! They’ve ruined it all. They’ll destroy us, the Republic, everything...

The visions started to fade, but Revan’s mind lashed out, grasping at the last thoughts of a dying man, his ship becoming so much debris. Everyone will remember the evil of Revan. His anger and pain were her own.

His hatred, her hatred.

Revan hated the Sith.

Serena hated Revan.

“No!” Snapping back into her own mind, Revan let loose a primal growl and glared behind her mask. The crew, used to reading her posture, recoiled. “OUT! All of you! Auxiliary bridge, and HOLD FIRE!”

“H-hold…fire, Lord Re--?” The captain was dead before the final syllable left his lips, and the bridge was empty. The scent of Revan’s lightening filled her nostrils, but she paid it no heed.

Collapsing to the durasteel floor, the pain in her chest was more obvious now, and Revan was aware of every tile, light, computer, person onboard Victorious. Familiar patterns in the life around her shifted upon her senses, as she knelt on the floor reveling in the things she’d stolen from Commander Cates’ lucid mind.

For the first time in years, tears brimmed the Sith Lord’s eyes, but she blinked them away.

Everything…everything is so clear to me.

For a moment, a brief and vital moment, she had seen.

Master Kavar’s voice, accompanied by an unaccustomed hollowness, slipped through her mind—The dark side isn’t an entity or a sentient being. It is the darkness within each of us. We all must face our own dim shadows, face and conquer them. Else, we become tools of that darkness, forgetting ourselves, wandering without a light. Revan had sent her light back to the Council. She’d sent her away and chosen to wander, instead.

Master?

It was what the commander had seen when he thought of Revan. A darkness, an infection. So much hate. Hate she’d felt as clearly as if it were her own…when she’d seen…

Her voice finally came, harsh and choked. “…a cloud of darkness rolling across the galaxy…”

Revan’s heart stuttered. Her eyesight reduced to a pinhole of light, then failed altogether as the vision overtook her--the vision she’d shared with Malak on Malachor V at Trayus Academy…except the angle was wrong. It made things much too clear for Revan’s taste.

The ships on the leading edge of that cloud of destruction were Victorious and Leviathan. And at the helm of Victorious, leading the roiling black fog across the galaxy, swallowing up and destroying everything in its path…was Revan. Not standing proudly, commanding her fleet. It was Revan, sitting on the floor of an abandoned bridge. Revan, huddled and shaking, near tears and alone on the bridge of Victorious. As she was now.

And finally, the tears that had threatened found their outlet in Revan’s broken cries. “No! No, no, no! We only…I only wanted to help! I only wanted to…”

A shrill chord across the bridge chimed a hail from Malak and Revan grunted at the computer to answer it. Mumbling and trembling, she attempted composure.

“Master, why have you discontinued firing?”

“Malak! STOP! We need to stop! This is…this is wrong!”

“What are you--?”

“IT’S WRONG! WE ARE WRONG! CEASE FIRE!” Scrambling on hands and knees, Revan slapped the open frequency mic and hailed all of her ships at once. “ALL SHIPS, CEASE FIRE!” Her manic screaming had reached a fever-pitch, and Revan repeated the phrase, again and again.

“REVAN! I do not know what has happened, but—“

“Please, Malak…we’re the darkness. We’re the darkness! Don’t you see?” Revan’s voice was a keening whine, a hectic painful gasping wail that pierced the air. It was despair. It was guilt. “We…were…mislead! Or we lied to ourselves? It doesn’t matter how or why…we must stop!”

~*~

Malak watched her grovel, pleading, begging. No longer Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith. A weakling and an obstacle to be removed before continuing onward.

“You are a flimsy shell of Revan. You are nothing to me, and I do not have time for—“ A figure at the back of the bridge caught his attention, and Malak’s jawless face still managed to effect a sneer. There in the doorway was Bastila Shan. He recognized the opportunity the Force had placed before him…and he laughed.

The mechanical laughter filled the comm system, followed quickly by, “All ships, recommence firing!”

~*~

Malak’s face and laughter disappeared as Revan turned to see what had drawn his attention.

Someone stood silhouetted by the light of the corridor. As her eyes adjusted, Revan made out the face of a grown up version of Vrook’s little padawan.

“Bas…Bastila?” She mumbled it, finding her tongue unwilling to form the words. She bit down on her lip, drawing blood, stumbling to her feet and clawing at the control panel for support as the intruder stepped closer. The girl was alone. “What do you want, Bastila? Has old man Vrook sent you?”

“Revan.” Bastila took another step forward, her lightsaber casting a yellow pallor around the bridge.

Revan watched the steady beam, and then a wide grin split the parched, veined lips beneath her mask. I can fix things. I don’t want to live anymore. Can’t be allowed! Not now, now that I’ve seen… An idea was slowly finding purchase within Revan’s cracked mind.

Instead, out loud, she said, “Are you supposed to bring me back to the Order? Save me? I think it’s…It’s too late, now. There’s no light left to return me to, nothing to redeem! It might…it might be best if you just end it now. The Republic…I didn’t know…Everything has been for them, Bastila, for the Republic, for its survival, but…but…we…” Her voice trailed to a whisper, words failing the Sith Lord. Her sharp, ragged breathing cut through the remaining silence in rattling fits.

Bastila took another step closer to Revan, who was still precariously leaned against the consoles, her vision focused on the brilliant beam of Bastila’s lightsaber.

“No, Revan. I haven’t been sent to save you. Nor to return you to the Order and the Light. I…” The girl took a deep steadying breath and glared at the slits where she supposed Revan’s eyes were located. “I’ve been instructed to end your life, Serena Revan, former Knight Consular of the Jedi Order, Dark Lord of the Sith. To end your bloody march across the galaxy once and for all.”

Of all of the reactions Revan could have expected, her own indignant gasp of surprise took her off-guard. Something wanted her to live, but she doubted it was a hidden spark of self-preservation. The velvety voice that had been a near constant companion through the years since Malachor V whispered in the dark. It spoke of survival and the Republic. Her precious, needy Republic.

The characteristic snap-hiss of two lightsabers igniting filled the space between Sith Lord and Padawan Jedi, and Revan was out of range before Bastila could react, attacking from behind, then left, then behind…never where Bastila perceived she should be.

Revan shrugged off the girl’s attempts at stasis fields, bringing her red and violet sabers down to meet Bastila’s, beating her back into the control panels. Bastila spun beneath Revan’s arm, flanking her just as Revan whirled to meet the slashing saber with her own.

The fight could have ended quickly as Revan was, by far, the better duelist. But she couldn’t kill the girl whom she remembered as a hip-high child begging for more instruction in meditation. The last time she’d seen her, Bastila was the same age that the boy, Dustil, had been when she met him. Too young to die like that. So they continued, Bastila panting with the effort, Revan locked in internal battle as she dodged and parried.

I should kill her and end it. There’s a war to be won. [spin-duck-slash-duck] So much to do for…for them. I can’t be delayed! I can’t… [jump-slash-slash-slash] NO! I can’t continue! I should let her hit me. It won’t bring anyone back, but…maybe… [dodge-spin-duck-spin] It won’t stop what I’ve started, but I can still--

She never got to finish the thought. A bright blue lightsaber blocked her next advance. The abrupt halt knocked Revan back enough to see who had interfered--broad shoulders and tan skin, blond hair and…usually intense blue eyes that were now only flat and dark, not even reflecting the light of his two identical blue sabers.

Revan’s feet wouldn’t move. Her mind remained paralyzed by those eyes, swimming in disappointment mingling with guilt. Eyes that seemed to see right into her heart as effortlessly as they had seen through her childish techniques years before. Loren still shined with a blue light, much brighter than it had been that first time she’d seen it, and it held her enthralled until the last possible moment. With a quick feint and spin, Revan managed to dodge his attack and flicked her hand in the direction of her two Jedi opponents. A wave of Force power devastated the surrounding computer terminals and sent Bastila and Loren flying. Before they could recover, Revan was between them, flurried sabers finding every opening, barely blocked by the very man who taught her to wield the weapon.

It’s not him. Can’t be him. It’s no one. I don’t know you. I don’t know EITHER OF YOU!

With a yell, she raised her sabers, ready to end the fight. Ready to remove the mocking expressions of sympathy from faces she knew too well. At the last, Loren turned and ducked, pulling Revan closer to him. Revan made eye contact even through the cloying mask. He smiled sadly and whispered, “Serena.”

The word undid the Sith Lord where so many pleas for mercy had failed.

“Serena…”

“No! I’m…no!” Revan retreated up and around the ramp that led to the observation deck. Behind her, the viewport loomed large, battle carrying on without its commander. It didn’t really matter, though. She was done being Lord of the Sith. Done with everything. As Bastila approached from the right, Loren from the left, Revan considered, again, throwing herself onto their sabers. Just failing to dodge. She couldn’t go on with all she’d done, even when every fiber of her being chaffed at so much self-pity.

She tasted the heaving gasps even before they emerged and felt the instant she lost control, fully breaking down before her enemy.

~*~

So, this…this is the way of the dark side?

Bastila stared at the crumpling woman before her; the shape leaning against the rail was starting to tremble more visibly. Unable to stand the sight, she allowed herself a glance at the viewport, where an equally terrifying image caught her eye.

A ship, another Interdictor-class, was moving toward them, rapidly closing the distance and coming about. Mouth suddenly dry, Bastila couldn’t seem to speak as she watched the plasma cannons realign.

~*~

Serena was mumbling something. And it was Serena; he was sure the girl was still in there. Her breath coming in ragged gasps drowned out the words and Loren moved closer. Too close to the Sith Lord, really, but he had to know.

“Loren…Loren…I’m so…I’m…sorry…Loren…”

She wasn’t poised to fight, just leaned against the rail, head hanging, sabers cradled loosely in hands that had lost all conviction.

But without warning, she suddenly turned on him so fast he didn’t have time to react. Dropping the deactivated sabers and grabbing his robes, pulling Loren even closer, she hissed, “Do it! Kill me, please!” The desperation in her voice broke his heart. Serena was pragmatic, strong. The simpering thing before him wasn’t at all like that and he jerked away.

She turned her attention toward the nearby padawan. “Bastila! End it before I do more damage; end it before I destroy it all!”

Forcing himself not to back further away, Loren tried, “Serena, just come with us. You can still—“ He heard Revan and Bastila gasp simultaneously, mere moments before the first burst of plasma smashed into Victorious.

~*~

Revan wouldn’t remember it later, but when she felt Malak’s nearby presence on Leviathan, his intent as his ship moved into position, she’d accepted it fully. It was a fitting end, to be killed by her apprentice. The Sith way. She’d even turned at the last, facing her judgment with dignity. An image of Malak--the husband she’d lost, not the Sith—played behind her closed eyelids as the ship shook from the impact. The squeal of metal twisting, beams collapsing under the blows of Leviathan’s cannons filled the air, and made her wonder if this was what it had been like for Zana on Courageous at Malachor V.

Dust and smoke overtook her, as her senses were flooded with sound and light, and Darth Revan collapsed on the deck of her flagship.

~*~

“Please evacuate all personnel immediately. Escape vessels are located on each odd numbered level of this ship.”

Loren’s first impression was of flashing lights and smutty, black fumes…of blaring sirens. Jumping to his feet caused the world to slide hard to the left and he crashed into the railing he and Revan had been leaned against minutes earlier. Just minutes?

“Mmmm…”

“Bastila!”

The padawan was kneeling off to the side, already scrambling to her knees, seemingly only stunned from the impact. Between the two lay an unmoving bundle of black robes. Loren was already stepping toward it even as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing: a sanguine pool was gathering beneath and around the shape of…

His knee collapsed as his foot made contact with the tiled floor, and on kneeling still some distance from his lifeless padawan, Master Kavar found himself begging the Force for the strength to heal her wounds, to bring her back. He was too drained to heal his own shattered kneecap beyond a basic patching-up, his reserves depleted in the battle to reach the bridge while managing not to set off any alerts.

In any case, it didn’t seem to matter. Revan was dead. There is no emotion.

Bastila dropped to the ground beside the body just as the ship rocked and groaned beneath them, internal explosions adding to the damage Malak’s cannons were still sending their way. He obviously meant to destroy the ship completely. There is peace.

“Bastila! Get the mask; the damned Senate needs its…proof. “ There is no ignorance. “Then, we need to get the hell out of here! Not sure how long it’ll hold together.” There is knowledge.

“Understood, Master.”

He inched closer to Bastila, pulling himself up against the remaining section of rail and limping, keeping as much weight as possible off the injured knee. There is no passion.

He watched as Bastila reached forward tentatively, drawing back Revan’s hood, slipping the bloody mask away from her face. The movement was punctuated by another explosion somewhere deep within the ship.

Loren’s mental calm wavered as the mask revealed the face of Serena Revan. Not the mottled, veined features seen on the holonews, but closer to the face he remembered so well, the influence of the dark side fading.

For a moment, neither moved. Then, Bastila placed her fingers on the woman’s head wound and applied her limited healing knowledge, at least able to staunch the bleeding. When she looked back at Loren, his eyes were closed.

There is serenity. “Serena.” The Jedi Master whispered her name, a reverent plea to the Force for assistance.

~*~

“Master Kavar…I…” Bastila again found herself at a loss for words. There, within the darkness that still covered much of Serena’s mind, there was a spark! A light, the barest remnant of the Force and life. It was tucked into a deep corner, and Bastila followed it into Revan’s mind. She bit back her questions as to how she had done so, focusing on the task at hand.

It lead her ever deeper and Bastila found she could see it, even if she closed her eyes. And she did close them. The horrors of Serena’s mind, the screams and clawing hands, were too much for her to bear. But the light continued to shine for her, and when she finally felt she couldn’t take the brightness any longer, Bastila opened her eyes.

Before her hovered a small star. If it represents her life…

The flesh of Bastila’s palms was seared, crackling and blackened, as she held her hands on either side of the star. Again closing her eyes, she opened herself to the Force, allowed it to flow through her and into Serena, and her own energy reignited the dying light. Serena’s life. When the girl was satisfied, she huffed through gritted teeth and pulled, bringing the star with her, out of the shadows at the back of Serena’s mind. She pulled it past the screaming horrors and reaching nightmares of the wars and let it rest in the open. It’s up to you now.

With a steadying breath, she withdrew back to Victorious. Back to her own body.

“—stila?! Bastila!”

“I’m…here…Master Kavar.”

He yelled, “Let’s go!” and turned to leave, only to find she wasn’t following.

“We can’t leave her! Master, you haven’t looked, really looked, have you?” She balked at using the forceful tone against her elder, but Bastila’s eyes fell on her own charred hands and she summoned her last shreds of will. “Serena’s alive, and we cannot leave her to die.”

She was right, of course. He hadn’t looked except with his eyes. He’d carefully avoided seeing her through the Force. But now, there was no denying it as he watched the life flow through her. Disregarding his injury and hoping the patch-job would hold long enough, Loren set his jaw and hefted the unconscious woman over his shoulder. He used the Force to take her weight as much as he dared and nodded to Bastila, limping after her.

Stumbling through the corridors, aware of each twinge and twist of the knee that threatened to collapse again at any minute, they wound their way toward the shuttle waiting in a hangar on the same level. Bastila deflected most of the debris that showered down upon them as the ship died beneath Malak’s assault, losing track of time as they ran. Suddenly they were standing in front of their ship. Loading it. Taking off.

Loren, former ace pilot of the Great Sith War, had never been so thankful for his flying experience, as when he began evasive maneuvers against the first fighters that gave pursuit.

~*~

On-board Levianthan

“Lord Malak, they’re preparing to jump to hyperspace.”

Malak glared at the officer, quite aware that his prey was escaping. Well, one of them. “Bastila will wait. Revan is dead, I can feel her presence no longer. And I…” His eyes showed that he was grinning in his way and the bridge fell quiet in anticipation of the statement that amused him so. “I am now Supreme Leader of the Sith!” The thick, mechanical laughter that filled the bridge was becoming far too common and leaving little doubt as to Malak’s sanity. “I’ll claim the little Jedi when we have conquered the galaxy and she has nowhere left to hide!” The manic edge to his voice did not go unnoticed by the crew, but they had learned their lesson before and would follow his orders without question. Revan had taught them well.

~*~

Jedi Long Range Shuttle, bound for Coruscant

Master Kavar, we can’t leave her.

Bastila’s words played repeatedly through his head. Until that moment, he’d been ready to do it himself, if Bastila couldn’t. To end Lord Revan.

Who am I fooling? I couldn’t have killed her. Even now, I see that five-year-old child when I look at her. He stroked the smooth cheek of the girl resting at his feet.

The veining had faded completely hours ago and the pallor, while still present, was improving. The nasty gash on the back of her head had been bandaged, but Loren had over-extended his use of the Force during the battle toward the bridge and Bastila was no medic. Her battlefield healing would have to do until the wound could be examined by more skillful hands.

“Master, may I ask…is it not against the Code to be so attached to ones padawan?” He nearly laughed at the comment. However, he remembered she was paired with Vrook and…he and Zana might have been made an example.

“It would be impossible and inhuman for a master not to feel some attachment to his padawans. You may find it hard to believe, but even Master Vrook is not above care.”

“You act as though you—“ Her tone, indignant even as she struggled to remain respectful, did make him chuckle a bit and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He was my master, too, Padawan Shan.”

She seemed to let the thought sink in for a moment before a small smile emerged. It made Loren realize just how young she was…only seventeen. The same age as Zana before she left. He carefully ignored the twinge in his chest.

Settling back into his chair and angling his head so he could still watch the comatose woman, Loren felt himself start to drift off amidst the hum of the rear engines and the life support system.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“Why did they fall?” Something hesitant in her voice caught his attention and Loren glanced over at the young girl.

“You know, Vrook would blow a gasket if I talked about that sort of thing with you.” He turned back, trying to doze off.

“I know, but…but I need to understand, if you would tell me. I’d like to find the lesson in—“

“Lesson!? Already one of his droids, huh? There doesn’t have to be a lesson in everything, Bastila. Sometimes, bad things just happen. Even to really good people.” There is no emotion. Loren was finding himself reciting the Code more often since Victorious…and finding it less effective.

Bastila’s features flexed with determination. “Master Kavar, I simply want to understand why. Why did they disobey the Council? Why did they become…become evil? Were they in love? Are you in love…with the Exile, Dex? I shouldn’t be having such thoughts, but they keep returning, and I’m sure Master Vrook would…He would never answer them.” She looked down at Serena and, in a quiet voice, added, “I don’t believe he could.”

Rubbing his temples and giving a derisive snort to express his own opinion on Vrook’s likely reaction, Loren half-turned to face Bastila. “Yes. Yes, I believe they were really in love. Was it love that led them to the dark side? Perhaps. I believe there is something more to it, however. She was smart, too smart sometimes, and something isn’t adding up.”

“And…and Exile Dex?”

Loren closed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning his head back against the wall. “Yes, it’s true. I love her. Bastila, I want you to understand me: love is not evil. It doesn’t lead Jedi to the dark side when moderated through the Code. Master Sunrider was married. She even had a child. And Vrook’s wife was—“

“His wife?” The shocked whisper brought a bitter curl to Loren’s lips.

“He hasn’t told you about Illyna? The war? Nothing from that time?”

“No, nothing. And I’m not at liberty to ask.”

“And yet, you felt no such prohibition in asking me?!”

“My master…is not quite so approachable, Master Kavar.”

“Fair enough. We have a long shuttle ride ahead, so settle in. It’s time you heard a little story.”

For many hours, he spoke of his childhood, Illyna Kun, and the Great Sith War, until his throat was dry and ragged and they were only a few hours off Coruscant.

Those last hours, they decided to rest and the girl drifted off before Loren had even gotten comfortable. Guilt and exhaustion were starting to take their toll, but sleep would not find him. Instead, Loren’s mind circled round one thought – “failure.” He was delivering a second student to the Council. His failure wasn’t in his duty as a Jedi Master, but in his duty to his student. And grasping at the edges of consciousness, this failure threatened to swallow him entirely.

As they drew near the temple, he gave up, instead stroking Serena’s hair as he had when she was a child and memorizing her placid face.

Master Loren Kavar’s chambers, Coruscant, Jedi Temple

He wasn’t sure if it was the stillness or the quiet he noticed first. It wasn’t as if it mattered. Loren stretched, popping his neck joints, curling his wrists, doing a full-body flex to dispel the stiffness of his muscles and mind.

“Gah!” His knee. Somehow, he’d injured his knee.

Limping off of that ship. There was a battle. An explosion. I was limping out, following…Bastila and…carrying something heavy. There was debris…carrying someone…Serena!

He jumped out of bed, wincing at the pain in his leg, but finding his balance. Throwing on his outer robe and boots, running fingers through his hair with little concern, Loren started for the door. I must believe that we made it in time!

His memories after their tripping sprint through Victorious were a bit hazy. He didn’t even know if she’d made it to Coruscant with them, much less safely to the medical wing. And yet, he limped as quickly as he could manage, through the usually meditative corridors of the temple, not daring to doubt for an instant.

He burst through the doors, ignoring the ministrations of various medical staff and zeroing-in on Serena’s bed, on her catatonic body lying so very still. He pressed through the small crowd surrounding her and found himself brought up short by the full transformation. All physical evidence of her fall was simply gone.

Her words drifted back to him--I’m sorry, Loren…do it, kill me…before I do more damage.—and he dropped to her bedside, clasping a cold, clammy hand in his own. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Serena, wake up.” It was a strangled whisper. A plea. Bastila’s hand on his shoulder reminded him, There are others present. In his grief, he’d forgotten, hadn’t cared.

The medics rushed around him, checking tubes and pumps, tanks and kolto drips. She was alive, but only just, and only because the machines kept her heart pumping, lungs filling with air. They murmured to themselves about her state, seeming to believe she’d just given up.

The head nurse approached, apprehensive, tense. “Master, what would you have us do? We have only a small window in which to act and—“

“Understood. Do it.” Vrook’s gruff words grated on Loren’s nerves.

As the group backed away, someone placed heavy hands on his shoulders and yanked him roughly away from the woman’s bedside. Jedi specializing in healing moved closer, resting their hands on her chest and head.

There was something wrong, though. That wasn’t healing on which they were concentrating their efforts.

“What are they doing?” Loren flailed, searching for Vrook’s face. “Vrook, what are they doing?!” He struggled harder and the two Jedi who were holding him increased their grip, bruising his shoulders.

“Clearing out Revan’s personality, the part that remains, and inserting a new one. Something we can work with: loyalty to the Order, docility, putting a cap on her memory, in case it turns out to be a useful tool.”

A medic approached, speaking in low tones. “Master Vrook, we need your party to vacate the room as we prepare Revan’s body.”

“Of course.”

Loren could feel it building within him—anger. And for once, he didn’t retreat into the Code. He didn’t claw at the Jedi teachings. He accepted it, embraced his anger as he was dragged out of the ward. As soon as the doors closed and they were safely in the hall, his captors released him and Loren turned on Master Vrook.

“What? Revan’s…Revan’s body?! That’s Serena! Look at her!” He flung a hand violently toward the small window in the door. “And when I carried her off of that ship, there was…there was life in her. She was alive and it was Serena!” He took a step toward his former master, fists balled and clenched.

“What is this, Loren?”

For the first time in years, Loren felt like a child under the gaze of his master. A petulant, misbehaving child. Something inside of him cringed even as he outwardly stood taller. “You can’t just—“

“Yes, we can. And we will. She is Revan. If anything remains, she might be able to help us stop the events she set in motion. She is not Serena any longer. And as soon as you get that through your dense skull, we can move on to—“

Loren took another step and his previous captors grabbed his arms, roughly twisting them behind his back. “Dammit, Lamar!”

Vrook narrowed his eyes, as if seeing the man before him for the first time. “Where did I go wrong, boy? Did I fail you as a teacher? What kind of Jedi are you?”

“How can you be so inhumane?! So…so stoic? Ever since Illyna—“ Vrook’s face turned murderous. He stepped even closer to his former padawan, “—since she died, you’ve blocked everything and everyone from your life. You didn’t fail me, Lamar. You failed her. By becoming this, by forgetting her. By—“

“Enough!” Master Vandar’s presence swelled through the Force, stilling Kavar’s yelling and Vrook’s impending counterstrike. “Master Kavar, it is, I believe, in everyone’s best interest if you would leave the ward. While I am unhappy with this turn of events, I understand that this confrontation has been building for some time. Coupled with your history with the girl and the Exile, I strongly suggest you remain uninvolved in this case and return to Dantooine immediately.”

Loren tried to focus, tried to swallow the anger and force it away in lieu of peace.

In a kinder voice, Master Vandar addressed him again, pleading, “Kavar, please go. Your involvement seems unwise. If you cannot control these emotions, then you are too close to this and it is neither healthful nor helpful. At such a crucial time…”

Loren’s barely perceptible nod was returned by the small master, and he took a step toward his chambers, away from the ward. With last minute recognition, he saw Vrook’s fist arcing up to meet him. He was suddenly nineteen again and his master was having another breakdown. It was the first time his master ever struck out at his student, and it was the last time Loren had ever claimed to be Vrook’s padawan.

Thankfully, sweet oblivion embraced him before the pain made it past his nerve endings and he sank into willing unconsciousness.

~*~

He wasn’t sure if it was the stillness or the quiet he noticed first. With a stretch, Loren sat up. Too quickly. Along with the rush of pain to his head came the rush of memories.

Closing his eyes and applying healing to his pounding head stopped the physical ache, but it didn’t come close to touching the mental unrest that threatened to undo him. Flopping back into bed, he stared at the gray tiled stone of the ceiling, its small imperfections forming hidden images and shapes. It called to mind the last time he’d lain in bed in the temple, staring at the ceiling for guidance. Only it had been Zana’s ceiling, and it was the last time he’d seen her before delivering her to Vrook and the Council.

Delivering her to the Council…?

She was his.

They may have Serena, but Zana…

It was time to do something he knew he should have done ages before.

Without a word—no note, no holo—Loren gathered his meager belongings, reloaded the shuttle, and pulled out of the temple dock. He met no resistance, doubted anyone would even notice he was missing for a few more hours.

He had to find her. It’s where I belong, now, I’m sure.

Vaguely, Loren wondered if Jolee had found it as easy when he left that last time.

Before exiting orbit, he did contact one person using an old code he’d found in the archives some years before. Lucien Draay, the twisted Master Jedi responsible for the Padawan Massacre on Taris, had once had a contact. An operative, of sorts, but someone in whom he expected he could trust the sort of task he had in mind. Dropping the shuttle onto the roof of one of the seedy lower level hotels, he asked the Force for one last favor: Bring him here.

~*~

As he entered the landing cycle, Yagr could not help remembering all the reasons why he hated coming to Coruscant. Everything was just petty. The population worried about such petty, little things. He loved the Rim. Life was rugged and unpredictable. Of course, what could be more unpredictable than mysterious messages from mysterious people using a mysterious code known only to three people, but not used by one of those three in this instance. Strange.

[static] "Reverence two-niner-eight... you are cleared to the northeast entry portal... two-eight-four mark six-six."

"Roger, Orbital, Yagr out...."

"I hate this place," he mumbled to no one.

His ship slid into a familiar docking slot at the Rimland Hotel and Resort complex, his favorite stay. And as was his custom, he glanced out the open hangar door to see the Temple off in the distance.

How far do the paths of life stray from what we expect…

He went about his normal trend, checking into the room that he preferred and settling in for a bit of relaxation, not knowing at all who was supposed to be meeting him or where. He assumed that since they knew how to contact him and had Draay's code, they would have no problem making the rendezvous.

Return to Core, normal accom, important meet.

"Story of my life..." Yagr spoke to no one yet again as he slid into a fresh set of clothes. He certainly did not expect an answer.

The voice was low and casual. "Cryptic messages don't concern you?"

Yagr reacted with his customary martial quickness, spinning on his heels as he vaulted to the side, bringing out a throwing dagger ready to respond to the threat. In an overstuffed easy chair in the shadowy corner across the room sat a cloaked figure. Yagr was certain that the room had been empty when he’d done his check; that was protocol on his part.

"Nerf-humping Jedi...sneakin' around my room...hiding in your little Force bubble. Who the pulsar do you think you are using our cipher to bring me in? You chopping my chain?" Fury dripped from every word he spat out.

The Jedi remained motionless except for a wave of his fingers from their resting place on the arm of the chair. "Be at peace, warrior. I am no threat to you."

"Knock off that prissy hand-wavin', you piece of worm-ridden filth. I don't do Jedi work. I don't hang around Jedi. I don't talk with Jedi, anymore."

"Easy, Yagr. Honestly, I am not here as a Jedi. But you are my only hope to connect with something dear that I have lost."

The stranger stood and stepped into the light. Immediately, Yagr rose from his defensive crouch with a sense of awe and relief. He did not recognize the worn and grizzled voice, but the face and presence of the man was unmistakable. “You…” Yagr took in the plain clothes beneath his companion’s cloak. Certainly not the typical Jedi robes. "You’ve left the Order?"

"I have..."

"Then, why are we here? I only take orders from one man."

"Draay is....gone."

"What do you mean? Where are Lucien and Krynda?"

"Gone."

"Dead?"

"Gone...that’s all I know." The former Jedi Master stepped closer to Yagr and pulled out a holopad. It bore the image of a young woman that looked vaguely familiar. "Do you know her?"

"Maybe. I think I bumped into her a time or two. Can't remember where. What does this have to do with the Draays?"

"Nothing. I don't know where they are. No one knows where they are. With their wealth, they could be anywhere. If your handler has not contacted you in some time, then I would assume you are on your own for a bit."

"Then, how did you..."

"I am not the most...righteous Jedi, of late. If you are asking how I got your contact cipher, seems someone kept the information locked up in a forbidden area of the archives. I picked it up a few years ago. Kept it just in case I needed it and, well..." The man shifted uncomfortably and genuine anxiety passed through his blue eyes.

Yagr raised an inquisitive brow. "Okay, what about this woman? She Jedi?"

"Not anymore."

"Hmm…lot of that going around lately. Do you want me to find her or contact her, what?"

"You are the Eye of the Shadow. I know who you were, Od—“

“Don’t,” he muttered in warning. The Jedi held up his hands in acquiescence.

“I know what you do now. Can you....look after her? Tail her and let me know where she is, what she’s doing?"

"You want me to babysit a former Jedi for you? Isn't she a big girl now? And what do you care?"

"It's...personal." Again, the anxiety passed over the man’s face before blending back into his trained Jedi façade. Yagr understood what that meant. "I plan to join her soon, after some other business is taken care of."

"You’re going home first, huh?” The Jedi nodded. “Is that wise?”

The Jedi shrugged. “You would know better than I the state of affairs in that part of the galaxy. Unfortunately, the situation necessitates the delay.”

“Will they let you leave once you’ve landed?”

The other man’s expression turned dark. “I’d like to see them try and stop me.”

Yagr nodded. “And what is my role?"

"Keep tabs on her until I can make it to her location."

"I read you, but...."

"I know what your protocol is. If no contact is made, you are to return to Taris and wait. Is that what you want? Will that make you feel better? You’ve been on that leash for so long, do you even know what it’s like to follow your own orders?"

Yagr leaned in close to the Jedi Master. "Listen, I don't care that you were her master; I don’t care what you were the master of before you left. Unlike yourself, I know what my purpose is and I haven't abandoned anyone lately. I understand things like loyalty and honor, unlike the people over there." He gestured towards the temple.

“Then help me, please. At least give me…a year. If I haven’t gotten in touch by then, you’re free to drop the trail. Just give me that year?” For a third time, the strain of anxiety surfaced, except the man’s face held it, took on its extra creases and lines, evidence of his struggle etched across his features.

"I will stop by a couple of places on my way out to the Rim. If I bump into your girl, I’ll send a note back down the pipe. I assume you can retrieve as well as send?" The eyes of the weapons master lit up with the hope of finding an ally. "This concludes any need for me to remain on Coruscant?"

Dropping all pretense, Loren looked at the floor, unwilling to encroach on the man’s reaction to the words he was about to say. Just above a whisper, he muttered, “You tell me, ‘Yagr.’ She’s there, you know. Can you feel it? Me, neither. The old man was planning to cut her off.” He knew the other would understand that he meant Serena, and that he meant Vrook.

Yagr didn’t move. Didn’t react at all.

Loren considered that he might have been wrong, nodded, and strode out of the room without another word. The Eye of the Shadow turned toward the window, watching the urban landscape and staring at the temple in the distance.

Reverence bolted from orbit shortly after local dawn and took up a heading for the Rim.

~*~

Climbing the ramp to his shuttle, Loren didn’t know what he should be feeling. Relief? Maybe. As long as he kept his mind focused far away from the temple. The Jedi. Serena.

He entered the coordinates for Onderon, cleared the atmosphere and traffic lanes of Coruscant, and jumped to hyperspace. Watching the lines of blue streak past, he remembered that neither of them had liked space travel. He hoped this was the last journey he would make before the final flight to the Outer Rim and Zana.

With a sigh, Loren set the ship to auto and climbed into the lone bunk to grab some sleep. Better to be rested before arriving at Iziz. No telling how that will go.

Two weeks later, Port of Iziz, Onderon

She waited.

Watching the small ship, its boarding ramp already lowered, it seemed a lifetime before the figure of a man appeared in the exit. A Jedi. It was her first time seeing one.

His robes were dark brown and loose, tied off with a belt at the waist, though plain clothes were visible beneath. At his hip hung a metal tube, and around the belt she saw other sundry tools. His boots counted the cadence of their step, drowning out her own smaller thongs as she met him halfway.

He wore the face of her grandfather, a near copy though many years younger, and he moved slowly but regally, at once naturally falling into step beside her.

When she greeted him, it was stilted and formal. However, she leaned up on tip-toe and hugged him, a cheer ringing out through the gathered crowd, and she whispered into his ear, “Not safe.” Dropping away, she took his offered arm.

At the palace, she would explain everything. Her mother’s failing grip on reality, her father’s untimely death. Their cousin’s bid for power.

The pair passed banners and signs heralding the return of the Prince of Onderon, but neither paid them much heed.

She hadn’t questioned his arrival. Talia knew him from the stories her mother had told of her heroic little brother who battled the Sith in the first Great War, securing freedom for Onderon and the galaxy. The siblings had exchanged letters for years and she felt like she understood the man even as she met him for the first time in her life.

With every fiber of her being, Talia thanked the gods for bringing him back to his family in such turbulent times.

“Uncle…”

“Please, Loren will do.”

“Loren, then. We need to talk. Are you free this afternoon?” He smiled, and though it was melancholy, it reminded her of her mother’s, long lost. Talia returned it, squeezing the arm she held. “You remind me of her, my mother; and grandfather, as well.” Small talk, just until they reached the safety of the palace. The streets of Iziz were full of ears awaiting the latest bit of gossip.

“I should. Though I expect she’s aged a bit more than I have. We’re twins, you know.”

“Twins? She never said…”

“Really? She was the first born, and somehow without enough resonance in the Force to become a Jedi, so here we are. We did what we were meant to do, I suppose. I have…I have few regrets.”

Again she detected the melancholy just beneath the surface. “Don’t worry, Uncle…Loren…we’ll find plenty of things to keep you occupied, and you shall forget those regrets soon enough.”

“No, you see I’m not stay—“

“Shh. We’ll talk more once we’re home.”

Home. The man’s eyes brightened at the word. Talia turned her gaze back to the road they walked amongst their armed escort. Without doubt, she could see that involving him in family affairs would be the cure for what ailed him. And without doubt, there were many things in which his assistance would be most useful.

As they entered the residence wing of the palace, Talia dropped the façade and paused mid-step. “Loren, before we go up to see my mother, there are some things you need to know.”

It had been a long period of instability for Onderon, and the peace in Iziz was tentative at best. Days after his arrival, her Jedi uncle was hip deep in family problems and court intrigue and his melancholy seemed to lift as she knew it would.

~*~

Loren often found himself wondering how he’d come to be so intertwined in his family’s affairs. Indeed, finding Zana seemed to rest beneath the pile of mounting debt, civil unrest, national security, impending war, and the queen’s approaching death.

While he thought of her often, it seemed impossible to get away, and eventually, he was forced to accept two things. First, his year had run out. He hadn’t contacted Yagr, and she was probably lost to him. Second, it was a fact of Loren’s life that duty and honor would always trump his feelings. It was as if the universe was playing a joke on him, only Loren Kavar wasn’t laughing. Instead, he was growing bitter and tired, and no longer fought the apathy settling into his mind.

Many years would pass before he next left Onderon, and only then at the request of his precious Exile. Though, by that time, her exile would have ended. And she would no longer be his.

It was but one regret among many.


- end -

ckb