A/N: Originally posted over at TFN.
Remember Me
It is a curious thing that at my age, fifty-five last birthday, I should find myself taking up a pen to try and write a history. King Solomon's Mines by H. R. Haggard
I have long since sworn never to bring back the memories of those few fateful years, yet the urge to remember is becoming stronger than ever as my mind decays. I do not want the stories to be lost with me.
She had been so naïve when her brother's changes in character had first begun, and, even for years after, when she had been hardened against the dark side by experience, she had not suspected the changes that her brother had gone through.
After years of trying, I can finally trace back Jacen's changes to his Vong captivity, and to Vergere. Even if she had not managed to convert him, she was able to take advantage of a vulnerable stage of my brother's life to lay the foundation.
Before her brother's capture, she had wanted to rescue her other brother Anakin, and would have probably gotten both herself and her brothers killed. Jaina couldn't help but wonder whether she should have followed her own instincts. Their deaths then could have prevented the thousands of deaths that Jacen was going to cause.
I cannot help but speculate on what would have happened if we had all died. It may have denied Anakin the peace of mind, in knowing that his sacrifice had some meaning, but it would have saved so many lives. Yet, Jacen and I both survived, and in the end, I defeated him. Who says the Force doesn't have a sense of balance and humor?
The next few years of the war had passed without much incident. Jacen had continued to doubt the validity of fighting the Vong violently, and had pushed for less extreme and more peaceful solutions.
Even then, Jacen was always afraid of turning to the Dark Side. Or was he? I can't believe that the Jacen I knew would ever deceive us that way, hoping that the Vong would decimate us some more so that it would be easier for him to take over later, but now I don't know when Jacen changed into Caedus.
After the war had ended, Jacen had headed off for five years to continue studying the Force. When he had come back, she had found him more quiet and reserved than ever.
What exactly did he learn on his travels? Did he actually learn about different methods of using the Force, as he always said, or did he spend his time learning about the Dark Side? He was never quite right after he got back, but I still can't be sure why.
The years after the war had been tough on her. She had let Jag go, and Jacen had left, so she no longer had anyone that she could really lean on. Those years had been among the hardest of her life, and she had foundered around, unsure of what everything in her life meant.
A thousand times in those years, I wanted to run back to Chiss space and pull Jag back, but I didn't. The letters I got sounded so happy, that I couldn't bear to pull him away from his family when he hadn't even seen them for years.
They had met only once, four years after they had parted on Zonoma Sekot. She had long known through his hololetters that his ambassadorial position had been revoked due to some squabble within the Four Families, and, at least until they had actually met, she had been extraordinarily grateful for the opportunity to see him again. It had hurt to feel the initial distance that had stretched between them, even as it closed. Once they had begun to rekindle their relationship, it had simply been too much for her. She couldn't bear to look forward to the next few years without seeing him, and knowing the euphoria she felt whenever they spent time together.
I was so afraid to be alone after knowing how great it felt to have someone to lean on, so I gave it up. I pushed him away, but I never realized that that open wound could hurt far worse than missing him ever could.
She could still clearly remember every word she had said to him, every hurtful thing she had spat out in order to push him away. The expression on his face was one that she never could forget. More telling, he had not tried to write her or even convince her against her decision. He had simply left.
I still don't know why he didn't fight. The Jag I knew always had that fighting spirit, that strength. The Jag I knew would have never given up, but I was right in at least one thing that I said to him. I didn't know him any more. We had simply spent too long apart. He may not have looked back as he left, but I certainly did.
And then there had been the Killik War. Jacen's final shift had started there. It was years into the war before he had ever actually deceived her, but the source came from the beginning.
Allana. What will you think as you grow older, the daughter of the second major Sith Lord to have tried to take over the galaxy? What will you have to deal with because of her father's crimes? I'm one of the four grandchildren of Darth Vader, and even that was enough for me and my brothers. It's always hung over us, even when almost half of the people alive now know nothing but stories about him. You'll have to live in an age when nearly everyone has lived in your father's reign of terror.
During the final string of battles, during her final confrontation with Jacen, Allana had been unconscious in a bacta tank, a direct result of her father's actions.
Uncle Luke at least had the peace of mind knowing that he was able to confront Darth Vader, even if he always lived within his legacy. Yet another birthright that he stole.
At the beginning of the Killik war, she had still trusted Jacen—still trusted him enough to let him lead her into an attack against the Chiss. After that, and after discovering what exactly she had done—or what she thought she had done—she had turned away from him. She could never let go of the guilt from that.
Oh Jacen, what if I had never turned my back on you? Would you have still become the monster you did? I can't believe that your love for your daughter ever lead you down such a path, especially knowing the amazing person that she has become.
But she still hadn't let go of her sisterly instincts, and she had taken the majority of blame onto herself—partly because nobody would ever believe otherwise, and partly because she still wanted to protect him.
But what would have happened if I pointed out Jacen's path earlier? Could we have stopped his progression to the Dark Side, or had Vergere's training more than five years ago become so engrained into him that nothing we did could matter? I want to believe that we could have done something to help Jacen—that it wasn't entirely his fault—and yet, I can't, because we didn't do anything to help him. Just one more burden of guilt I'll carry to my death.
After the war was when she had to really start facing her actions. If it hadn't been for her family's standing, as well as for her uncle's continued insistence that she and the other Joiner should be tried by the Jedi, she would have been facing a court martial for treason. As it was, she felt horribly alone, isolated, and desolate. But saving her, they had only increased her guilt, and brought her into a state of self-imposed solitude.
I can't help but wonder if it was that bad for Jacen. True, none of us ever abandoned him the way I felt abandoned after the Killik war, but we all pulled away. After he came back, he was no longer truly a part of us the way he had been—leaving brings strong consequences, as does five years without seeing so much as a glimpse of someone.
During his sojourn, the only thing Jacen had ever sent were short, useless, messages stating that he alright.
More like, that he was still alive. The messages didn't reassure any of us, but, at least then, I suppose we didn't need to be reassured as much. Most of us just thought of it as a bit of a break, or of a vacation for him. None of us really believed that anything serious would come of it.
And yet it had. Caused jointly by Vergere, sojourn, and the Killik war, she entered Jacen's chamber, ready to confront him, exactly elevens years after his return.
For me, at least, all the events going from my breakup with Jag to my confrontation with my brother was one downward spiral. I may have been getting stronger and ready to face him, but it was never something that I wanted to do.
He was waiting for her. He always had been; after all, it was their destiny.
It took me so long to accept that it was what I had to do. I was always resentful of my destiny, especially because I felt that it was taking my life away from me. In the end, it was a long time before I realized that it didn't matter. My destiny only gave me the power to succeed. Even if I hadn't had it, I would have wanted to face him, just because someone had to.
His eyes were yellowed and sunken, his skin grey and wrinkled. That last time she saw him alive, Jacen could have well been in his seventies or eighties, rather than the thirty-odd years of his actual age. The brandy brown eyes that they had shared as children were gone, as was any vestige of his former self. His entire being looked sickly and misshapen. It was then that she had finally acknowledged that Jacen Solo had truly made the change into Darth Caedus.
The early years of the war were about discovering who we were, for both of us. Jacen was completing his transformation into Darth Caedus, and I was shaping myself into the Sword of the Jedi—two opposite destinies, yet irrevocably bound together by blood and fate.
He sneered at her—the standard Solo grin long gone—and the hatred evident in his stance and gaze. She had to exert a conscious effort not to flinch away at his manner.
By the time we fought, Jacen stood alone. His last allies were ones that feared him, ones that he had leverage over, or ones that wanted to use him as part of their ascent to power. There was nobody who could still consider themselves his friend, nobody who still wanted to help him.
On the way to his chambers, she had not encountered more than a few people trying to block her progress, and all of them were being mind controlled by Jacen.
But I had friends. The years before the war were amazing good to me, despite the circumstances, and despite what Jacen was becoming. For the first time, I started to rebuild all the friendships and acquaintances that I had during the Vong war. Some friendships, like the one I had with Jag, came back as a stroke of luck in his return. Others, like Kyp's, I had to work much harder to rebuilt. No matter what, I could know that I had all of their friendships standing behind me.
Darth Caedus greedily removed his lightsaber from his belt, activating the dual red blades and holding them in front of his face. She merely stood there, hands placed peacefully behind her back, and waited for him to make the first move.
Jag, Fett, and all the others in my life taught me a lot about fighting. It's not just about being able to, or having the physical ability, but also believing that you can and, more importantly, that you should. I knew, that if I ever wanted the peace of mind to be able to fight without hatred, I had to have one last assurance that there was no other path I could have taken.
In a sudden flash, Darth Caedus attacked, throwing his blade towards her in a spinning arc. She easily ducked, throwing herself into a sideways roll. Even as Caedus caught his lightsaber again, this time deactivating it, she still did not draw hers.
That war, that entire battle was not longer simply about money and greed; it was about loyalties and friendships. I saw so many people get caught in the middle of the conflict, dangling somewhere between the three major sides: the Confederation, Jacen's Alliance, and our Rebellion. Tycho, Wedge, my parents, and all of our families had to decide between fighting for our home planets, and fighting to end the war. None of us will ever truly be the same again.
They stared each other down for a long moment, brandy eyes locked with sickly yellow ones. Both were waiting for the other to make a move and yet, oddly, both were hoping that the other wouldn't.
I can't believe that he wanted to fight me any more than I wanted to fight him. He may have been far less skeptical of it, and more assured necessity than I, but I will never believe that he enjoyed it.
They slowly circled each other until, in a flash, Darth Caedus ignited his lightsaber and stepped forward, beginning a frontal slash that would have cleaved her in two. Instead of bringing up her lightsaber to block the thrust, Jaina rolled under it, then whipped our her lightsaber, swinging it towards Jacen's chest. Jacen's block was far stronger than she had anticipated, and she was forced to lunge to the side to avoid being thrown off balance.
Lightsaber practice was always my strong suit, not Jacen's. Even if he was able to draw on the Dark Side for extra power, he never had the finesse and experience I did, especially since he wouldn't have had anyone competent to practice against for a long time.
He quickly countered her strike with one of his own, and they went on in that rhythm for quite some time.
Neither of us could immediately win; that much was apparent. Nevertheless, I cannot say that we were evenly matched. Our complementing skills simply could not establish a champion when it came to a brute example of fighting.
Eventually, one of his strikes got through her parries in her exhaustion, and she would have lost an arm if it weren't for her hairsbreadth reaction. Sensing her tiredness, Caedus immediately pressed a flurries of attacks on her, believing that she didn't have the strength to do much more than parry his strikes. That was his fatal mistake.
In the end, it was Jacen's greed that got to him. If we had simply gone on as we had been doing—one for one—he may well have won, considering that he had more brute strength. Instead, he wanted a quick and decisive victory, and that was what ended it.
Caedus' series of attacks pushed her towards the wall—exactly what she wanted. When she was just feet away from it, she launched herself into a back flip, kicking off the wall and somersaulting over Caedus' head, so that he was now the one at a tactical disadvantage. Taking advantage of his surprise, she cut off his right arm just below the shoulder.
Jacen was always the thoughtful one of us three. Anakin was decisive, and I was headstrong. Sometimes, I think that he was too thoughtful, too contemplative. By the time he made a decision, Jacen had to scramble to catch up with everyone else.
He let out a roar of anger, and spun around, throwing a powerful blast of Force lightning towards her, just as her lightsaber continued its upwards momentum to sever his neck. The resulting blast of Dark Side energy from his death threw her against the opposite wall.
That bout of lightning was just to disguise Jacen's last gift to me. He somehow meddled with my cells so that they would slowly self-destruct, slowly enough that I didn't notice for over a decade.
My body and mind have slowly decayed since his death, although I only noticed the effects five years ago. Since then, I have been confined to a medward bed, slowly rotting away as the rest of the world continues on their lives around me.
So, to whoever is reading this, do me one last favor. Always understand the price of victory, and the price of failure. As with those of my parents, I suspect that the depictions of me in the future will be one of a perfect, hardened, warrior—they are already beginning to inch towards that end. It could not be further from the truth.
People want stories of nobility, of loyalty and unbounded courage, but it does not exist. My life has taught me that much, at least. If we cannot accept that the heroes of our generation are human, then we will be hard-pressed to find new ones when the next great obstacle arises. I will be able to sink into the Force in peace with the knowledge of both my faults and my strengths. I can only hope that you will do the same to my memory.
Remember me.