Title: Escaping the Storm
Author: Lucky Gun
Summary: Revan dies at the hands of the Emperor, cloaked and buried in lightning. Then the vision ends, and he's awake on Rekkiad. Burdened with the knowledge of his failures but determined to save his friends, he begins the terrifying task of altering the future while trying to save the galaxy. AU but cannonical. A fix-it-fic for Revan: Star Wars Legends, The Old Republic.
Author's Note: Revan: Star Wars Legends was the first audiobook I ever enjoyed. And it was amazing, but heartbreaking. This is a fix-it-fic, something that I had to write in order to consolidate the horrors into something inspiring. License is taken throughout, and this is (obviously) AU. I am aware that many of these characters have canonical destinies that I'm altering, but I hope it's enjoyable to a point. Updates will be sporadic - this is for fun only.
"The storm is coming, and there is no escape."
Rekkiad, pre-dawn
Revan's eyes snapped open and he lurched upwards, his head spinning in a way that had nothing to do with the kri'gee that had been liberally passed around yet again the night before. He was too distracted by the pulsing beat in his temples to even recognize the sharp chill that cut through his clothes. His breathing was ratcheted to an unhealthy speed, and his calloused palms pressed hard enough against his closed eyes that he could see little sparks of light against the back of his eyelids.
Starting, he wrenched his hands away and wrested his legs from the sleeping bag, tossing them over the side of his cot. The lights reminded him too much of the lightning storms that still plagued his dreams, the dire, whispered warning of an identity half-dead singing through his nightmares. Revan chuckled darkly as he stared into the gloom of the tent, no levity in the sound. He swiped at the beads of sweat that had collected above his lip and brushed them away.
"Is that it, then? Just torture me with fogged knowledge until I go mad?" he asked himself quietly, and there was a soft surge of comfort that lapped against his mental shields in response.
The Force had not forsaken him, no matter how his demons raged, and he exhaled slowly and forced himself to relax.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
As always, those words calmed him, filled him with strength while draining his fear. There was brightness and a stilling breeze in the phrase, and it brought the touch of a smile to the corner of his lips.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
Fogged, yes; hidden, absolutely. But it was there, and it would eventually be uncovered. From whatever depths his adversarial self had been banished to, Darth Revan's knowledge lived on, and it would dragged to the light sooner or later.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
Such simple words belied the depth of the phrase: unbridled passion was naught but selfish desire twisted by greed, and this mission required a smooth, calm, steady hand. It required focus, foresight, and temperance.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
The mental storms in his mind stilled slowly, the memory of the planet-wide lightning fading, and the majority of his mental balance returned. His breaths evened out and the pounding of his heart lowered to something less than rib-shattering, his physical self returning to equilibrium.
There is no death, there is the Force.
Relieved as the minute tremors in his hands faded, Revan took another moment to collect himself before looking around. As he expected, Canderous was missing, no doubt visiting Veela again and reconnecting with his estranged wife. A light, probing pulse found the camp quiet in sleep, most minds still, some trembling slightly with warrior dreams. There were spikes of light here and there, alert sentries moving about the perimeter of the camp, their echoes purposeful and vigilant yet routine. There were dimmer candles flickering outside the camp's edge, small, hardy animals scratching out an existence on the frozen world.
Refusing to take the peaceful moment for granted, Revan flicked on a small glowpad with a brush of the Force and glanced around. The flooring of their small tent was simple fabric that did little more than waterproof the interior. But there was a small padded area in the corner that functioned as an additional sleeping bed when needed. Revan decided to forgo its predetermined use and stood, tapping his toes to a comfortable position in his boots, and stepped the two strides to the edge of the tent. He settled onto the padding gingerly, prepared for and still hissing at the cold that radiated up his backside. Then it eased, his heated clothing localizing and neutralizing the source, and he sighed.
Maybe it was foolish, but he hoped that meditating on the dream would help him put it away and clear his mind for the day's activities. Granted, it hadn't brought him clarity before – normally nothing less than movement and purpose would diminish the unease the storms left, a weighty reminder of his previous Fall. Checking his irises in the reflective waters of the local gardens on Coruscant had become reflexive habit. He ensured that his skin tanned and freckled normally in the sun after every foray into the cityscape. He remembered the touch of the Dark side and shied from every similar sensation like a whipped Bantha.
The greatest teacher is failure.
The training mantra settled snugly and unbidden in Revan's consciousness, an unexpected but welcomed intruder into his cutting thoughts. He couldn't remember the first time he'd heard the words, but they were a balm to his battered soul. So he settled into the typical pose, his legs crossed and palms resting gently on his knees. His palms were upward as though in supplication, and he exhaled slowly as he let his amethyst eyes close against the yellowed light of the glowpad. It took him only a moment to sink below the surface of the Force, beneath its eddies and gentle waves that made up the ever-present background noise of the universe. There was a swift but comforting current that cradled him as it bore him down into deeper tides. But the ocean grew colder, sharper, and it wasn't the Dark side that edged into his awareness.
No, it was just him.
A whisper in his ear, his own voice but rougher, coarse, bristling with threat and promise: The greatest teacher is failure.
Shall we begin?
The images came in an unforgiving blur.
Veela falls to the rocky, frozen ground, acrid fumes rising from the smoking hole in her chest as the guilt and shame and grief of her husband echoes loudly into the crypt.
The Ebon Hawk shudders under an ion blast and crashes to a world that hemorrhages death from the Void.
White teeth hide behind a red-skinned frown as fists and knives draw bruises and blood from a drugged, broken body.
Bastilla coos a lullaby to a tiny, chubby face while tears stream down her cheeks; through the windows, the cool autumn is gone, and summer is blazing brightly.
Soft words dart back and forth in a room like silverfish, and the closed door is flanked externally by twin soldiers who reek of fear and discipline.
Meetra cuts down four soldiers with skillful ease before turning to a shadowed figure, anxiety peaking as a red lightsaber floats menacingly in the dark.
Maimed face tendrils tremble as the body thuds to the floor, beyond dead; a deft hand slips from its place on the stilled throat, glutted satisfaction ringing through the air.
A scarred crimson witch morphs into ash and char while a familiar mask hovers in the background.
Anger and madness swirl around tactics thick with desperation and terror, suffocatingly tangible in a familiar cave.
A deafening squeal before an explosion throws metal shards across the room, pieces hot to the touch and sizzling as they rain down relentlessly.
A hiss as a blade cuts straight through flesh and bone to engulf the beating heart within, Meetra's lifeless eyes wide with shock as she falls.
Screams, his voice, his pain leeches through the air like the lightning that swallows him, the lightning that covers the planet, the hidden intent of centuries to come tapping only the most distant point of his mind.
A promise that everything would fail.
…the lesson that it didn't have to.
Revan's limbs lacked their natural grace as he jerked to a horrified awareness. He stumbled upright and then sideways, vomiting thin bile that burned like plasma. His eyes watered as he found himself accosted, overwhelmed and drowning in memories his and not his, thoughts and knowledge that he would have begged for an hour before now searing his brain relentlessly. His stomach turned again, violently, and he spit acid with a sob.
Life. Void. Torture. Hope. Defeat. Death.
Sith
Pushing at the tidal wave with all his strength was rather like a child holding a hand against the storms on Manaan: pointless, ineffective, and humbling to the point of humiliation. There were sharp peaks of information – clear, vivid, technicolor visuals filled with burning emotion. And there were middling valleys throughout, just as easy to see, as hard to filter, and cooled by logic. Laid out like a map written by his feet, Revan could see the movements of people he didn't even know, the plotting of enemies and the fear of slaves highlighting different colors of the tapestry in his mind. He could see his own missteps brightly painted in a garish hue, and there were threads spanning the distance between souls.
First, familiar. Soothing. Calming.
Revan and Bastilla, bittersweet, weighted, but thick and firm, two more lines stretching to their giggling progeny.
Canderous and Veela, burned and frayed but somehow still as strong as their bloodlines.
Carth and Dustil, shared purpose and dedication burning like solar fire.
T3-M4 and HK-47, surprisingly, a digital span between them imbued with code, experience melding their software together.
Juhani and Jolee, gray and purpling blue intertwined and pulsing, constant struggle defining them.
Mission and Zaalbar, friendship and trust shining like a beacon in the Shadowlands.
Then, different. Strange. Foreign.
Charred witch and scarred snake, twisted and wretched but still equally dependent on each other though not truly equal themselves.
Dark human and collared Twi'lek, superiority in their fields marking them in the same cut.
Then, confusing. Stunning. Awe-inspiring. Terrifying.
Meetra and her killer, reciprocal and fierce, strength and respect forming something even greater than that.
A promise that everything would fail.
And this knowledge, an overwhelming absolute that filled Revan and spilled over from heart to soul: the lesson that he knew how to stop it.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. From the warmth that was penetrating his jacket, it had been there for some time. The fingers were like a vise clenched against him, and his fight or flight instincts quieted – Revan knew this man. He had no pride in front of the warrior who'd seen him blind to the Force and a hollow shell of his former self. So there was no shame as he sunk further towards the blessedly cold floor, pressing his forehead to the ground in a deep kowtow. There was nothing but the roar of blood in his ears and the piercing wail of the Force against his mind. Every attempt to raise shields against the maelstrom was batted aside effortlessly. There was an insistence behind the act, a sentient demand that he submit as a Padawan to a Master.
And it was just a moment, that understanding, his acceptance of what he had seen and why it had been shown to him. But in that flicker of understanding that caught him between a breath and unconsciousness, the Force inhaled, the howling dissipating into a nothingness that was soothing and lifting. Shuddering with the pins and needles aftereffect of the devastating visions, Revan sunk deeply into the cool and welcoming arms of silence.
His senses returned before his memory did.
His position, first. He was horizontal and level, turned sideways on something too hard to be a bed and too soft to be the floor. Then his freedom – he was unrestrained, though there was a weight overtop that warmed him. His health was a slightly different matter. His head was swimming, thoughts swirling, and there was something thick and firm and salty wedged between his teeth. His nerves prickled from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair, and there was an undefinable burning in his closed eyes.
All of this puzzled Revan for maybe a handful of heartbeats before the world came crashing into his consciousness again.
Wrenching himself from his lax state, he surged upwards with a choked cry, gaze wild as he sucked in panicked breaths before he squeezed his eyes closed against the spinning room. Reacting with a lifetime of training, Revan seized his lightsaber from its customary place on his belt and his thumb edged dangerously close to the activation button. Hands were on him instantly, one firmly wrapping around the wrist of his sword arm, the other pressing insistently against his chest. There were words coming through, though he couldn't understand them at first, and he fought his stuttering lungs as he tried to quiet the raging river in his ears.
After several seconds, Revan could finally hear.
"Easy, brother, easy. Just breathe. You're safe."
There was a shiver that coursed up his spine, and it had nothing to do with the coolness in the air or the revelations that he was still trying to sort through. No, it started and ended with the waver he could hear in the steadfast Mandalorian's tone. It took more than a little effort to get his eyes open again. They continued burning even as he blinked against the brightness of the sunlit tent. Everything blurred for a minute until he could finally focus.
Canderous was exactly where he expected him to be: kneeling next to the low cot, his gloved hands steady where they kept his weapon sheathed and prevented him from rising. There was a tightness in his eyes, something too close to fear for Revan's liking, and he swallowed hard. Behind him, standing with arms crossed and pistols prominently displayed, was Veela. There a ghostly image of her falling dead with her chest torn apart by plasma, and Revan slowly reached up to the wedge in his mouth, his eyes starting to water.
Maybe that was what broke everything from the icy stillness, this held breath that seemed to cut the trio out of the universe and hide them all away some other dimension. It could have been many things. It could have been the way his hand shook as he pried the leather from between his teeth. It could have been the whiteness in his knuckles as he gripped his saber hard enough to make the casing creak. It could have been the way the tears spilled down his cheeks and made his irises darken and sharpen.
More likely, it was the way he ducked his head and grabbed Canderous' forearm with a desperate strength while shaking like an infant.
"Get some water, will you?" the soldier murmured over his shoulder, and Veela stepped silently to the side to pull some from the plasteel storage cylinder.
Then, with gentleness that belied the big man's hulking form, he carefully pried the precious weapon from Revan's fingers and set it aside on the floor. Revan let him, compliant as he feverishly tried to compartmentalize everything that had been shoved into his head by the Force.
He was barely aware of the canteen as it was pressed into his palm, and he needed the help as another hand wrapped around his and helped him take a few refreshing swallows. The bottle was set aside, and Revan didn't realize he had shut his eyes until Canderous tapped two fingers against his chest.
"You with me, kid?"
He looked at him, exhausted, and nodded stiffly as his traitorous tears started to slow. His cheeks heated with embarrassment, but his friend waved it away without hesitation.
"You usually hide the fact you even have emotions, brother – it's a bit of a relief to see them every once in a while."
There was no hiding the gratitude in Revan's face, so he didn't try. Instead, he shifted in place and sat straighter, his breathing coming back mostly under control.
Leaning back on his heels, the Mandalorian gave him a measured look but didn't press him. Veela stood silently behind her husband, her face unreadable, but she worried her thumbnail with her teeth with obvious anxiety. There was a pang in Revan's chest as he thought of the times he'd caught Bastilla in the same position, and his hand spasmed in phantom pain. The Jedi rubbed away the dampness on his face in the same motion to hide the tell. Then a quake shook his spine, some level of shock trickling through him, and it felt like just a moment later when surprisingly lithe fingers wrapped his discarded blanket around his shoulders.
Blinking up at the woman as she stepped back, Revan cocked his head.
"You look like a drowned Boma," Veela muttered in explanation, looking away briefly.
A faint trace of a smile crossed the man's face, though his countenance fell almost immediately. Canderous took the moment to stand and make himself more comfortable on the solid top of the same plasteel container that his wife had just accessed, and he rested his palms on his thighs as he settled. Veela took the same cue and leaned against a metal box directly behind her, gaze never leaving her guest.
"What happened?"
The question was simultaneously spoken by both of the men in the room, and one multicolored eyebrow arched delicately in exasperation. Canderous nodded once and his raised his chin.
"I was with Veela in the command tent, going over some terrain readouts. We finished up and I came back here. You were meditating, not listening to a word I said, as usual. I'd been back maybe a few minutes, fielded a comm from the droid back on the ship, and then everything started to feel…wrong. I started feeling nauseous, dizzy."
Here, the warrior frowned, and he continued a little softer, "I checked on you, and you were quiet, still. You seemed fine. Tense, maybe, but not in any danger. I thought about approaching you for twenty minutes before I finally did. And the second I said your name, you jolted awake and jumped to your feet like you had a kath hound gnawing on your tail end. Then you went down, hard."
Shrugging, he nodded towards his wife.
"She has better medical training than I do, so I ran and got her. You were grinding your teeth and cutting your tongue. Veela was afraid you would crack your jaw," Canderous explained with a slight gesture toward the discarded guard.
Glancing at the chrono on his wrist, he summed up, "That was about three hours ago. It's an hour after sunrise now."
Nodding absently, Revan murmured, "Sounds about right."
For nearly a minute, there was nothing else forthcoming, and the man seemed lost in his own head as he stared blankly at a random spot on the floor. Veela cleared her throat loudly, and he didn't startle like she would have thought. Instead there was that same faint smile on his face, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"Forgive me, Clan Chief," he said softly, raising his gaze to meet her eyes respectfully. "A moment more is all I ask."
This time, the woman chewed her lip before nodding once, shortly. The Jedi gave a soft thanks and breathed deeply as he let his chin drop to his chest. He stayed still for just another half a minute, if that, and he tightened his grip on the thermal blanket around his shoulders as he swallowed hard and regained his stature.
He looked first at Canderous, then at Veela, and he seemed to steel himself before he started his explanation.
"As Canderous knows, I've been having nightmares for the last several weeks. They stem from past missions, the wars – everything."
He tread carefully here; his true identity was still shrouded, though he doubted it would remain so for much longer.
"I had another one last night, and I hoped to meditate on it in order to put it away. But while I was doing so, my focus was…appropriated, one might say. I was floating in the Force and then suddenly, suddenly I was of it."
He paused, frustration clouding his face.
"I'm trying to explain this as well as I can, but I'm not sure I even understand exactly what happened."
Leaning forward, his friend asked, "What was it? Another nightmare?"
There was a darkness in Revan's tone as he answered quietly, "No, though I would prefer that as the truth. It was a vision, I suppose, or an extensive chain of them. I saw things. But I didn't just see them, I felt them. Not just days or weeks, but years. And it felt…it felt like I lived them."
The Jedi hesitated and then reached down, snagging the canteen from the floor and taking a long pull. He tried to ignore the fact that his hand was still trembling as he wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve. Then he raised his eyes and they pierced straight through his friend like violet arrows.
"And Canderous…I remember everything."
The implication in his words was obvious to the soldier. Canderous exhaled shakily and brought his hands up underneath his chin, fingers intertwined as he leaned heavily on his fists. His focus was fixed on that same random spot that had Revan so entranced before, and he exhaled sharply before running his hands roughly over his face. He dropped his hands with a loud huff and shook his head in defeat. The look he pinned Revan with was old and familiar.
"We have to tell her," he said bluntly, making the decision for both of them.
For his part, Revan didn't argue, but his visage was tired and wary as he turned his attention to the Clan Chief when she scoffed softly.
"Neither you nor my husband give me enough credit, Avner."
There was a sneer in her voice that her body language was slowly starting to match. She jerked her chin towards the elegant handle of his lightsaber where it sat innocently on the tent floor.
"This isn't the first time I've seen that particular weapon. I met it in battle once before, back when it was wielded by Revan the Butcher."
Canderous would never apologize for the tactical decision of their deception, but the Jedi's guts twisted uneasily. That hated moniker was unusual to hear amongst the Mandalorians; generally, they regarded their conquerors as near mythic figures who had bested them in battle. But not only was he familiar with that phrase, he had even heard it in Veela's voice. And the venom that was leeching through her words was hauntingly similar. He could almost feel the blisters on his hands from the climb up the Spire, the bite of cold and lactic acid burning him inside and out. She was shifting, slowly enough to not be an immediate threat, but surely enough into a two-front offensive stance.
Across from him, Canderous observed her movement as well. He was responding just as subtly, his feet shifting in place while he angled his arms to a point where he could activate his hidden energy shield if needed. The brewing conflict had echoes of the devastation that he had already lived through, and Revan surged to his feet. Veela's hands were instantly on her blasters, though she didn't pull them, and she stared at him with unease and anger clear on her face.
"It doesn't have to go like this; I'm not your enemy, Veela. I know you're angry with Canderous for leaving not just you but Clan Ordo. And I know you wanted him to be chief and don Mand'alor's mask when we find it. But you can't blame him for that, not anymore. Everything's different now," Revan hurriedly said, fighting to keep his tone level and calm.
It didn't matter. His words still drove the woman to a battle stance with both blasters pulled and primed. The barrels were aimed unerringly at the Jedi's face, and her own expression was twisted and fearful.
"How could you know any of that? Did you use your Jedi tricks to read my mind? Did you violate even that most basic expectation of privacy?" she snapped, physically shaking.
Canderous stayed still but his body was tight as a bowstring as he glanced between his friend and his wife. It was too much like the last time – and Revan knew, bone deep, that Veela's death was his first mistake; if he allowed it to happen, then everything would keep going in the same damned path. He shook his head in abstract defiance of fate's previous design and raised his empty hands in a universal gesture of peace. Still, his frustration edged into his tone as he tried to figure out exactly how to keep that outcome from playing itself out again.
"I know because you told him. What the Force showed me included that conversation, Veela – it included your death! Ori'haat!" he swore passionately.
A thermal detonator could have taken out half the camp and none of them would have noticed.
The woman's face drained of blood and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words were forthcoming. Canderous turned to Revan and his eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if the man was lying or not. It took him only a fraction of a second to realize the man was speaking the truth, no matter how hard he wanted to believe otherwise.
"You died, Veela. You found out who I was and tried to turn Canderous back to the Clan at gunpoint," Revan breathed, his expression twisted with guilt and despair. "You failed and you died. And if I had just told you the truth from the beginning, it wouldn't have happened." He shook his head hard and dropped to a knee in a bow, scooping up his saber hilt in the same motion. "I am Revan, fallen Sith conqueror and Prodigal Knight of the Jedi Order. I came to you as a friend to offer aid. But now I must request it instead, or everything, the entire galaxy, will fall."
There was a beat of silence, and then Revan slowly raised his palm with his weapon presented even as he kept his head bowed.
"Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod."
The strain in his voice was tangible, and Canderous inhaled sharply at the gesture inherent in the act. Revan's offer of his own weapon, one that had felled hundreds of Clan members, was not unlike a wolf bearing its throat to an alpha. He wasn't giving Veela his arms, he was surrendering his life to her. It was a honorable action; the only thing that would overcome such an offer would be ritualistic suicide. For many reasons, Canderous would not allow that to happen. But Revan's words struck a deeper cord with Veela than his movements, if that was possible.
Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my sister's blood.
It was an ancient phrase not often heard outside of treaty negotiations between clans, and even then it was a rare thing. Revan was essentially refusing to fight the Clan Chief, even in defense of his own life, if she refused his offer.
Veela was still as the statues in the tombs on Korriban, and she stared down at the man before her with alarm and confusion. But the aim of her weapons wavered once, then twice, and she abruptly holstered them with an angry grunt. Something about his fear was soaking into her; not tainting her, not fully. It was more like an echo of it, a visceral reminder that this man had enemies beyond her, and he was as afraid of her death as he was of that threat. She stood silently for a long minute, glaring at the Jedi, and she finally sighed as she reached for the weapon he held.
"Cin vhetin, brother," she murmured as she wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
Revan jerked in place, his head snapping up quickly enough that his jaw clicked. She met his gaze steadily and squeezed his hand once before stepping back. He watched her go, hesitant, and a slight tilt of her head had him rising to his feet. Her declaration of his clean slate carried more than just the immediate relief of the situation; it granted him a fresh start to the entire Clan. He was blameless for anything he had done before she had uttered those words.
There was more comfort in that than he would have previously allowed for, had he given the concept any thought before.
"Veela, are you sure about this? You may forgive him, but that doesn't mean his mission is over. I can't choose between Revan and you and the Clan. Don't ask me to," Canderous warned quietly.
There was another thick silence before his wife finally shrugged one shoulder and propped her hands on her hips.
"You cannot choose your family, riduur – aliit ori'shya tal'din. If Revan wanted any of us dead, he would not have defended us in battle today. You seem to have learned your lesson on abandoning your comrades and passed it along to others."
Here, her words were a little bitter, but Canderous made no move to defend himself against the truth of them.
"So no, I will not ask you to choose. You cannot undo the past. And I don't expect my warrior husband to stand by and do nothing while our brother fights to save the galaxy."
Her tone changed into something a tad softer than ice as she returned her attention to Revan.
"I still hold you to your oath, vod. You will return to us the Mask of Mand'alor, as you swore. In exchange, I offer you the strength and arms of Clan Ordo now, and all Mando'ads after. Haat, ijaa, haa'it."
It was an offer that would not have come without the intercession already granted by the Force, and Revan found himself weak-kneed with thankfulness.
"Vor entye," he answered, accepting the debt graciously
Like Canderous, she was practical and logical even in these strange circumstances. Her partner smiled at her, a warmer smile than Revan had seen grace his face in years, and for the moment, everything was still.
Then Revan sat heavily on his cot and stared at the saber in his grip while running his free hand through his hair. Canderous finally removed his fingers from his shield emitter and let his combat stance evaporate as he cast his friend a concerned look.
"Not more visions, I hope," he said flatly, reaching for the discarded canteen and passing it to Revan again.
But the Jedi shook his head and answered, "No, just…disaster averted. One, at least."
He paused, took a sip of water, and tucked his lightsaber away in a practiced move.
"And this is where I'm supposed to tell you that I have a plan, that I have everything figured out. That the Force had me live through years and gave me some idea on what to do with that knowledge when I returned."
He nearly snarled as he added, "And instead, I don't have a single kriffing idea where to even start."
More than a little frustration and helplessness were obvious in his tone, and Canderous easily countered, "So you ask for help. Maybe with a little less suicidally this time, though."
He paused and his brows nearly came together as he pondered the problem.
"Gotta be one of your Jedi friends, and not one of those damn Council members who screwed with your mind."
Nodding, Revan found his ire settling as a something solid began to come together in his mind. He cycled silently through a breathing exercise and released his emotions into the Force, relieved when he wasn't pulled beneath its currents once again. He hesitated on that momentarily; there was a new reflex reaction to meditation and Force communication, now, something that made him fear and ache. That was something he would have to eventually extinguish. But for now, he had a more pressing concern. He mulled over the options in his mind; they were few. He and Bastilla hadn't exactly burned bridges with their marriage, but they hadn't done much to build any new ones, either. There weren't many Jedi who would embed themselves with another one of his crusades, not after the last time.
"Jolee it will be, then. Last I heard, he was on Charros IV, training Juhani with the less-than-thrilled and dubious consent of the Council."
Hesitating, Revan turned it all over and tentatively made an outline of a plan, or at least the first few steps of one.
"He and Juhani are part of the Jedi and might feel the need to report this, but I don't have any other options right now. I'll comm T3 and have him try to make contact. While we wait, we'll retrieve the Mask. If we can't raise Jolee, then we'll have to travel there. There's too much at stake. Last time, we all rode my ego into hell. I thought I could handle it alone. And almost everything I touched turned to ash."
His eyes fluttered briefly with shame and he shivered.
"I will not fall into the same trap again."
Veela pursed her lips and gave him a calculating look before she nodded and cast a glance at her husband. He appeared suitably discomfited by Revan's admission, but it didn't stop him from squaring up his shoulders with a hungry grin.
"So…that part about us being a little short on bodies?" he asked hopefully.
Revan's light chuckle was less mirth and more resignation.
"Still might be. I'm not moving on this without support and guidance, but I have other tasks for them."
Finally, finally feeling like himself for the first time since he'd begun meditating, he added firmly, "There's something out there, Canderous. Something dangerous. Malak and I thought we could confront and defeat the threat, and instead we succumbed to it. I failed the second time, and it was unforgiveable. I will not make the same mistakes, the same useless sacrifices, in the pursuit of victory. We have to look at this from a different angle."
Nodding, the soldier stepped forward and placed a steady hand on Revan's shoulder, nodding respectfully.
"Whatever this life brings to your step, wherever your step brings you in life, I'm with you, ori'vod."
Only a moment later, Veela gave a concurring salute and added, "Clan Ordo stands ready to fight. Your enemies are ours, brother. Deliver us the Mask and use us."
There was still uncertainty, fear, and not a little bit of horror dwelling in the images forced into his mind. He could still taste the drugs that numbed him in torture. He could smell the damp and moldy earth of the cave. He could still feel the steel rain of T3's dismembered body. He could hear screams – Meetra's, enemies', his own. And he could see a holo of Bastilla and his son playing on repeat, over and over again.
No, he would not fail again.
End Chapter One
Definitions:
Ori'haat: It's the truth, I swear.
Ni dinu ner gaan naakyc, jorcu ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod: Honor my offer of truce, for I would not willingly shed my brother's/sister's blood.
Cin vhetin: Fresh start or clean slate; literally "white field"
Riduur: Partner, spouse, husband/wife
Aliit ori'shya tal'din: Family is more than blood.
Vod: Brother, sister, comrade
Haat, ijaa, haa'it: Truth, honor, vision; said when sealing a pact
Vor entye: Thank you; literally "I accept a debt"
Ori'vod: Big brother/sister, special friend