AN: Companion piece to "Of War". Malak's POV on the Wars and Revan. Because, seriously. Malak's not stupid. More gen/character-sketchy stuff, BYOS. (cough)
Malak's not stupid.
People tend to overlook this fairly important fact, stunned as they generally are in the aftermath of one of Revan's stunts, but he's really not.
Of course, Revan is much better than he is at strategy, and Nisotsa and Dane far more adept at the sneakier end of things, but Malak isn't stupid.
The War's been tough on them all. Malak's grown up more than he would have thought possible, in only three years. He's led men into battle, fought beside other soldiers, watched over Revan's shoulder as he planned the re-taking of half a hundred Mandalorian-occupied planets.
Malak knows he's stronger, tougher, harder than the kid who'd followed Revan out of the Academy. He's survived things that killed off dozens—hundreds—of his fellow Jedi. And he's stronger for it.
The stress doesn't have much of an effect on him—if anything, it's a challenge, and he rises daily to meet it, pushing himself harder in every battle. Because he can't do anything else.
Revan, on the other hand, withdraws into himself with every passing day, seeming to collapse in on himself. His sharp edges have never been sharper, and he's all too willing to lash out in private. In public, he maintains the Fleet. It's wrong, Malak knows, to put so much responsibility on one man's shoulders. But it's all they have, their last chance at salvaging what's left of a bleeding Republic.
Malak's known Revan for years, through training and earlier missions. He's actually almost five years older than the Consular, but the age difference hardly registers between them. Revan's never been too good at acting his age, after all, and he's good company when he's not killing himself with work.
He knows Revan, knows him better than he knows himself, sometimes, and he can see that Revan's killing himself with this war. And it kills him that he can't do anything about it.
He watches Revan get thinner and paler, a wisp of his former self, focused single-mindedly on his maps and tactics and battles and supply lines. He watches his friend, asleep on his desk, sprawled out over a mess of flimsies and datapads. He watches Revan kill himself (little food, less sleep), and thinks maybe he understands a little of how Revan feels, every day.
If he were to tip a few drops of sedative into Revan's drink, make his friend rest for a day (just a day!), it's entirely possible they would lose the war entirely.
One life for many. It's the same choice Revan makes daily, albeit on a less exaggerated scale. Malak grinds his teeth and chokes back everything he wants to say, in the name of the Republic.
Sometimes, Malak thinks he hates the Republic.
But it's when Revan meets his eyes, and Malak can see that Revan knows what he's doing, that something breaks in his chest. Revan looks like a kid dressed up in his older sib's clothing, sash cinched around his waist, coarse fabric bagging out loosely above and below. His face is colorless and weary, grey eyes clear, although the dark circles underneath are more pronounced than ever.
It should make it easier, knowing that Revan has made his choice, cognizant of the consequences. It should ease his conscience to realize Revan knows what he's doing.
Instead, he finds himself choking on simple words (helpless rage strangling him, in spite of his training). Later, he puts his fist through a wall in sheer, bloody-minded frustration (and fear, though he'll hardly admit it, even to himself). Revan's been his best friend since they first met, and he couldn't ask for a better man at his back.
And he's dying. Malak sees it. He's not sure if anyone else does. He wants to bang their heads together—scream in their faces—go ask the Mandalorians politely if they'd mind giving his friend a month to recuperate enough to keep fighting—anything!
The last one gives him an amusing mental image, but if he thought it'd work, he'd do it in an instant.
Instead, he redirects his helpless anger into more productive channels of expression. He was a good hand with a lightsaber before leaving the Academy. Now he's unstoppable.
Planets run together in a dizzy blur, colorful Mandalorian armor against lush greenery, stark against snow and ice, lost in a sandsea, dead dead dead. That's what he's good at, after all. He fights and kills and wins. Because that's what Revan needs him to do.
Because there's nothing else he can do.
Endnotes: Er...yeah. Not much to say about this one, 'cept that it really does drive me nuts when people relegate Malak to the background thug role. Bitch, please.