Nightmares
When Revan's memories start coming back, the crew is left to decide – for love or for life? Female Revan… Juhani's POV – Oneshot
Rated PG13 – Safeness
Disclaimer: Yes, I own Star Wars, and Lord Malak is engaged to Voldemort's second cousin.
Nightmares
Now
January 12
12:00:00 PM
I do not want to do this. In all my life, in all my past murders and slaughters, I have never had the coldness inside to do what I am about to do. The wind on my back is like a wailing child tugging on my robes, begging to me to turn back… to turn away from this deed… but it must be done. The howl of the wind is like a pregnant woman pleading at my feet, begging me not to strike her… begging me not to bleed the blood of her unborn child… but I must. The faint thud of my feet is like a heartbeat stuttering in my fingers… fighting for a life that I must end…
I do not want to do this. In the years I have spent aboard the Ebon Hawk, spending my time learning Pazaak and words from Zaalbar and Mission, getting used to flying a spaceship with Carth's warm hands over mine as I steered, building my connection to the Force with Bastila's loving touch, teaching and being taught the ways of medicine with Jolee, and scrubbing the swoop bike with my own hands, I have long been connected to my friends… How long has it been since she left? How long has it been, indeed? A week? A year? How long did we hesitate, for the sake of a friend, a lover, and a leader? Too long? Not long enough? Are we monsters? Are we saviors? Do such words matter in the deepest of battles?
The cold of the air bites at me like an affectionate but saddened pet, begging me to turn back and throw down my weapons.
But I cannot.
I may not want to do this, but I must.
Then
January 12
3:25:04 AM
There is an echoing moan through the corridors of the Ebon Hawk. I am awake, watching her as she arcs beautifully in her sleep, her naked body shining with sweat, before she rolls over and brings the sheets above her in a mass. In the dark shadows I cannot see her face, but I know it is twisted with pain and hot with tears and perspiration. She's been having nightmares like these for months now. We can only hope they don't lead to greater troubles.
Finally the worst subsides and her cries and wails of pain dull down to quiet moans and whimperings. Bastila is sobbing softly nearby, her face in her hands, her chestnut hair a wild, twisted mess, her hands pale and glowing in the nighttime light. I myself can feel the awful, strong Force waves flowing through the room, but I have never crumpled like Bastila has. The poor woman. She must be tortured. Her connection with Cortessa must make the experience ten times worse.
Carth himself is often found moaning and crying in the middle of the night. Canderous generally slaps him around to shut him up, but Jolee has become rather sulky.
Oh, Revan, dare you return? We can feel your presence in the shadows, trying to take Cortessa away from us. I will not allow it. None of us will allow it. We love her so. You may make her sick but we will heal her. You may confuse her but we'll tell the truth. You may drag her away but we will track her down and pull her back. You may try to frighten her, but we will protect her and keep her safe. You will not have her.
Presently Cortessa lets out her final moans, thrashing now with the utmost vigor, beating her hands and feet against the air, her chest ballooned as she screams her loudest. The sounds are stimulating in a way – battle sounds… sounds of pain… sounds of sex. It's overwhelming to listen to her… for my Cathar blood begins to froth at both stimulations. It is how we are made. For death. For battle. For dominance.
Bastila screams with her once, but it's a pathetic mewl in comparison.
It is always this way. Cortessa's pain reaches its peak and she seems to be all the more seducing, all the more enthralling, and my mind begins to spin. She harnesses the ship in a firm grip with the Force… a murderous grip… a sexual grip… I can feel it closing in on me. I lick my lips, remaining composed, as my companion lets out a final, high-pitched shriek before she lays still, her chest rising and falling heavily and rapidly, her legs hidden beneath the utter tangle of bed sheets.
How beautiful.
I can see her lips part for air as she lays there, her soaked and wet and warm. She doesn't know it but she's absolutely gorgeous in her way. Though her face is firm and masculine, there's a sweet, sensual look about her blue eyes, and there was something about the way her thick lips would rouge in cold and heat…
I should not notice such things, but it's unavoidable. Even Mission can't help but stare now as we wait for Cortessa to come to. She runs her tongue over her lips, tasting the salt from her sweat and tears, and she sits up, her hair a soaked and ratted mess.
I brace myself, knowing what's to come. It's an ever-repeating pattern…
Her voice comes soft and gentle but worn and husky in the dark. "Carth."
She always asks for him, damn her. In that womanly yet childlike way she asks for him, in a way of complete innocence, with an underlying hint of what she wishes to do to him. Of course, they're always discrete… in fact, we only have our suspicions. But it's so horribly clear, especially after the Star Forge.
How on Taris did I get onto this track of thought? My poor friend is ill and worried and I am off on romantic suspicions. I get to my feet, preparing to visit Carth and ask him to come, but he's read from the noise that it was his cue. He stands there in the doorway, his handsome face set with concern, and Mission turns her blue face to him and slowly blinks her round, hazel eyes.
Cortessa is clutching her head, sobbing. He steps through the doorway and I can see hovering in the shadows Canderous and Jolee, their eyes dark with worry. Cortessa curls herself up in Carth's arms and stays there, saying nothing, just sobbing quietly. I can understand how comforting it is in Carth's arms – he had held me once, after Taris had been destroyed… there is experience in those arms… fatherly, warm experience that makes him one of the ultimate counselors and confidants.
"What was it about this time, beautiful?" I know he is mumbling in her ear as he strokes her hair, letting her soak his clothing with her tears and sweat.
"I can't take it any longer," she says, and even though her voice is soft, the ship is so horribly quiet the sound reaches everyone's ears. "I don't think I can go on."
We don't believe her, not even Carth.
"Of course you can go on, beautiful," he whispers. "You can, and you will."
Now
January 13
11:12:47
Why does the cold have to be so seductively discouraging? Why must it lead with me to turn back when I have such a mission to fulfill? I cannot let this charade go on… I cannot give in to my personal feelings. Such is the way of the Jedi.
But I know the pain, suffering, and heartbreak will never end. No matter how much I may try, and I do not suggest I stop, I cannot destroy all sources of evil. The light cannot banish the dark. It may only shift the shadows for a while.
With such depressing thoughts upon my throat, and such a stale taste upon my tongue, and such a harsh, frozen wind upon my neck, I continue on, docile, timid, and afraid.
I do not want to do this, but I must.
Such is the way of the Jedi.
Then
January 13
6:05:05
Cortessa did not come to breakfast, and now we are looking the ship up and down. Carth is anxious and panicked and searches vigorously, but Jolee, Bastila, and I are sullen, feeling somewhat empty and broken. We sense a distance from Cortessa. We fear the worst. Perhaps she has finally broken and fled… we only hope…
Oh, but too late. Mission is screaming and something crashes loudly to the floor. We come to a huddle in the doorway and she gives us a datapad… her datapad…
Mission, my child, I am afraid you are the one I must inform. Please do tell the others… but do not fret. These nightmares have grown to be so horrible… it's unbearable… but I understand now. I can see the truth, who I was… what I had learned and what I meant to do… Mission, my child, do not think I do this out of spite. I love you all so much… every one of you, and I would never hurt you... I do this for your welfare, do you see? It will bring so much light into your lives… for Mission, my child, who still has so many painful lessons to learn… I hope to make it easier for you… for Zaalbar, my dear, dear friend… I hope to help you free your kind forever… Juhani, my beloved friend, I will bring you back one of your own. Until I die I swear I will help you preserve your race. Carth... there are so many things to be said. If we meet again…
I will not be coming back, my friends. The Dark Lord Revan has returned… but I realize that the dark side is not so dark when you have your intentions as I did… someday I will save you all.
I love you all.
Mission, my child, relay this message… I must have you know that I love you all. Though I will not come back, I hope we meet again.
Until, my loves, until…
Revan
Now
January 13
7:12:26
There you are, Revan. How beautiful you look, even now, with your hair greased back to frame your pallid, wounded face… your eyes dark and hooded with grief… your lips painted black and your cheeks decorated with ghastly, tattooed swirls. How has it come to be this way?
You do not look at me. I am silent and stealthy, my hands firm and swift, my feet soundless but not weak. Slowly, I draw my dagger from my bust… such a way to go… to be smuggled like a slave in the cold to your ship in order to perform a cowardly assassination. Who is the assassinator?
How could you do this, Revan? How could you force us, the ones who loved you, to come and do such a thing? After all of this, how can you wish us to slay you?
Quickly, I catch your neck with the blade, pulling you to my body, wrapping one leg around your shins and leaning you forward into the blade, and the only thing keeping you from bleeding is my arm, firmly wrapped around your middle, bracing you.
You're laughing. How can you laugh? I can feel bile, hard, sick, tearful bile well up in my throat. I bite my lip. You will not win. For it to end like this… it is painful, but it must be done. It will be ever harder if I do not do this.
"Forgive me," you whisper in your seductive voice.
I am tense. "Why?" I hiss in your ear. "After all of this, why?"
"I loved you all so much," you whisper back. "But I have failed."
"You cannot be turned back."
You seem to go rigid and I can feel hot tears on my knuckles. "No," you say at last. "I cannot."
I bring the blade up, tilting it to your flesh. I can hear you gasp at the sheer ecstasy of it… at the fear… the exhilarating feeling as death rushes up to you.
But I cannot continue. I let the blade fall, and but a single drop of blood falls from you, to my fingertip, which I suck like an ill-tended babe. You look at me, your eyes flickering with your crazy, hating fire. The blade on the floor glints at me.
You look the demon standing there, the heat from you creating a wavering cloud about you, your shoulders square and strong. Your exaggerated lips are pulled into a harsh smile, and yet you are so beautiful…
I have failed.
It seems the two of us have been fated to fail… down to the very end.
Blood suddenly and unexpectedly bursts forth in a jet from your chest, through the air and to a puddle at your feet. You grin wildly, your eyes brimming with tears, as a blade glints like a jewel at the front of your robes. Your knees buckle and you sink to your knees and lay there, dead, and in death you are beautiful, in a way, even as your horrible laughter echoes into oblivion.
Mission appears with a crackle, dressed in the suggestive clothing of a slave. She looks to me, her face pale but firm, and she says, "Let's go… It's the end." She takes a shuddering breath, wiping her tears on her sleeve. "Finally. It's the end."
But it's never the end.
For the light can never banish the dark. It can only shift the shadows for a while.
She steers me gently to the exit, and I cannot ignore the hollow, gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach.
Revan, look what you've done.
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Author's Notes: This was a load of crap, but I don't care anymore. I like it. Angsteh. Wewt.