Jedi Master Vandar Tokare hobbled along the corridor at a leisurely pace, the frayed hem of his old cloak sweeping the floor behind him. Patches of newer fabric adorned the elbow and hood of his cloak, their rich caffa-brown a stark contrast to the faded hue of the old garment. The raggedy state of his cloak did not bother old Master Tokare a whit: it was comfortable, it sagged in all the right places, and most importantly - it smelt familiar. The problem with new clothes, Tokare reckoned, was that they were too new - they scratched, were stiff, and did not always sit comfortably. But worst of all was the way they smelt - all of fresh dye, the cutting-floor, even of machine-grease from the droids that had put them together.

Plus, they got dirty all too soon.

Tokare soon found himself in the vast Room of a Thousand Fountains. Picking his way past a herd of wide-eyed younglings who were being given an introductory tour of the famous garden, the ancient Jedi Master ambled slowly up a gently sloping path that wound in and out of a nest of ferns. The path narrowed gradually, ending some distance away beside a small rock waterfall that emptied itself into a gurgling stream. Stopping, Tokare sniffed the air and smiled appreciatively: the assari trees were in bloom. Closing his eyes, he savoured the sweet scent of the assari blossoms as it mingled with the mist of the waterfall and the fresh, green smell of the grass beneath his feet -

"Master Tokare? Sorry I'm late - I lost my way trying to find the Southwest Transept..."

Tokare winked open an eye and cocked his head at an impish angle. "Not at all, Revan. Large, the Temple is. Hmm? Not small and manageable like the Enclave, yes? Come! Sit, sit." The old Master hopped onto a nearby rock as Revan seated himself on the grass.

"Now we are seeing eye to eye," quipped Tokare lightheartedly, indicating his small frame. Then he became more serious. "There is something I must return to you."

Revan sat up straight. "What is it?"

Tokare felt about in the recesses of his sleeves and drew out a cube that pulsed with an inner light. He floated it slowly over to Revan, who sat up even straighter and stared at the glowing box with a keen interest.

"Is that a holocron?" asked Revan, as he plucked the cube out of the air. Tokare nodded.

"Indeed a holocron it is. Your holocron, Revan. Kept it I have since you were taken. Now, return it to you, I do."

"Mine! I had a holocron? Wow, that's ama- wait. ...I'm not sure, Master Tokare. I mean, if this was... found on me when... when I was Darth Revan, mightn't it be wiser to just, well, destroy it?" Revan frowned uncomfortably.

"The Dark side I do not sense in it, if worried you are."

Gingerly holding the holocron aloft, Revan studied it closely. The intricate etchings covering its surface had seen better days, and there were signs that modifications had been made to the holocron's casing at various points in its existence. It was solid, and far heavier than it ought to be for its size. But it didn't feel tainted. Quite the contrary, in fact.

"What's inside?" queried Revan.

Tokare scratched behind a hairy ear. "I do not know. We were unable to make this one... respond."

Revan turned the holocron this way and that. "...broken?" Shaking the holocron gently, Revan listened for the telltale sound of loose parts. Nothing.

"Unlikely. More probable it is that this one is secured."

"Oh." Revan mulled over the holocron briefly. The Masters' attempts to access his holocron must have been made during their search for information on the Sith. It would have been natural for them to assume that Darth Revan had stored details of his plans in the holocron - information on the Sith Academies, perhaps? - all of which would be useful in the Order's struggle with the Sith. But their efforts had been fruitless.

"You wish me to access the holocron's information for you?"

"No - no, no! Oh dear." Tokare got to his feet abruptly and jumped off the rock he had been sitting on. His old bones creaked in protest. Tsk-ing distractedly to himself, the old Jedi Master shook his head animatedly and continued talking.

"Yours is this, Revan. Keep it!" Pausing to pick a stray insect off his sleeve, Tokare set the creature on the rock he had vacated and watched it scurry away. Then he turned his attention again to Revan.

"Much debate has ensued over this holocron. Divided is the opinion of the Masters... some wish it destroyed, others to learn of its secrets. But I suspect it is a diary and nothing more. If so, its secrets are yours alone."

A diary? Fascinating, thought Revan. I can't wait to tell Bastila about this! He pocketed the item and stood to leave.

Tokare gestured anxiously at Revan. "Please - do not tell anyone that I returned your holocron to you. ...fine, maybe Bastila," conceded the old Jedi Master. "But please - not Vrook Lamar," he stated urgently. "You know what he's like!"

"Aren't you going to the meeting, Jolee?" Bastila sat on a little stool by the door and commenced tugging on her boots.

The old Jedi barely looked away from watching the afternoon news broadcast on the Holonet. "Nope."

"Why not? Also from Dantooine once too, you were - not interest you at all, it does?" Juhani turned her head this way and that, squinting as she tried to examine her new ear piercings with the help of a small mirror she had taken from one of her belt pouches. "Bastila," she complained. "Still they are sore! Swollen, yes?"

"I keep tellin' you: I ain't no Jedi. I'm an old man with a lightsaber. And Force powers. That's all," muttered Jolee, his eyes still on the Holonet. "Oooh. Chancellor Cressa has started talking about restoring Telos...! Now that, I like. You two run along..."

Bastila cast a critical eye over the Cathar's ears. "Your piercings are all right, Juhani. Some swelling is to be expected - and thank the Force you had yours done professionally...!"

"Yours were not expertly done?"

"Only if you consider a hot needle and three unsupervised Padawans 'experts' in any sense of the word..."

The doors at the side of the Atrium opened, and Jedi of almost every sentient species represented on the Republic Senate started streaming out of the cavernous Hall beyond. Many were talking amongst themselves animatedly: some in tight knots of two or three, others in larger groups of up to ten. Still others whipped out their comlinks and started chattering at speed into the receivers, reporting the latest news to colleagues stationed on distant worlds. Young Padawans, whose attendance had been dispensed with, scampered about the crowd of Masters and Knights milling about the vicinity, searching for their tutors.

Revan nudged Bastila gently and whispered to her. "Brown...! Everywhere I look, it's brown - brown in all its glorious shades...! I feel like I'm on the floor of the most boring fabric factory in the galaxy..."

The old Bastila would have rolled her eyes and taken the maker of such a statement to task, berating their 'impertinence' and 'lack of respect' for the traditions of the Order. Now, however, she grinned and whispered back.

"The... Wookiee brown is all the rage in discerning circles..."

"...ah, but will it hide embarrassing stains?" returned Revan.

"...never fear. Our latest Organic range offers 'Poop' and 'Vomit' brown..."

Revan's hand flew up to cover his mouth at the same time as his eyes crinkled with silent laughter. Juhani peered at her companions out of the corner of her eye, noted the regular convulsions of Revan's shoulders and the impossibly innocent expression on Bastila's face, and decided that where couples were concerned, No Information was better than Too Much Information. She scanned the crowd ahead, and was most relieved to spot several Cathar Jedi loitering about the western side of the Atrium. Tapping Bastila on the shoulder, Juhani pointed in the direction of the Cathar group and waved before weaving effortlessly through the crowd to converse with her fellowmen.

"That was hilarious, Princess," grinned Revan.

Bastila smirked. "Only because you didn't expect it from me."

"That is true. Oh dear - whatever will your Mother say?" Revan threw up his hands in a mock gesture of horror. 'Scoundrel! You've corrupted my daughter!'" he cried in a falsetto. His efforts were rewarded with a sharp poke in the ribs.

"'Corrupted'? Ha! I shall be sure to tell her that you haven't spoiled me yet," commented Bastila. "Though honestly, I don't think it will have any effect on her..."

"It won't? Damn! So much for being noble..."

"'Noble'?" squealed Bastila. "Whose pervert idea was it to trap me in a rapidly-flooding tub and proceed to disrobe?"

"Pervert? Me! Who in their right mind sleeps in a bathtub? Besides, you were a very appreciative audience."

"There wasn't anything else to look at!"

"I was referring to the audience participation."

"You put soap on me!"

"After you threw the soap at me, Princess. With the Force."

"You were filthy!"

"I was out all night!"

"You actually went out with Carth and Canderous -"

"- and I spent all evening thinking of you."

They were standing near the mouth of one of the many corridors that branched away from the Atrium by now, and well out of sight. Two pink spots had appeared on the apples of Bastila's cheeks. She was chewing her lip, and appeared to be giving some matter a great deal of thought. Then, all of a sudden, an odd look came into her eyes.

"Screw nobility," Bastila hissed as she pulled Revan towards her and kissed him. "Let's go to our room." She set off down the corridor at a brisk pace, her short braids bouncing on the back of her neck.

Revan's eyebrows moved upwards, and then threatened to recede into his hairline, just before he went haring off down the corridor after Bastila. Screw nobility? Oh, boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy...

The sun was setting when Revan felt Bastila stir beside him. She rolled over, rubbed her eyes and squinted dubiously at the small cube floating just above her lover's chest. A soft bluish glow seemed to emanate from the core of the cube.

"...a holocron?"

Revan nodded. "Mine."

Bastila wrinkled her forehead. "You have a holocron? Since when?" She held out a hand for the cube, which floated over and rested gently on her waiting palm.

"Since a long time ago, according to Master Tokare. He returned it to me this morning." Revan snaked an arm around Bastila and buried his nose in her hair. "It was taken from me, apparently, when... you know."

Bastila frowned. "Are you sure keeping it is a good idea, then?"

Revan inhaled deeply and hugged Bastila closer. "Master Tokare doesn't see why not. It isn't a Dark artifact. His theory is that it might actually be my diary."

"A diary holocron? Force! You must have been such a nerd." Fully awake now, Bastila scrutinised the holocron carefully for any sign that it might be tainted. Finding none, she attempted to activate it but met with no success.

"Even the Masters couldn't access it," Revan informed her.

"Can you?"

"Maybe. If it's mine, and I made it, it should allow me access."

Bastila handed the holocron back to Revan. "You haven't tried?"

"No. I don't remember any of my past, Bastila. I don't know what I was like... before - well, before. And even during. Do I want to know? Part of me is very curious... but..."

"...you don't know what you might learn," said Bastila softly. "I understand."

They lay in silence, watching the soft blue glow of the holocron deepen as Coruscant's sun sank farther and farther beyond the horizon, until it was the only source of light in their room. A multitude of thoughts ran though Revan's mind. Knowing what he had been like before he fell would be instructive in a very unique and personal way. He'd be able to see where he himself had gone wrong, perhaps become acquainted with the warning signs - but the risk certainly existed that he might, once again, prove his own undoing. It would be a sorry thing, thought Revan, were he to be seduced back to the Dark side by his younger self. Terribly ironic, too.

Perhaps it would just be better to destroy the holocron...

Revan thought he heard Bastila whisper something under her breath. "...say again?" he asked.

"Facing the mirror," whispered Bastila again, louder this time. "Looking into oneself. Seeing what one is... warts and all. And then working to correct one's deficiencies and faults. My Master said it is the hardest thing for anyone, even a Jedi, to do."

The holocron floated slowly up into the air again, casting its soft blue glow over the recumbent pair. "Your Master is very wise," acknowledged Revan. "I... guess I'm just... afraid of what I might see. Of what might happen."

"I was once afraid, too. On the Star Forge. Remember?" Bastila turned so that she and Revan were lying face to face, before continuing. "You gave me strength then to overcome my fear... and come back to the Light. Let me do the same for you - to keep you in the Light."

"You'll go through its contents with me?"

"Gladly."

"Thank you, my love."

In a darkened bedroom in the guest quarters of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, two figures sat together, wrapped in bedlinen and each other, watching as a long-dormant holocron burst gloriously into life.