First, my many thanks to all those who reviewed, and my many apologies to any fans I may have out there… (Sound of crickets chirping)… oh, well…for not updating nearly as often as I could have. I just have been very busy with my own life; moving, finishing school, joining the Navy, getting medically discharged from the Navy (darn my blood pressure!), and other such life-disrupting fun. But now I'm back, full of ideas and getting chased by plot bunnies wherever I go.
Dedication for this chapter goes to Josunurashima, who I hope doesn't mind that I use his idea (if you do, let me know) to continue the story.
The Exile stood at the edge of the roof and looked down. At least one hundred stories separated him from the area of darkness called the Underworld of Coruscant, and who knew how far down until the actual surface.
He took a deep breath, and focused. He bent down, placed his hands on the very edge, and lifted his feet, putting all of his weight on his arms. A small part of him thrilled in this, the fact that if he lost his balance, a painful crash lay on one side, and certain death on the other.
He stretched out his consciousness, and felt the Force flowing through all of his body. Every bone, every muscle, every vein, every blood cell, every molecule in his body vibrated and sang in harmony with the life around him.
Life. It was so different here on Coruscant, than on most of the other planets he had been on in the Unknown Regions. Most of the worlds, even some whole systems, were dead, stripped naked and bare of all resources, or so corrupted by the Dark Side that they had made him nauseous to get within 10 klicks.
Coruscant had its faults, like any other planet, but at least it hustled and bustled with billions of sentient beings, all touching and being touched in turn by the living Force, causing little ripples to flow around them. It was those ripples that the Exile, Arlan Ferran by name, relished as he meditated. They buffeted him with feelings, with emotions, with life, letting him know that he was alive with them, and inviting him to join in the celebration of simply being alive. That he moved and thought and breathed and felt. That he should take pride in his gift of life, and this feeling of joy was the natural state of all sentient beings.
He shifted his center of gravity once again, and carefully came to his feet, the symphony of sensation slowly leaving him, filling him with a peace he hadn't felt for the better part of five years. He realized he'd been rude to Mira, and that he would have to apologize, soon. But there was something far more important that he had to do first.
For what felt like the first time in his life, Revan felt utterly content. He looked at his darling Bastila, still peacefully sleeping next to him. He studied her face, so calm and peaceful now, such a contrast to what it had been only hours before. Then, it had been far more…hungry was the only word he could think of. They had both screamed each others' names several times, and he had lost count of the number of times she had made him explode. Finally, they had both been sated, and had collapsed from sheer exhaustion.
He brought his hand up to brush a lock of hair out of her face, and let his fingers lightly explore her body through the thin sheet that covered them. Feather touches along her side, drifting down to linger her thigh. In all his life, he had never felt so deeply and utterly in love.
The sound of her breathing changed, and he withdrew his hand as she moved and stretched, making a sound very much like a happy feline. She shifted closer to him, still mostly asleep, and turned to mold her body better to his. She smiled as he softly nibbled on her earlobe, and her eyes opened as his hand traveled down her body.
"By the Force, Revan, again?" At least I didn't call Him Lord Revan again. Thank the Seven Rings of Hapes that He was too lost in the pleasure to notice.
He chuckled softly. "The spirit is willing, love, but the body is still recovering. Speaking of which, I need food, and I'm sure you do, too. What would you like?"
She almost protested, wanting to insist that she should serve Him, but experience had shown that acting contrary to what he expected of her upset him. And upsetting Master is Wrong! So she merely told Him what she wanted for breakfast.
He got up, fully nude, to start putting T/their morning meal together (thank the Force she had gone shopping for fresh food before coming to His apartment); she unabashedly stared at His body. Tall, lean, and more athletic than muscular, with not an ounce of fat, He still made an imposing, youthful figure. Only His face had appeared to age, with a few more lines and wrinkles, but still looking far younger than He actually was. He still had a full head of brown hair, with the little curl in front that kept getting in His eye.
Her gaze traveled from His face to the rest of His body. Old scars from previous battles, and some not-so-old, covered most of His torso. His legs, too, told a tale of a harsh five years of marching across world after world.
She hadn't asked Him where He had gone, or what He had seen. If He wanted to tell her, He would. If He didn't, she wouldn't press. Master will do what Master wills. A slave should not question Master's will.
As Revan ground the jalva beans for their caffa, Revan had time to reflect. What did I do to deserve a woman like that, he thought to himself, whatever it was, I'd do it again in a heartbeat, just to see her smile. He smiled himself as the memories of the previous night resurfaced anew, ending with Bastila having a very satisfied smile on her face.
He turned to see her staring at him, and realized he had crawled out of bed without a stitch on. His initial embarrassment quickly faded as the part of his mind that was the cold, calculating tactician reminded him that there was nothing there that she hadn't seen last night. Revan met her gaze, and winked at her. She looks so cute when she's blushing.
Arlan stood at the doorway of his beloved. His arm was raised to knock. It had been so for the past five minutes. Arlan Ferran, the Jedi Exile, who had faced countless Sith Assassins, Sith Warriors, and Sith Lords without so much as a second thought, who had fought with Mandalore to save Onderon and Dxun from Darth Nihlius, had killed Darth Sion and Darth Treya in single combat, and subsequently healed the rift in the Force, was paralyzed with fear over knocking on the door of the woman he loved with all his heart.
His mind was plagued with doubt. I'm changed. His attention immediately went to his artificial red eye. It was the best Revan had been able to put together with their extremely limited resources. It worked perfectly, but it had been fused, deliberately, to his optic nerve. He could never replace it without going blind in that eye permanently.
He sighed, knowing he was only prolonging his torture by staying outside. She would either accept him, or she wouldn't. It was now or never.
He knocked.
That brings us to the end of this chapter. Will Revan ever figure out Bastila isn't completely free? And who is the Exile's One True Love?
Stay tuned to find out!
P.S. Sorry about the short length, but I only had a few hours to write it. Will update soon and more often as time goes by.
