Chapter 35

I'm Sorry

Accompanied only by the tools of the Lars homestead's garage, Canderous tinkered as he always did with his weapons and equipment. The group's landspeeders, fortunately not too damaged from their run-in with the Tusken Raiders early in the afternoon, stood side by side, waiting for their riders to brave the dangers of the Dune Sea again come morning.

Fatigued by the long day of riding and combat in the fierce heat, Canderous grunted as his hand drooped against the workbench in front of him, his spanner clattering on top of his favored repeating blaster. His right eyelid twitched a little and he instinctively reached for his rucksack. He leaned over it and reached for its contents before stopping suddenly, coming to an unpleasant realization.

Is this…how it must be?

Age was finally catching up to him. The valor he displayed during his youth, the unmatchable strength and prowess he displayed on the battlefield…all things must come to an end, eventually.

With a growl, he knocked away the front face of the rucksack, leaving the stimulants inside hidden from his view. Sighing deeply, he trudged over to a nearby crate and sat upon it heavily, staring at the spanner in his hand all the while.

Truth be told, it was these moments he had to himself that he enjoyed the most, not the ruckus and glory of battle like he so often claimed. Here he could pretend, deceiving himself that he was still the proud warrior he was in the prime of his youth, eagerly adjusting and modifying his equipment before going out to the thick of battle against most worthy foes. But now, he knew that those days were long gone. Putting down petty little rival gangs and young upstart punks in the Lower City of Taris was the only activity he had for months on end while he worked under Davik – even a little shout was sometimes all it took to subdue his so-called 'targets' then. No battle would ever again come close to the ones he held fondly in his memory.

Or could there be…?

But still, was battle all he had left to look forward to? Was there truly nothing that could satisfy him as much? What about Jena? Was she not also a Mandalorian? Did she not seem content – even happy – to live a simple life that wasn't wracked with war? Living a life of peace was not something that had ever crossed his mind since his first glorious battle. The concept itself felt so alien, and yet there was indeed a certain pull.

To live a life of peace…it seems so…so…

"Something wrong?" a voice called from behind, causing Canderous to break out of his thoughts and peer over his shoulder. It was Jena, slowly walking towards him. A tired look hung over her face, the pale white lights of the garage reflecting off her sky blue nightgown and light, see-through silken silver shawl which was draped over her shoulders.

"Heh. Not at all," he chuckled. "Just resting my arm. That blaster of mine may take a lot of handiwork to maintain, but it's still as tough as it always was."

"I swear, sometimes I wonder why you didn't marry that damn blaster instead of your wife – you were always fiddling with it every time I saw you," Jena joked, nudging him in the side and taking a seat right beside him. She looked at him up and down, noticing the change in attire. "Though I don't recall ever seeing you out of your armor." Her eyes glanced at his gear which lay neatly next to the workbench.

"The war's over. There's not much pride left in that thing," he sighed as he pointed at his armor, a tinge of regret in his voice. "Nor amongst our people, at that."

"You take it too harshly on yourself," Jena said, upbeat in comparison. "The result of the war is a sour medicine to swallow for someone like you – that I get. But you have to realize that there's more to life than war, Canderous. Even for Mandalorians, there always is. I wish you and Veela would understand that."

"…" Canderous stayed silent. He could already feel the shame and anguish swelling up in him, just as it did on that day Revan forced all of his people to their knees following Malachor.

"Seriously, what do you think you could've done? As great a commander you are, you're still just one man. Why do you blame yourself so much and put yourself through so much crap because of things that were out of your control?"

"Things were in my control," he shot back. "If only I had given Mandalore more of my counsel, instead of letting that darn Cassus have his way. That hothead cost us the war, and it was my fault that I didn't prevent him from…from…"

"Ugh…," Jena sighed deeply, massaging her temple which already began to throb with frustration. "I get what you're saying, but try to look at your situation from a different angle here. Your exile, staying away from planet Mandalore, staying away from your clan and family…why do you do it?"

Canderous remained silent for a moment, locked deep in thought and reflection. Honestly, even he couldn't provide a completely truthful answer to that question to her, let alone himself. With no other answer left, he repeated the same mantra he spoke whenever he was asked that question. "Until I restore my honor through my deeds, I can't return. I won't."

Disappointed, Jena looked away and muttered quietly under her breath. "Dar'manda…"

Canderous's ear twitched at what he thought he heard. "What did you just say?"

Jena spun around and glared right into his eyes. "I said…dar'manda."

Enraged at the very thought of someone insulting his honor, Canderous bounded to his feet, knocking over an adjacent crate with a thunderous clutter. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing! You, a deserter of all people, have the nerve to accuse me of being a—"

"Dar'manda. You heard me right the first time, commander," Jena stood up, placing her fists against her hips. "What, am I wrong? Tell me how I am, in that case."

"I never abandoned our principles. Our people are scattered and broken, with the clans holding on by a thread. You've got a lot of gall to even accuse me of—"

"That wasn't my question. I want to know how you are adhering to the the Resol'nare. Tell me, Canderous. Just how much of a true Mandalorian are you anymore? Tell me how you've upheld the Resol'nare."

His eyes narrowing, Canderous growled back. "I have answered the call of Mandalore time and again. It's meaningless, now that he is dead. I've given my life for my clan for more than forty years, receiving countless scars in the process. My pride has been restored now that I am able to don our people's armor once more. I speak to our people in our own language, although some no longer count as one of us anymore," he leaned forward towards her, expressing his contempt. "My son has been raised as a Mandalorian ought to, and I—" He stopped. It dawned on him.

"Turned tail and ran away as an exile after losing at Malachor, abandoning your clan, your wife, and your son," Jena said, crossing her arms. "Instead of staying with them so that you could protect your own family, you chose the path of a coward who's afraid of his own shadow. You can call me a hypocrite for criticizing you on this, but this is my life now. I can't return to Mandalore – I don't want to, even though I miss my sister with all my heart. I want to stay here with my husband and daughter, and I want our family to grow. This is my choice, and sooner or later you're going to have to make yours."

An empty can rolled slowly by Canderous's foot, its contents having fallen to the floor when he abruptly rose in anger. Part of his mind wanted to kick it away, but he held his nerve as he replied to Jena. "You said it yourself…what good can one man do? That's all I am anymore."

"The situation's changed since then," she said, walking forward and gently placing her hand on the shoulder of the warrior who peered down at her. "Right now, you're not needed as a warrior or an advisor to Mandalore. You're needed as a leader of your clan – someone whom they can trust and look up to. As much as I've tuned out from what's been happening to our people, I know deep down that unless you return to Clan Ordo and lead them, those damn Fetts are going to pull us all into something we'll end up regretting, if our people will even remain alive to be able to regret things. Although I'm from Clan Farr, I know all too well that your people need you. Veela needs you. Don't forsake them. If not for your own honor, then do it in Eileen's memory."

Eileen…

The very mention of his niece who perished while defending the helpless and frail Cathar struck a nerve in his conscience, not only because it was still a sore spot, but also because it began to stir strange feeling within him. Eileen died not in the search for glory and prestige, but to protect defenceless people to whom she owed absolutely nothing.

"Canderous? Are you alright?" Jena asked, noting the lengthy period of silent thought he was locked in.

"It's the strangest feeling, Jena," he muttered. "All this time I thought that I was staying away because of the shame of defeat at the hands of the Republic and the Jedi, but now that I reflect on it, it may have been for another reason altogether. I've had my senses knocked into me with fists before, but never with words like this. I stayed away because I felt shame…felt inadequate and unable to protect my own family and clan. I felt that my clan needed a fresh start under Veela as she was well and truly capable of leading them, and not a dismal failure like myself."

"Canderous," she said softly, looking into his eyes. "You are not a failure. You're the most valiant leader I know. There's not a single soul in my own former clan that can match up to you. If anyone can lead Clan Ordo to a better future, it's you. Go back to them. Do what you have to."

Canderous sighed deeply. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have been away for too long, wasting away on worlds like Taris. I'll keep in mind what you said – I promise you that."

"Sounds good," she smiled, then looked over Canderous's shoulder at the workbench. Tools were lying everywhere, and she just simply couldn't tell what he was trying to do with his repeating blaster which had parts disassembled everywhere. "Well, I guess I better leave you to whatever you were doing. And please, do have everything cleaned up after you're done."

"Heh…Alright, I will," he chuckled, smiling at her as she began to leave. "And Jena?" he said, prompting her to stop and look over her shoulder at him. "Thank you."

Jena grinned. For someone who was nicknamed 'Icecube' back in his heyday, Canderous was softer than she thought. "Ba'gedet'ye, al'verde," she spoke in their own language, walking away to tend to her daughter.

-o-

Transmission date & source: 09/08/35ABY, Dxun

Address to: 17/93 Bellin Spire, Helian East Esctor, Coruscant

Recipient: Celia Lars

Sender: Dean Lars

Dear mother,

It is finally over, and I can't describe just how glad I am for it. Hardly a soul left in our ranks still fears pain, death or hell. We've survived it all, right here on Dxun. For every single Mandalorian we've killed, we've sacrificed perhaps ten or more of our friends.

The sacrifices we've made are beyond describable. Benji, Clyve, Tom and Johnson…so many of the old school friends I grew up with are gone. Sharon and Tyreese were hoping to get married back on Coruscant after the end of this damned war. They're going back – just not in the way that all of us would've wished for them.

Whether this message to will make it back to you in its original state – if it even gets back to you at all – is beyond me. Whereas censorship of correspondences was quite tight back in the day, after what we've gone through on this planet, I don't think anyone really cares anymore. But honestly, who doesn't know about censorship in times of war?

It must be obvious to you that I'm feeling very bitter at this point. You'd be surprised to know, however, that despite losing so many of my friends to them, I don't feel much hatred towards the Mandalorians, if any. Hell, it even surprises me, mother. I guess it's because being here on Dxun for several gruelling months…it's opened my eyes. Opened all of our eyes.

Since day one of our enlistment in this fleet, we've been told that the Mandalorians were savage monsters, hellbent on conquest and murder. And here we were, the noble defenders and guardians of the Republic, sallying forth to protect the innocent and stop the beasts in their tracks. I wish it were like that. Truly, I wish that was the case. In reality, though, that was nonsense. At the end of it all today, we might as well have been looking at mirrors whenever we glared at the masks of the people we wanted to kill so badly.

Chivalry, morality, decency…none of that mattered at all today while we were scrapping up the remnants of the Mandalorian defenses we finally obliterated after so many failed attempts. The surviving Mandalorians scattered into the jungle – whether to find cover, hidden escape ships or something else, we didn't know or care. Our soldiers treated them as if they weren't even human. Everyone seemed to have lost all their humanity…except for me.

I came across a Mandalorian woman – badly wounded with a deep gash from a knife inflicted on her by a Republic soldier lying dead just a few feet away from her. I treated her wounds, even as she held her knife to my throat while fearing that I might kill her or even worse. I managed to bring her back to our medbay once she calmed down after disguising her, but even then she almost got killed by our vengeful marines until Commander Revan himself intervened. I've been looking out for her as often as I could since then in her POW cell when my duties allowed me. She's all by her lonesome, after all.

You're probably laughing at me a little now, mother, but it is what it is. Her name is Jena, and I've gotten to know her quite a fair bit over the past few days. It's the strangest feeling. Instead of the rampaging monster that the recruitment posters would've wanted me to believe her as being, she's just like one of us; another person with her own family that she holds dear. I've grown…fond of her, mother. Fond of her smile. It's probably just a young boy's crush and a false hope, though – she's an established and fierce warrior, and I'm just a petty combat medic.

Looking forward to seeing you again, as always.

Your son, Dean.

(-)

"Everything alright?" Jena inquired, leaning sideways and peering at her husband who was rummaging through their personal effects in their bedroom.

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, it's fine," Dean said, taken slightly by surprise. "I was just searching around for stuff that might help you tomorrow. After all, it's not just any ordinary scouting run out in the desert."

She smiled cheekily as she approached. "And you thought a good-luck note would provide the best defense? You're so adorable."

"It's not a good-luck note, it's…," he trailed off, feeling conflicting emotions as he took warmth in Jena's embrace from behind, coupled with sad nostalgia at the contents of the letter to his now-deceased mother.

"Oh," she exhaled, loosening her romantic hold around his torso. "Sorry for interrupting. I never realized that you were going over that again."

"It's alright," Dean smiled in a pained way. "Just came across it while I was going through my gear. Is everything okay with you, though?" He turned to her, slipping the old letter back into its place in the dresser drawer.

"Yeah," she nodded. "I slipped by Amy's room and she's fast asleep. Didn't expect her to doze off so quickly after being scared by that Jedi girl. What was her name again? Eh, forget it," she yawned, coiling a few strands of her bluish-black hair. "But really, what are you doing pulling out your equipment? I'm more than ready with my own gear on hand."

"I'm just…edgy, is all," he shrugged. "It's not just a matter of heading out there on a regular scouting run, like I said. Who knows – you might have to get up close with the Tuskens this time. And with them as company, I'm not sure that the Tuskens will keep their cool and such."

"Honey," Jena chuckled, gently placing a finger on his lips to silence him. "I've been through worse. Much worse. I've fought the most savage and brutal Iridonian warriors in close quarters combat. I've been in so many firefights, sustaining wounds I've lost count of. And I've survived hell on earth while stationed on Dxun, of all places. I think I can handle a bunch of Tuskens armed with pointy sticks and rusted-out blaster rifles."

"Darlin'," he whispered, gently holding her by the sides of her arms. "I know you can take care of yourself. Far better than me. It's just that I…I…"

"Adore me," she grinned, leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. "I know. But trust me – I'll be fine, you'll see. Everything will turn out good."

"Of course," he smiled back, feeling her close in for an embrace. "I know it will be."

But still, as he took comfort in her loving touch and scent as always, there would be a lingering sense of doubt deep inside him. And it just wouldn't go away.

-o-

Unfazed by the dangers he would have to face the next day, Trask Ulgo sat alone in the dark on a wooden rocking chair in the back corner of the dining room, a glass bottle of the now-rare Tarisian ale held in a gentle grasp in his right hand. A wooden analogue-clock ticked silently in the corner wall, the only sound to be heard in the room.

A proper talk with Kael to go over each of their exploits following the destruction of the Endar Spire was out of the question – Trask simply had no interest in Republic affairs anymore, much less those of the Jedi. Still plagued by a deep feeling of abandonment and betrayal, he shunned the idea of having others close by, preferring booze, cigars and the occasional pleasant company when the mood hit him.

He closed his intact left eye and leaned back, sighing deeply as he reflected on the tasks he would have to carry out the following day.

Find the correct Tusken camp…Find the pearl…Return to Anchorhead after locating the Star Map…And then…

"Don't you think you've had enough, soldier?" Bastila said as she stood at the doorway, breaking him out of his meditation. "Wouldn't want you missing all your targets tomorrow if the situation calls for it."

"Sweetheart…," he grinned and chuckled, looking downwards as he took another sip. "What makes you think I was completely sober earlier today? And besides, I'm not the one who got knocked out after a petty little Tusken raid."

Bastila's brow immediately tensed at the insult. She walked forward, stopping barely a few feet away from him as she protested. "This is serious, Ensign Ulgo. I don't know what the Sith did to you, nor do I even want to know exactly what happened to you. But let me make one thing clear – I don't want you sabotaging our mission all for the sake of a petty pearl. Got that?"

"Funny," he scoffed. "You seem to be so worked up about the thought of me betraying you all for the pearl. But think about it this way: how about me, hm? Was I not betrayed by you all when you left me to die on the Endar Spire? Did you, Kael, Elena or Carth give two shits about me before each of you scrambled for Taris aboard your escape pods? So why should I commit myself to your cause anymore? Business is business, and that should be it."

"You…! How could you…?" Bastila began to fume, incensed by his sheer lack of commitment to the war effort. "The war stands on the edge of a needle from being lost, and you're drowning yourself in petty spite?! What about your own family on Alderaan? Don't you care about them? Do you want them to share the same fate as Taris and Telos?"

Trask shrugged. "If that happens, statistics are statistics – just as I am to the Republic."

Having finally lost her temper, Bastila snatched the bottle of ale out of his hand, placing it hard onto the table behind her. She paced forward and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket as she seethed at him. "Don't give me that, Trask Ulgo. Don't think for one moment that you're the only one who's been through hell because of this war. Don't think that you're the only one to have sacrificed so much, only to be asked for more. I've survived more perilous missions than you could ever possibly imagine, begging in my mind for extra reinforcements although I knew that they could never be spared. I've seen my childhood friends from my Padawan days stabbed through the heart or beheaded by Dark Jedi right before my own eyes. Every single day I spend in this company means that I am unable to save the lives of countless soldiers and civilians with my Battle Meditation, and despite all my efforts, I'm hardly given anything other than a kind word by others. The spite you feel is nothing compared to the sorrow I have to live with every day. So don't give me your crap, Trask Ulgo. You will help us, and you will do your duty."

"Hmph. Interesting," he scoffed. "It's good to see that you understand exactly how I feel, Bastila. But I really have to ask this – whatever happened to your inner peace that you Jedi always flaunt as if you're top shit? All I seem to be getting right now is a shit-ton of emotion and passion. Not to mention the subtlest hint of blackmail."

Bastila withdrew with a lurch, ashamed of what she had just done. She quickly turned around, unwilling to face him. "Trask," she said softly in a complete turnaround. "Please. I'm asking you for just this one thing. Help us in finding the Star Map. After that, you can go whichever way you choose, and we won't bother you again."

Trask grimaced jokingly. "Why are you making a request? Wasn't that already a part of the bargain? That was my intention from the beginning anyway."

Bastila looked over her shoulder and gazed at his dishevelled state. Although it was only for a fleeting moment, she recalled seeing his profile in the database amongst the others serving aboard the Endar Spire. The professional soldier with uniform in good order and tidy cropped golden hair was well and truly gone. Before her was a wretch with borderline-white pale hair which lay in drooping locks everywhere, clad in dark, tattered robes that even Dark Jedi themselves would have shunned. How on earth Dean and Jena even tolerated having him as a guest was beyond her understanding.

"No, Bastila," he said, as if he read her mind. "Those days are gone, and I'm never going back even if you begged me on your knees...although I admit, that would be quite a pleasant sight," he grinned, taking in extra ecstasy as she squinted in disgust. "But yes, this is all that my life revolves around now, Bastila. Hunt. Kill. Collect. Sell. Spend on booze and Twi'lek dancers at the cantina, and get some extras on the side if said dancers are willing. Rinse and repeat."

Bastila stared at the clock, that cold object which reminded her that time was not intending to wait for her. Their quest, the Republic, the fate of the galaxy itself…time was running out for everything around her. Especially when it came to the question of when and by whom he would have the truth revealed to him.

"It's a lost cause, you know," Trask dismissed. "Why do you keep on fighting when you know there's no hope? Especially when you don't get anything out of it for yourself, like you said?"

Bastila looked at him in his one good eye. "Because it's the right thing to do. I am a Jedi. My duty is to protect those in need."

His eyes shot up. "Like hell, that definitely helped the people of Taris, Telos and countless other places, yeah? Your head is so high up in the clouds that you might as well hire someone to build a city for you amongst them."

She glared at him. "Just what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that you should really learn to take a step back from it all and disengage yourself from this fight of yours for at least one minute. Just think – who and what are you defending, and what would be the correct course to take to ensure their survival? If saving lives is your top priority, then would aiming to win a war by fighting tooth and nail truly be your best option? Have you ever thought of following…I don't know… a different path?"

"No…you don't mean…"

"Oh, I'm afraid I do," he nodded. "Like you suggested, you just can't save everyone out there. But what if you surrender? Defect? Wouldn't it make sense to defect and bring a swift end to the war, thereby saving countless lives from Malak's wrath? Would Taris and Telos have been destroyed had they gone over willingly?"

"How can you even consider that?!" she scolded. "The Sith, they are…they are…!"

"Evil. No shit," he rolled his eyes. "Still, who cares if they win? A fair bit more surveillance and oppression. Taxes higher by a sliver amount. Regime and government changes here and there. What, exactly, would change dramatically so as to make life unbearable? Sure, Malak may be a tyrant, but he surely wouldn't be a fucking psychopath who wants to outright kill everything. You really should learn to think rationally here, Bastila."

"Enough," Bastila hissed, pointing her finger at his face. "Say no more, Trask Ulgo. I've had my doubts in you ever since we saw you again, but now you're really pushing it."

"If you insist," he sighed, sinking back and slumping deeper against his chair. "But keep in mind one thing. The Republic is dead to me. And if a new sun rises over the horizon, whether it is good or evil in your eyes, I won't shy away – I'll embrace it. For better or for worse. Now…," he raised his hand up, beckoning to something as he looked past her side. "I'd like to get back to my business, if that's alright with you."

With a grunt, Bastila took up his bottle of ale again and handed it to him. She turned to leave, shooting him one last remark. "We leave in the morning. Don't be a burden and hung over."

Trask smirked after he saw the Jedi depart, whispering as an ominous cloud of darkness seemed to follow after her. "Oh, I won't be a burden. But you soon will be."

-o-

Bastila trudged through the living room towards the open courtyard, her fingers involuntarily twitching as stared at the floor the whole time, frightened of herself and what she could do. She admittedly held no great love for the Council or the Order – not when compared to Elena and Revan, let alone her father whom she desperately wanted to find. Time and again the Council had offered her little other than words of encouragement or mild praise despite the sheer scale of victories her Battle Meditation had brought to the Republic, and the spite inside her was growing daily. However, Trask's words were utterly ridiculous, so abhorrent that she wished to take him into custody then and there, dragging him by his messy hair to face a tribunal for treason.

Still, the indignation…the unfairness of it all…it irritated her. Constantly.

Desperate to purge the dark thoughts from her mind, she decided to look for Elena, hoping to let her old mentor's soothing words calm her spirit. With no other person to be seen or heard in the main courtyard as she was about to enter it, she opted to head back to the bedroom she was occupying earlier, reasoning that Elena would be somewhere close by.

She didn't have to look far.

Just as she came to the archway which connected the living room to the courtyard, she saw Elena towards the right, sobbing as she ran to the bedrooms straight ahead. A door closed with audible noise shortly after she disappeared into the corridor.

And once Bastila walked out further and into the courtyard, she turned right to behold a sight she wished she hadn't witnessed.

Kael, with a blank look on his face, holding in his right hand the necklace that Elena had treasured more than anything over the past two years.

A/N: Very happy to be back and provide you guys with another chapter to this story. It seems that so many other writers were going through a lot, with both work and life in general keeping us away from this place. I'm glad to see that a lot of my favorite fellow KOTOR writers like Renee Enderson and R. Constance are back with updates – Atruya's the only one I'm waiting on still.

Yes, the cat's out of the bag now!...Or at least it's in the process of being yanked out fully. Still, quite honestly I'm eager to write on Kashyyyk most of all, as that's the place where I deviate almost completely away from the KOTOR canon quests. It definitely also won't be as happy an ending as in the game, or other fanfics which have explored it, for that matter. I've been heavily influenced by The Walking Dead TV series which I'm gotten into the past few months, just so you know where I'm heading. I've also come to strongly dislike saintly-good endings lately.

It was the most fun writing Trask's lines in this chapter, followed by Canderous and Jena's exchange. I've been thinking of the Wolf in The Walking Dead (the one that Morgan let live in Season 6, if you follow the show) as well as Alarak in Starcraft II: Legacy of the Void while writing Trask's lines, since I can't help but like their characters so much. It also helps in making Bastila's descent a more gradual development, rather than the (somewhat unreasonably) sudden shift we saw in the original game.

I'll try to work on the next update as soon as possible when I have the time. Can't believe it's been half a year since I updated this . Until next time!