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XXXII.

The Games Begin

"I had the Handmaiden send the message to Atris. The Jedi were found, and she should come to Dantooine for Council. But we heard no word of reply from the historian, and none from the other Echani. The Handmaiden was worried.

When we landed on Dantooine, I asked the Administrator, and she said there had been no ship from Telos. But Zez-Kai Ell and Kavar had arrived. They were all three staying up at the old Enclave. I set out to go there. Everyone wanted to go with me, of course, but it didn't feel right to me, that time. Once I knew the Jedi had returned to the ruins of the Enclave, it was like it didn't belong to the others yet. The Council, what had happened to the Jedi, wasn't something I'd shared with them. I knew they'd have to meet the Council eventually, but the first time we all met, I wanted it to only be those Jedi that had been Jedi before, those that knew what we had lost, and what we fought. That meant just Kreia. And I—

"Force, tell me you didn't take her!" Aithne interjected.

Darden looked down. Her tanned face was grave. "I can't tell you that, Aithne, because I did. It was the Peragus fuel tunnels all over again. I was so busy focusing on where I was going I didn't see what was around me. I didn't kill the old Jedi Masters. But taking Kreia to the old Enclave that day directly led to their deaths."

"How could you miss that? Darden—even if she had wanted to take the Sith Lords that had betrayed her first, serving her up all the Jedi Masters on a silver platter like that—it was just too good of an opportunity to miss! I'd've killed them, too—if I'd been Sith at the time. Oh, Darden." Aithne shook her head, torn between pity and incredulity.

"Yeah, it was stupid," Atton said plainly. "But if she hadn't taken Kreia, I bet the witch would've snuck out anyway to kill the Jedi, and if we'd tried to stop her it wouldn't have gone well. We found out later we hadn't learned near enough to take Kreia on. And in the end, I think the old witch saved Darden when she did kill the Jedi. You'll see. I think the way things turned out on Dantooine was best all around, even if it might not seem that way."

"Thanks, Atton, but that doesn't change the fact that I was reprehensibly and unforgivably stupid," Darden said. "I know, Aithne."

Aithne shook her head again. She extended a hand toward Darden, then dropped it. "Just…tell me what happened," she ordered.

I didn't even have to enter the Enclave to recognize the arrival of the Masters. When I'd stood there six weeks before, all that had remained of the Enclave was a ruin and a door to a laigrek-infested sublevel. Now the walls of the main level had been built up. I could feel the energy of the Force that had been used to begin the reconstruction. There was much left to do, of course. The walls were still carbon-scorched and green with the ivy that had grown over the broken stones as they lay demolished around the corpses of the Jedi. There was still no roof. But it was being rebuilt. I could still feel the incredible death, loss, and sadness of the place, but there was a cleanliness, too, that had not been there before.

"They have arrived," I told Kreia. "Come on."

We went into the Enclave.

I hadn't expected it to still be beautiful. The walls were broken, the air was heavy with death and despair. I could sense the Sith lasers that had fallen on the building and the people in it like rain. I could hear the echoes of the Jedi that had cried out, died, and become one with the Force in bursts of anger, fear, and sadness. But it was still beautiful. Wildflowers grew through the cracked and broken stone floor. Ivy hung on the crumbling, fragmented walls. The sun was bright, and it bathed the scene with serene light. The tree in the center of the Enclave had been cut down, but the blackened stump was beautiful, too, peaceful. A wind blew through the ruins, carrying the scent of the summer plains through the open spaces.

Kreia seemed transfixed. Her breathing was shallow. She stumbled forward to the stump. Her single hand flet out for it, and she sat on the broken rim of the massive marble enclosure that once completely encircled the tree. "It…it is different," she said, stumbling over words choked with emotion. "It has been some time. Forgive me, but I need to rest. Go on…the Council awaits. I will remain here."

The foreboding I had felt since Korriban swelled. I knelt in front of her. "Kreia…what? You're…you're afraid."

Kreia had always been there, a solid, irritating presence, utterly sure, utterly convinced she was correct. But now she seemed uncertain. She was trembling. Still she managed a tight, dry-lipped smile.

"Yes, afraid for you." Her words had the familiar cynical bite, though she was in deadly earnest. "As I always have been. Go. I will be find here. Whatever answers the Council have are for you alone."

I took her hand. "Kreia, what's going on? I can help you. We don't have to be—"

"—I am tired," Kreia interrupted. She pulled her hand away. Reluctantly, I stood. "The journey has been a long one, and I need to center myself."

"As you wish, then."

I knew where the Council would be, but as I turned to go, Kreia's voice followed me. "Know that much may happen here, but above all, do not forget this: you may trust in me. We cradle each other's lives, and what threatens one of us, threatens us both."

The sentiment behind the words was as genuine as Kreia's fear, but the words themselves were a smokescreen, a vague reassurance of their bond, an insistence of the value of our one-sided relationship, and it infuriated me.

But Kreia allowed no interruption. "And if you find you cannot trust in me," she added, "Trust in your training. Trust in yourself. Never doubt what you have done. All your decisions have brought you to this point. And now, perhaps, they shall see what you have become." The last words faded to little more than a whisper.

I wondered what she meant, but I stepped away.

I passed through the corridor to the sunlit council chamber. I first met all the Masters of the Enclave when they moved me from Coruscant in that room. That was the room where Kavar told me at eleven that I was to be his Padawan Learner, the room to which I returned after years of traveling with him, when the Mandalorian Wars had gotten very serious. That was the room in which I and the others confronted the Council when we decided to defy them to follow Revan. That's the room where the Jedi Masters died.

The Jedi Masters were sadly diminished. Their faces were lined, their robes were torn. They looked…they looked like exiles, war-torn, broken, and full of regret. Once again, I wondered where Atris was.

Kavar looked at me with his kind, humor-filled eyes, but they were full of the same pity I'd seen briefly on Onderon, and I suddenly had a very bad feeling. "We were wondering when you would arrive," Kavar said.

All of the Masters looked so serious I wanted to cry, but I forced humor into my voice anyway. "You're one to talk, Master. I went to Telos, came to Dantooine, and left before you got here, and we left Onderon at the exact same time. What'd you do? Take a tour of the galaxy first?" I tried to laugh, but it wouldn't come, so I crossed the floor to stand in the center of the ruined rotunda, a Knight reporting to the Masters. "I looked for Vash. She's dead."

"That is a misfortune," Kavar said. "Nor has Atris arrived. Nevertheless, we have talked together. We have determined that after all that has happened, we will answer your questions. I imagine you have many."

"Or perhaps you have come for revenge," Vrook said darkly.

Aithne, I'd known the man since I was a child. He taught me as a Youngling. I'd striven for his approval, but only then did I realize that he did not know me at all, only the person he thought I was. Zez-Kai Ell and Kavar were embarrassed, though. They knew that if I had wanted to take revenge, I would have done it already. Kavar knew that I blamed no one so much as myself, and beyond embarrassed, he seemed actually pained.

"Revenge?" I managed finally. "No. Never that. But I do want to know what it was that you alluded to in that record of my trial, that all of you said you couldn't tell me unless you were all assembled. Why did you cast me out of the Order?"

"We cast you out of the Order because you followed Revan to war," Vrook said harshly. "There was no other reason."

I opened my mouth to object, but the ever-honest Zez-Kai Ell was already correcting Vrook. "No, there was another. You had become different, somehow, changed. The war had changed you."

"You were no longer a Jedi," Kavar said, and his words cut like a lightsaber. I looked at him, incredulous that he would say such a thing. Every word seemed to cost him, but he continued. "But we could not tell you why. Some explanations mean nothing unless the one who suffers comes to the answer on their own. What had happened to you was punishment enough, and the Jedi do not kill their prisoners."

In Zez-Kai Ell I sensed all the self-loathing, the condemnation of the Jedi he had spoken of on Nar Shaddaa. "And if you had stayed, you would have changed us, and that we could not allow."

"What? I was at your mercy. What could I have possibly done to change the Jedi?" I asked.

Vrook's face was like flint. He shot a glare at Kavar before facing me, his mouth a thin line, his voice ringing and accusatory. "You already know the answer. You have noticed it in those who travel with you."

My mouth went dry. "What? What are you talking about?"

In the back of my head, six minds came alive suddenly, attuned to my distress.

"Have you noticed that when you act, others follow?" Zez-Kai Ell asked, gently. Somehow his gentleness was worse than Vrook's judgment.

Kavar's face was worse than Zez-Kai Ell and Vrook combined, though. From him I felt sorrow, compassion, pity, despair, and I knew that this meeting would not end with a decision on how to combat the Sith, but another judgment of me.

"Those that travel with you—"Kavar started.

"They follow you without question, without hesitation," Zez-Kai Ell finished.

"Against their intincts, and sometimes against their sense," Vrook added ruthlessly.

As they spoke, I remembered how Canderous was always telling me that he wasn't my friend, that he wasn't bound to me, but had followed my orders every time I'd given him one. Mira had left everything on Nar Shaddaa, a job she loved, without explanation. Bao-Dur had left important work as well, just to be my soldier again. Visas had abandoned a very dangerous Sith Lord to follow me. The Handmaiden had broken her oath to the mistress she loved, despite every deep-seated reason she had never to betray anyone. Mical had been waiting for me for years. And Atton had hated everything I did at first, yet he risked everything for me time and again, changed even, to be what I wanted him to be.

Kavar started to comfort me, "It is because you are a leader," he started, then stopped. He wasn't there to comfort me, but to pass judgment. "But that still fails to grasp the meaning of what I am trying to tell you."

I spoke out of a dry, sour mouth. "I didn't ask for this. I'm nobody's General. Not anymore."

"Perhaps not," Vrook conceded. "But it is not that to which we are referring. You are familiar with Force Bonds. These are the Bonds that develop between apprentice and Master, when one truly understands another. They are developed over time, through understanding of others. Yet you form them so easily, and we do not know why."

"I don't know, either—"I began hotly, but Kavar spoke over me.

"You make connections through the Force, and it resonates with those who travel with you. The resonance is even greater when they, too, are Force Sensitive." He'd lied, when he'd pretended to support my training of the others on Onderon. Or if he had not, he'd changed his mind. Or had it changed for him.

"Your actions affect others more than you know," Zez-Kai Ell said. "You draw others to you, especially those strong in the Force."

"When you suffer, their spirit echoes it," Kavar said. "And when they are in pain, their pain becomes yours."

Six minds were in my head, wondering frantically what was wrong. They could feel my anxiety. "So I draw others to me through the Force," I said. "Can't we use that to strengthen the Jedi? Why do I get the sense that you see this as a really bad thing?"

I could tell Kavar wanted nothing more than to sit me down, make me a cup of caffa, and talk about things the way he had talked with me about my weaknesses when I was a girl of twelve. Gently, wisely, with a focus on the positives, on the ways the Force could guide me through. But I wasn't his Padawan anymore. I was the Exile, and whatever they were leading up to, it was the reason I'd been exiled. Kavar wasn't my Master, he was a Master, passing judgment, even if it broke both our hearts.

"This bond—it travels both ways," he said. "When you feel pain, or strong emotion, it resonates within you."

"And that is why the Mandalorian Wars echo within you still," Zez-Kai Ell said heavily.

My brain kicked into high gear. Echo. I'd heard the word over and over again in my travels. And I'd felt the war-wounds resonating out from the worlds I'd traveled on since my return. The pieces had shifted in my mind for some time. When I'd seen the record of my trial, when I'd talked to Zez-Kai Ell, and then Kavar. Now they cemented together to form a very ugly picture.

"You die every time you lose a soldier."

"She is not a person anymore; she is not anything anymore! We have won, and she is just another casualty. Yet you will let her cost us still more?"

"You couldn't fight if you wanted to, Leona. Not now. You stand here now, you speak, but you're dead. You died at Malachor."

"I certainly won't waste my time trying to wreak revenge on the shell of the woman that was once my friend and ally. Go."

"I can't say 'May the Force be with you,' because it's not..."

"The Dark Side is not what I sensed in Darden Leona. Surely the rest of you felt it, as well. That emptiness we felt—she has changed."

"You were a Jedi no longer, and so you were exiled."

"You are exiled, and you are a Jedi no longer."

"You are a Jedi no longer." Over and over I'd heard the words. I'd said the words. It had never once occurred to me that they were not a sentence, but rather, a definition. Aithne, nearly twelve years ago, I went to the Council on Coruscant already severed from the Force. Nearly twelve years ago, I left you severed from the Force. There was no Jedi that severed me from the Force as Nomi Sunrider did to Ulic Qel-Droma. What happened to me was different, and Jedi and Sith alike didn't understand it, and were repulsed by it. In that Council Chamber, I finally started to understand.

"I remember!" Aithne exclaimed. "You were nothing, literally! It was like you didn't exist, Darden—not Light Side, not Dark, not even blind to the Force. You were a total nonentity, a hole in the Force! It was terrifying! But now…" She searched Darden's face. Darden felt the other woman probing at her with the Force. "Now you still are," she murmured, "But you aren't, at the same time."

"We're getting there," Darden said. She looked ancient, incredibly weary.

"But when I said you die every time you lose a soldier, I meant it."

"Very literally."

Aithne looked at Darden, and her face twisted in guilt and regret. "And I needed it, so I didn't stop you," she said. "Darden—I—"

"It was my choice," Darden said. Then she continued.

"My ability with Bonding. Revan said once—I die every time they do. That's why they follow me. But it wasn't just a figure of speech, was it?"

Vrook confirmed it mercilessly. "We did not cut you off from the Force. You were merely deafened to it, because of that last battle of the Mandalorian Wars."

"The screams of countless thousands, Jedi and Mandalorians, crushed by the planet's gravity, annihilated."

I didn't need Zez-Kai Ell's words to picture it. I can still see it every day, every night, every minute, whenever I close my eyes.

"Their lives still scream across the surface of that dead planet, and within you," Kavar said grimly. "To hear the Force over such pain is not possible. It was too much for any Jedi to endure, and it is a wonder that you did not die there when thousands perished, all those you had fought with and struggled with. You cut yourself off, because you had to if you were to survive. You had hints of it in the war on Dxun. Malachor was simply the final blow."

His words were a blow, and I staggered beneath it. A door opened in my mind, then, and I felt Kreia's pride and exultation wash over me in waves even as I felt numb from the revelation.

"You were deafened," Vrook said.

At last, you could hear.

"You were broken," Kavar told me.

You were whole.

"You were blinded," Zez-Kai Ell finished.

And at last, you saw.

"When you returned to us, we saw what had happened," Vrook went on. "You carry all those deaths at Malachor within you, and it has left a hole, a hunger that cannot be filled."

"In you, we saw a wound in the Force," Kavar said.

"In you, we saw the end of the Force," Zez-Kai Ell added.

I found I was crying, though I still felt so horribly numb. It was all so wrong, though. I felt the Force, it was present again. I'd been better, ever since my return from exile. Yet the three men still looked at me with the same revulsion they'd looked at me with eleven years before, only changed insofar as they seemed to lack the confusion they had displayed that day.

"I…I sense you are correct about how I lost my connection to the Force, why it happened," I stammered. "But it's over. I came back to the Force. I can feel it again now. I'm not a…I'm not a wound."

Vrook's eyes flashed. "Yes, you can feel the Force," he retorted. "But you cannot feel yourself. You are a cipher, forming bonds, leeching the life of others, siphoning their will and dominating them. It is the teaching of these new Sith, to feed on others, on other Force Sensitives. They are symptomatic of the wound in the Force. You are a breach which must be closed. You transmit your pain, your suffering through the Force. Within you we see something worse than merely the teachings of the Sith. What you carry may mean the death of the Force…and the death of the Jedi."

In a way, it made sense. The new Sith did track Jedi by their Force Sensitivity. Their mode of attack had to seem similar to the way I bond to others. But I knew Vrook was wrong, too, not just because it was too horrible to contemplate. I couldn't explain to him, however, what I myself didn't understand. "It's not me, Vrook. It isn't! If I transmit my pain through the Force, it only means I feel it, not that I'm…a wound, a hole, some weird Force vacuum. I do know myself, no one better. And my friends aren't weaker for my influence. If anything, I—"

Kreia's exultation still reverberated in my head, and I realized Vrook wasn't the only one that believed I might be the death of the Force and the Jedi. I'd wondered again and again why she'd sought me. I'd heard her speak of the will of the Force as though she hated it. Kreia had urged me time and again to rely on myself, separate from the Force, for all she taught the techniques. But if she bought into Vrook's theory, then Mical's theory about the war-torn worlds as a machine, a way to amplify death made sense. She sought to amplify it…in me, and broadcast the wound in the Force the Jedi thought I was across the stars through my bonding ability, destroy the Force completely.

But the Council wasn't finished.

"It is not the strength of a Jedi you feel," Vrook sneered.

Revulsion, condemnation, anger, even hatred twisted his face. Zez-Kai Ell saw it, and was ashamed, but he didn't contradict the statement. "He's right. It's…it's all the death you've caused to get here. You feed on it, and you grow stronger. You're like Malachor. It's in you. It's what you are now. You must have noticed as you've fought your way across all these planets, killing hundreds, only to become more and more powerful. Why did you think that was?"

Even Kavar didn't let me defend myself. "But what's worse is that the bonding you have hasn't gone away. It's gotten stronger, and the more attachments you form, the more you draw others to you."

"And that is why you are a threat to us all," Vrook said, concluding the explanation and opening judgment.

I had thought that we would meet to determine what to do with the Sith. But it seemed such a determination was too difficult. It was far easier to blame me once again for the Jedi Civil War and the fallout when I hadn't done anything. The three men that once had been Jedi would rip me apart, instead of the Sith, because I was in that room and the Sith were not.

"What if other Jedi went to war as you did, suffered the same events, and emerged as you did?" Vrook demanded. "What if there was a crucible that trained such Jedi to consume and kill."

Again, he was right, if only partially. That's exactly what happened. The Sith Lords—Sion, Nihilus, even Kreia, I think—were spawned by the Mandalorian Wars. Sion learned of pain, Nihilus of hunger from what happened there. I couldn't argue with their reasoning, only their application of it to me.

"For you, Malachor was that crucible," Zez-Kai Ell said.

Kavar aged by the second, but still he held strong, determined against me. I couldn't stop crying. Aithne, that day, the men we knew weren't Jedi Masters. They were witch-hunters, and I was the closest thing to a witch they had. "What's worse is that these Sith we face have learned the lesson of Malachor all too well," Kavar said. "It is what allows them to prey on Force users, to become stronger when Force Sensitives are near."

"Somehow they learned their hunger from you. And so you have brought about the end of the Jedi, and perhaps all the knowledge of the Force," Vrook said grimly. "But it is of no consequence. Your ability to form such connections, such bonds so easily is why you cannot remain. You are a threat to all living creatures, and all who feel the Force."

Vrook was consumed with anger and grief for all the loss that the Jedi had sustained since the Mandalorian Wars. To him, I was only a symbol of everything he'd fought and failed against, except he had the power to defeat me.

"You will lead the Sith here, and that we cannot allow," said Zez-Kai Ell.

Zez-Kai Ell didn't hate me. He hated himself. And I think, deep inside, Zez-Kai Ell knew that what the non-Council had resolved upon was wrong. But fear had ruled Zez-Kai Ell for a long time. He knew that he would never be a Jedi again after what they would do to me, and even that he might never be a man again. But nevertheless, his strong conscience was not stronger than his fear.

"Our judgment before you remains, Exile," Vrook said in a ringing voice. "You must leave, and you must leave without your tie to the Force. It is a punishment reserved for only a few, and only when necessary, but we have the power to cut you off from the Force, and it must be done."

Kavar wouldn't look at me. "Forgive us," he whispered. "But it is necessary."

Kavar knew they were wrong, too. He knew he was betraying everything we had meant to one another. Even as he asked my forgiveness, he knew it could never be given, even though I had forgiven the exile. He knew that if we ever met again, he could not claim to be my Master and friend, as he had done on Onderon. But like I said, it made sense. Kavar could not see past the correlations between me and the Sith to see the differences. He was blinded. They all were.

"You would make this judgment?" I choked out. "Do you truly believe that I am what you say? Or do you just not understand what you see? War and Sith have killed nearly all the Jedi. I understand that you are afraid. But is it truly I, and I alone, that must be blamed, and punished? Or am I all you have?"

Vrook's eyes flashed, Zez-Kai Ell looked troubled, and Kavar flushed. But none of them answered. They knew I deserved the chance to speak.

"Despite what you all believe of me, I am not what I did at Malachor, or even what I still feel because of it," I said, grateful my voice was solidifying, grateful I would be brave at the end. "I am a General no longer. I am done with war and have been for years, and everything I have done this year I have done in the interest of self-defense, and for the protection of the Jedi. Because I am done with war, I do not fight you now. Because I wish to protect the Jedi, I will submit to your judgment. I know that I can survive."

I knelt before the three men, because there was no center stone to plunge my lightsaber into this time, to tell them how far they'd fallen, how they were no longer a Council worthy of respect and reverence. "I will not ask if you know what you impose upon me. I know you do, because it is what above all things you most fear will befall you. I submit, but I tell you that you are no Masters, and that you are Jedi no more than I. And you are wrong."

For just a moment I thought Kavar might stop them. But then Vrook extended his hand, and I went numb as he cast me in Stasis. Kavar squared his shoulders then, ever the soldier following the senior officer. The three men stepped closer together.

"Do not be afraid," Vrook intoned. "You shall feel no pain, but this must be done. As long as you feel the Force, you are a danger to those around you."

I closed my eyes, preparing once more to die before actually dying. I felt out for the Force all around me, feeling Life for one more glorious moment. I swear I thought the stars sang.

"Enough!" Kreia's voice rang out like a bell from the doorway. "Step away from her."

I was still held in Stasis. I couldn't move. I didn't know what I wanted to do, even if I could. Sickening relief pulsed through me that Kreia would save me from the Jedi, and it warred with the horrible realization that she could act now, now, instead of after I'd taken on the Sith, that all that was left of the Old Order was in danger because of me, and that I couldn't move to help them. I couldn't speak, couldn't turn my head to look at Kreia behind me. But I saw the three men in front of me. Their faces changed, and I knew Kreia had dropped her disguise. Whatever she'd done with the Force to keep them from knowing her she'd stopped. They recognized her, and they were angry and afraid.

Kavar's lightsabers slid out, but he did not attack. "I thought you had died in the Mandalorian Wars," he said.

"Die—no! Became stronger, yes!" Kreia cried.

Vrook's lightsaber activated, too. He addressed me. "Is this your new Master, Exile? If so, then you follow Revan's path. Her teachings will cause you to fall as surely as she did."

I don't understand why he said that. I thought Vrook had thought that I was already fallen. I thought he saw me as the symbol of all the Sith he couldn't defeat, and that was why he was ready to strip me of the Force. I never got the chance to ask him, though. No one released me from Stasis. Kreia was a threat. They thought releasing me would double it. I don't know if it would have or not, Aithne. My instinct was to protect them, even then, but if they'd challenged me—I don't know. I killed everyone in the cave. I defend myself. I survive.

"She is difficult to see," Zez-Kai Ell muttered. "She is like a shadow of the Exile. We sought to lure the Sith out, and now they have come to us." He, too, activated his lightsaber. But the noble idiots didn't attack. They waited for Kreia to make her move.

She paced, catlike, behind me. "How could you ever have hoped to know the threat you faced when you have never walked in the Dark places of the galaxy, faced war and death on such a scale? If you had traveled far enough, rather than waiting for the echo to reach you, perhaps you would have seen it for what it was. Did you not hear its call on Dantooine, Vrook, on its scarred surface and in the minds of the settlers? I have endured the corruption of my other students. You shall not have this one."

I felt a wave of fear from Vrook, and his face went rigid. His eyes turned glassy, and the grip on me loosened. I was able to blink, and I felt the sun on me again. Kreia had put him in Stasis. I tried to wrench my teeth apart, but they were still immobile.

"And you, Kavar," Kreia taunted. "So close to the call of Dxun. Tell me: did you not feel what poured from the moon, what had taken place there?"

Kavar raised his arm to attack, but too late. His lightsabers fell to the ground, humming, as he, too, was immobilized. Zez-Kai Ell rushed Kreia, but I was released all at once as Kreia froze him, too.

"Kreia, don't—"

She didn't want any interruptions. She put me right back into Stasis, and stepped forward. "Zez-Kai Ell," she said. "To hide on Nar Shaddaa, yet blind yourself to all that happens there. So close to understanding the Force…so close to giving it up."

She turned to me then, and came very close. She'd drawn back her for the second time since I'd met her. You'd think I'd have seen her face in the full light of day before in the almost-year we'd traveled together. But no. She'd always kept that damn hood on, even when she slept. Her face was terrible—not ugly, but horribly proud, and contorted with hate and loss. Her silver hair was elaborately arranged, and her blind eyes glittered white.

She stroked the side of my paralyzed face with her single, dry, withered hand. "So close to giving it up," she repeated, more softly. I couldn't even shudder as the certainty dropped into my stomach like a stone from a hundred meters up that Kreia was come to kill all that remained of the old Order, and that I'd led her right to them.

She turned away again. "There is a place in the galaxy where the Dark Side of the Force runs strong," she said slowly. "It is something of the Sith, but it was fueled by war. It corrupts all that walk upon its surface, drowns them in the power of the Dark Side. It corrupts all life, and it feeds on death. Revan knew the power of such places, and the power in making them. They can be used to break the will of others, of Jedi, promising them power, and turning them to the Dark Side.

"Did you never wonder how Revan corrupted so many of the Jedi, so much of the Republic, so quickly?" she continued. "The Mandalorian Wars were a series of massacres that masked another war, a war of conversion. Culminating into a final atrocity that no Jedi could walk away from, save one."

She looked at me again. I directed my thought at her frantically, screaming at her with my mind.

You knew her, and you think the Mandalorian Wars worked like that on purpose? How can you see everything in such a dark and bitter light! Stop! It doesn't have to be like this! If the Wars were a machine, like they think—like Mical thinks—so that's why you've been hiding from him—it wasn't one operated by Revan! She fell prey to it like all the—"

Kreia came close again. "But I see what happened now." In my ear, she whispered venomously. "It is because you were afraid."

Afraid of power? Unwilling to wield the Dark Side, to be the person I was at Malachor? Damn right I was afraid of that, but it wasn't cowardice! I did what I did because it was necessary to save others, but I destroyed so many. I refused to stay a destroyer, and I refused to be destroyed. Stopping there isn't cowardice, Kreia! Kreia! I know you can hear me! Stop this! You can stop this!

Her blind eyes looked directly down into mine, and her thin lips, the color of dried blood, curled. Then she turned to the frozen Council, and declared in a loud voice. "As you would pass judgment on her, I have come to pass judgment on you all. Do you wish to feel the teachings born of the Mandalorian Wars? Of all wars, of all tragedies that scream across the galaxy? Let me show you—you who have forever seen the galaxy through the Force. See it through the eyes of the Exile."

A hungry scream of death and destruction ripped through Kreia through the Force. Hearing it, I knew nothing could survive. I reacted instinctively, and the bonds on me broke like strings. I fell to the stones.

I presume death washed over me, like at Malachor, like the Jedi that died on Dantooine when I was wandering the edges of the galaxy. But I couldn't feel it. I couldn't feel anything. The silence echoed in my ears until it deafened. The lack of feeling set my senses shrieking, and I blacked out.

As I did, what hurt the most wasn't that the Council had been right, and that I had cut myself off from the Force, that I could do that and the Sith had learned from me. It wasn't wrong, what I did. I'm not a wound that beams Malachor all across the galaxy with my bonding ability, though I suppose I could be.

No, what hurt the most was that I'd brought a madwoman and a Sith to the last of the Jedi, and that they were all going to die, and probably the others, too.

"So you cut yourself off from the Force. That's what happened?" Aithne was still examining Darden's aura, trying to figure out what it meant.

Darden blinked. Atton tensed, but Aithne outright recoiled as all of a sudden she couldn't feel anything around the smaller woman. It was like looking at a vacuum, a black void, a hole in the fabric of reality, and out of it, death, loss, and raw, bleeding pain emanated forth.

"Yes. I never got it back," Darden said. "Not really."

Aithne took several long, deep breaths. She shuddered once. Then, slowly, she wrapped her arms around Darden and held on tight. "Darden, the Force is not with you."

Darden waited until Aithne let her go. "No, it's not," she replied then, quite calmly. "It can be, but it has to be given. It doesn't exist within me anymore."

"So the leeching?"

Darden nodded. "Mmm. Only partially true. My bonding ability has to do with the way I relate to others and to life around me, not to the Force. The more connected I am to others and to my environment, the more I can feel the Force, through my connections. That's why as I adapted to no longer being alone, became more and more myself again after my exile, I grew stronger and stronger in the Force. It wasn't the killing, it was the connectivity to my friends and to the galaxy," Darden explained. "It doesn't weaken the source I take the Force from, however. It's like I sort of…reflect it back, almost. At least as much as the others and I can figure."

"We all poked at it a while, after everything was over," Atton said. "Dustil, too. She wouldn't go on unless we did. As far as we can tell, if she wanted to, she probably could drain everything around her of the Force, but she doesn't, because it's not who she is."

Aithne considered this. "And Malachor?" she asked then. "What you feel? I can sense it."

"Yes, but it doesn't hurt," Atton said. "We can all sense it, but it doesn't hurt us, and we took a poll and decided that we definitely all do crazy things for Darden because we're masochistic and insane, not because she's controlling us through our Force bonds."

Aithne laughed.

"Seriously, though, there's no compulsion. Well, no Force compulsion, anyway," he said.

"So would it even have worked?" Aithne asked. "Stripping you of the Force? Since any connection you have is secondary to begin with?"

"Mical, Dustil, and Visas don't think so, and they're the ones that understood it best," Atton answered. "But if they'd delved deep enough, tried to root out the connections that enable her to draw off the Force in others, Mical thinks the Jedi might actually have burned Darden's mind out. She could've ended up a vegetable, or worse."

Aithne stared at the opposite wall, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. "Sometimes there is no right answer," she mused. "I mean, Darden was wrong to take Kreia to the Enclave. The Jedi were wrong to try to strip her of the Force, especially since they knew she wasn't connected to it, anyway. Kreia was wrong to kill them. But if she hadn't—"

"Yeah," Darden agreed quietly. "It was a mess all around. That about covers it." Her mental barriers came down and she reached out to the world around her again. Aithne felt the hole in the Force where she was seal up like a sewn up seam. She could still sense where it was, sense the tear, but Darden's bonds with her and with Atton held it together. "Are you sorry?" Darden asked then.

Aithne's knuckles whitened as her hands clenched, and her brow knit. She was silent for a long moment. "I'm sorry for your guilt," she conceded finally. "And it's strange, sad, to be the last of the old Order. Revan and the Exile. Not the two they'd have wanted to make it." She laughed humorlessly. "But past that, Darden? No. I'm not sorry. I'm not going to grieve the death of those men. Maybe I should. But I won't."

There was really nothing to be said to that, so after a long, contemplative moment, Darden continued her tale.

At least two hours had passed before I came to consciousness. I could tell by the position of the sun in the sky over the Enclave. I blinked, breathed in, reached out, and just like that, I could feel the Force again. It was interesting to learn that it was a door I could open and shut, but in the overall scheme of the things that had happened that day, it was fairly unimportant.

I could sense Kreia was departed from Dantooine. She'd be in hyperspace by now.

Guilt is right, Aithne. Whatever might have happened to me if the Jedi hadn't been killed, I cannot forgive myself for giving Kreia that opportunity to remove the Jedi before I removed the Sith. I served her the opportunity on a silver platter. I found her enemies for her and brought her to them. When Vrook blamed me for the end of the Jedi, he wasn't right in the way he'd thought, but the end of the old Order is nevertheless squarely on my head. I can't even quite claim causality but not responsibility. If I'd recognized the danger, any court of law in the galaxy would charge me of conspiracy or accessory to murder. I had evidence enough to be suspicious of Kreia's intentions, so my stupidity in this instance is without excuse.

I stood. Before I even looked I knew Vrook Lamar, Zez-Kai Ell, and Kavar were dead. I could feel the empty hole in the Force where their corpses lay. When I crossed the stones, I saw their glazed eyes staring up at the sky, their faces frozen in expressions of fear and anger. They didn't become one with the Force. Kreia didn't permit them that. They'd been stripped to nothing, to non-presences in the Force. I could feel it. And the very first feeling I had was relief that I could sense what had happened through the Force, that the Force wasn't lost to me.

I staggered over three steps to the right, braced myself on my knees, and emptied my stomach on the broken stones. When I was done, I washed my mouth out with water from my canteen and spat.

Aithne, I don't know. I'm not sure I'm sorry, either. Sorry I caused their deaths, sorry for the Order, but after what had happened that afternoon, I found I couldn't cry for the men themselves. But I knew that whatever they'd done or become, the three of them deserved more from me than to leave their bodies vulnerable under the sky, for iriaz and kath hounds to scavenge.

I looked around the building. Vrook, typical Jedi, had isolated himself to the Enclave, puttering around the shards of tradition rather than joining with the community. It took me less than thirty seconds to find his extensive pile of firewood in the ruined halls behind the Council Chamber. I found a speeder, too, and some fuel.

It took me a very long time to build a pyre large enough in the center of the Council Chamber, and almost as long to move the corpses of three grown men on top of the pyre. By the time I'd doused the entire thing with speeder fuel, the stars were coming out. My back and limbs ached.

I pulled my matches out of my pack, struck one, and flipped it onto the pyre. The pyre went up in the gathering dusk, and the thoroughly unromantic smell of burning fuel and flesh rose up into the night.

The deaths of the individual men weighed little on my conscience when compared to the death of the Old Order. I have caused the deaths of so many. But Kavar—

I loved all of them, even though I only knew Zez-Kai Ell a little, and Vrook never liked me. But I couldn't cry for them. They weren't Jedi at the end, Aithne. They weren't my friends. They were three afraid, confused, middle-aged men, and they died in Darkness. But I stood with respect by the funeral pyre, anyway, though my eyes were dry. And sometimes I still miss Kavar, and mourn the man he used to be.

I saluted after about fifteen minutes. Then I borrowed from you. "'I won't say, 'May the Force be with you,' because it's not, but—if you can, if there's some way—be at peace.'"

I left them burning. There was too much work to do to stay.

I found Visas by the exit to the Enclave, only just climbing to her feet. Her knees shook and her face was drawn. There were scorch marks on her robe. She'd been tortured, but she almost ran to me.

"I lay here…"she cried. "I could not move to stop them. She…she told the Handmaiden that she had destroyed you!"

It took a while to understand what had happened. On Korriban, the Handmaiden felt she'd let me down, by fearing to walk with me and letting me go without her into danger. She'd found she could not do the same on Dantooine, so after Kreia and I had left, she'd followed. She'd arrived after I'd gone into the Council, and despite her fears, she'd known she couldn't interrupt. So she'd gone for a walk, to release tension.

Visas had sensed the girl's distress, and my own. More, she had Seen Kreia's intentions change, Seen her prepare to take an active role, and guessed where things might go. She'd moved to confront Kreia, to protect me and the Handmaiden. Kreia had tortured her into unconsciousness. Visas had come to just as Kreia had left the Enclave, after the murder of the old Order. The Handmaiden had come back then, too, found Visas. And Kreia had told the girl that she'd murdered everyone in the Council Chamber, myself included. She'd surrendered to the furious Handmaiden, and the girl had taken her away.

My mind could not react with shock to this turn of events. Too much had happened. "She lied," I told Visas flatly. "She does that a lot. They're truly gone?"

"The Handmaiden took her to Khoonda," Visas confirmed.

At least she didn't move to attack the others while I was incapacitated, save Visas, who tried to oppose her. I think she couldn't bear to destroy what I'd built. Not at the moment of her betrayal, at least. Not there, where it wouldn't serve her ultimate purpose.

"She hurt you," I observed.

"It is nothing," Visas said. "I have failed you. I could not stop her."

"Neither could I, and I knew what she was." I took Visas' hands and pushed Force energy through her to strengthen her. "Try to forget it. We'll go after them. We'll find them. We'll save the Handmaiden. She's the one in danger now."

"What of the Jedi?"

The wind shifted and blew the smoke toward us from the funeral pyre. Visas' nostrils flared. She pressed her lips together and put a hand on my shoulder.

"I've been an idiot. I didn't think she'd act this soon," I confessed.

There was a wave of fear from Visas. "Forgive me, Darden. That is not all. I had hoped…my Master and his armies make for Telos. He calls me. He will…"

Nihilus. Nihilus and all his armies moving to attack Telos, to attack everything we'd worked so hard to achieve for the Republic.

Visas' hand on my shoulder trembled. I felt millions of years old, and as heavy as a planet. I'd known that when Kreia made her move all hell would break loose, but I still felt woefully unprepared to deal with it. I took Visas' hand and gently removed it from my shoulder. "Come on."

We made for Khoonda.

The farmers, militia-men, and salvagers that buzz about Khoonda during the day were gone. Only a bored-looking night watchman stood by the entrance. When he saw me, he snapped his heels together and stood to attention. "Ma'am! Word was the Ebon Hawk had docked again. We'd thought you'd gone to the Enclave, though. The Captain and the Administrator weren't expecting the pleasure until tomorrow."

"No pleasure, soldier. There won't be a tomorrow. The Ebon Hawk needs to leave tonight. Rouse Khoonda. The Jedi are dead, and the Sith move on Citadel Station."

For a moment the guard was going to ask questions. Then he remembered he was a foot soldier in the militia, not even professional, and hit a button on the entry pad next to the door instead. All the lights of Khoonda went on. An alarm blared out over the still plains, reverberating against the low, rocky cliff walls that run here and there along the creek. The door to Khoonda opened. Visas and I entered to begin planning yet another battle.

It took less than fifteen minutes to explain the situation adequately to Terena Adare.

"Vrook was a good friend," she said when I was done. "The news of his death saddens me. Treachery was always the way of the Sith. But you say the old woman was the culprit? It was the Echani girl that bought the two-man fighter off the salvagers."

"Describe what happened," I ordered.

"The girl was upset when she requested fuel and leave to depart," Adare related. "She handled the old woman very roughly. We did not question her, of course. We had seen her with you in the battle; Zherron praised her bravery in particular. None of us had seen the old woman before, however."

"Shavit! Kreia told the Handmaiden she murdered me, and the Handmaiden's gone to seek justice for her. They're long gone by now." I burst out.

"I do apologize. We should have questioned the girl more closely, sent someone to investigate the Enclave," Adare worried.

I reached out toward the Handmaiden's mind, across space. I could feel her presence, but I couldn't get through the overwhelming rage, hatred, and grief the girl was feeling to speak to her mind. Even if I had, I'm not sure if she'd have heard me. Telepathy isn't one of her talents, and the farther she is from me, the harder it is for us even to sense one another's emotions, let alone for me to communicate with her. She can't communicate with me at all.

I waved a hand impatiently at the Administrator. "Don't worry about it, I know where she's going," I told her.

I could guess how Kreia was manipulating the girl. Kreia had speculated before that Atris was falling to the Dark Side, more or less, and I'd wondered if she'd been the source of the information leak. That she hadn't shown up to the Council despite our message seemed to indicate both were true. Kreia knew I'd be pursuing her, so she'd set up a trap. Not only would I face Visas' Master Nihilus at Telos, I would face Atris, too.

"She'll go to Telos, where the other Sith goes," I told Terena Adare, meeting her gaze. "I must follow immediately. Citadel Station is not prepared for the onslaught the Sith will bring to it, and if Citadel Station falls, so does the Republic. Can you get a message to the Fleet…?"

The Administrator had already nodded to Zherron, and he was already moving toward the door. "Better than that, General. I will send part of our militia with you to Telos. If Telos falls, if the Republic falls, so does Dantooine. Berun!"

The Administrator gave orders to Zherron's second-in-command for the Ebon Hawk to be provisioned and fueled, and for the Republic supply ship they had on hand to be similarly provided for, and immediately. No one argued. No one complained. The alarm had spread. The rumors had spread. Everyone knew the galaxy was at stake once again.

Visas and I headed back to the Ebon Hawk.

The crew was already assembled in the main hold. Canderous and the droids left as I entered to help the militia men with the supply and fueling of the ship.

"You felt it. The Handmaiden's left with Kreia. They're going to Telos. So is Nihilus and all his men. So that's where we're going, too."

"That's what I was afraid you'd say. What about you, Darden?" Atton asked. "We still don't know if the old witch was lying when she said your life was bound to hers—"

"We're assuming she was," I snapped. "She lied about everything else."

"Not so," Mical said. "Kreia manipulates. She twists the truth. She hides. She is too proud to lie outright." He looked down. "She told me who and what she was. I realized it weeks ago. She made me forget, but she did not lie. We all know the bond you have with Kreia. We were witness to it. Whatever she has done, whatever your feelings towards her, your lives are entwined."

"And she's drawing you into a deathtrap," Atton agreed. His face was grim. "Telos—it's gonna be hotter than any place we've been yet, and we've been in some rough places. You're gonna have an army of Sith soldiers gunning for you, not to mention two Sith Lords. See, I don't think Kreia cares if she dies so long as she takes you down."

"It doesn't matter! Don't you get it? It doesn't matter! The Jedi—the old Jedi—they're already dead. We can't let her take the Handmaiden, too. She's our friend, my student, and she's in more danger than she knows. But it's not just Kreia, and it's not just the Handmaiden. All of Telos could fall. The entire Republic could fall. The Jedi sacrificed everything to save it. We can't just let that be for nothing. I mean…" I forced myself to stop, breathe. You always used to say, Aithne, that 'a clear head is the battle half won.' I used to epitomize a clear head. But since Korriban, I'd been slipping. And it occurred to me that I might lose half the battle to begin with, if I let emotion cloud my judgment.

"If we don't stop her, then everyone, everywhere, they're going to lose their lives," Mira finished, quietly.

Once upon a time, Mira might have argued Atton's side. But she'd mastered her fear, and she stood before me, strong and compassionate.

"If we could save something in the galaxy, just this once…we have to do this," Bao-Dur agreed.

"We're going to do this? Walk into a deathtrap, knowing it's a deathtrap?" Atton demanded.

"We cannot afford to let fear rule us, Atton," Mical said. "Not with so much at stake."

Atton opened his mouth to retort. He looked at me, and swore under his breath. "Fine," he said. "What have we got to lose, anyway? I'll go prep the engines."

"Thank you."

There were footsteps on the ramp, and I left to help Canderous with the supplies.

We'd been in hyperspace for half an hour when Mical found me in the med bay. It was about 0200 hours, according to the Dantooine time we'd left. Mira was asleep in the starboard dormitory, secure in our course of action. If Visas did not sleep, she'd been quiet when I'd left. But I lay back on the medical cot, staring at the ceiling. Every muscle ached, and my eyes burned from weariness and a lack of tears. Mical walked in. I ignored him.

"I can feel your distress. What troubles you?"

I turned to face the wall. "Of course you can feel my distress."

Mical sat in the chair opposite the cot. "That is an odd answer. What do you mean by it?"

I sat up and glared at him. "Why the hell are you here, Mical? Childhood nostalgia? You had a job you loved and a boss you liked. You were doing well, and you gave it all up for me. Why?"

Mical's brow furrowed. His blue eyes were clearer than they had been in weeks, reminding me yet again just how stupid I'd been. What I should have asked him before. "I follow you because it is my choice. I believe in what we are doing—what you are doing. I am here because I choose to be."

I scoffed. "How do you know that? The Jedi Council, they thought that I'm controlling you all through my Force bonding, somehow."

"I know that it is my choice to follow you," Mical repeated levelly. "There is nothing I can show you as proof, except give you my word. Something happened within the Enclave. What was it?"

"They tried to strip me of the Force, before Kreia killed them by doing the same," I told him. "They said I'm a gaping wound in the Force, that Malachor is what I am now. They said…they said I might cause the death of the Force."

"Then they do not understand you," Mical said simply. "That is the danger of being a Jedi. When one separates themselves from others, chooses to lead a life of isolation, denying what makes them a feeling being, it is easy to make such judgments. And such judgments, I believe, are made in ignorance. There is no danger in what you represent, other than your humanity."

He was starting to acknowledge my humanity, to realize that I was different from what the Jedi had been or had supposed to be. But that he'd learned brought me no pleasure. It just supported my point. "You're different, all of you," I persisted. "You couldn't know; you've only been here a few weeks. But even you—you've changed since I met you. But all of you are flying into a deathtrap with me now, like Atton said, and for what? I've bonded with all of you—"

"You change others," Mical interrupted. "But I do not believe that it is due to the Force. I believe it is because you are a natural leader, and because you feel connected to the people around you. Where they look at you and see the death of the Force, I look at you and see hope for all life. And that perhaps a life lived without the Force is not the punishment it is believed to be."

"Have I lived life? Is that what I've done? Mical, you didn't see them there today. What if—what if Kreia did that to you? To the Handmaiden? I don't know if I could stand it. All this is centered around me, anyway. Maybe when we get to Telos…"

Mical caught my drift. "I will understand if you feel you must go alone," he said. He stood and headed for the door. "But I ask that you do not. Instead, take strength from your connections to others. Do not forsake them, as you did in exile. There are others who need to know you. Telos needs you. The planet and all its people are in danger. If we do not stop the Sith now, then the Republic will fall."

"Never mind that it's probably my fault the Sith are such a threat now, anyway," I muttered.

Mical frowned. "Pardon? I didn't hear."

Despite his newfound conviction of my humanity, he was still so full of faith in me. It cut like a lightsaber. "Never mind. Did you contact the Admiral? And Mission and Dustil, just in case?"

"I did," Mical confirmed.

I nodded, and waved him away. He went.

Visas emerged from the hallway next, like a shadow. She had not been asleep. Her face was pale and her voice shook when she spoke from the doorway. "He awaits you at Telos. And when you go there, you must face him. And when you do, he will wound you as he has wounded me."

I sighed. I stood, and took Visas' cold, thin hands. "Visas, there's not an option here. I have to stop him, or Telos will fall, and the Republic will fall."

"I ask you—I beg you," Visas cried. "Run! We do not have to fight."

She spoke from her emotions. I appealed to her compassion, possibly greater than that of any of my other pupils. "And would you leave your friend alone with the enemy? Would you let Telos be consumed, as your homeworld was? We can't run, Visas. Not this time."

Visas took her hands from mine. She hung her head. "I know," she murmured. "But I could not let you go without asking. It had to be asked, my friend."

"Now it has been. Will you have courage for the path ahead?"

Visas seemed to search herself. "A little," she said finally. "For you, I will have courage."

She left.

Atton came in almost immediately. "It did have to be asked," he said.

"Mical said it. We can't let fear rule us with so much at stake."

"It's not me I'm scared for!" Atton snapped. "You think I care what happens to me? Sweetheart, I haven't cared about what happens to me in years, and less than ever since I joined ship with you. The barrels of the guns aren't going to be pointed at me, here!"

"They'll miss me," I returned every bit as heatedly. "They always do. They shoot right past me and hit everyone I care about, and I live on…well, exist." I started pacing. "They said I'm Malachor, now; that my bonding ability is leeching off Force Sensitives, that I'm a breach in the Force that must be closed. Kreia thinks that I'm a breach in the Force that must be widened. Whatever. They're all wrong, but they're right, too. I am the death of the Jedi!"

The tears which hadn't been able to come before fell now. "They were the last ones, the very last, and my idiocy brought her right to them! And now an entire Sith Fleet's making for the bleeding wound in the heart of the Republic, and I don't know if I can stop it! With the Handmaiden captured, and only a few militia-men from Dantooine and the fracking TSF to defend Citadel with—"

"There's us, too," Atton interrupted.

ATTON

She was almost hysterical. I'd never seen her break like that before. "You?" she laughed. "Three defunct droids, a Mandalorian with no reason to help the Republic, and five Padawans that only just finished their first lightsabers? Padawans! I mean, who knows if I've even taught you right? I've been exiled for eleven years, for crying out loud! And I never had a Padawan, even before that. I was a Padawan myself! Just a stupid kid! Not even a nightlight to Revan's sun, whatever everyone says! And I—I—"she sat down hard on the medical cot and started sobbing.

It was kind of amazing, how much she'd changed herself. Darden was ice cold when we started out. She'd become anything but. I probably should've been scared out of my mind, but it was actually a relief to see her losing it like a sane person, instead of pushing her emotions back like they didn't matter, or trying to bury it all in a bunch of parts on a workbench. "So we're screwed," I said.

She laughed through her tears. "Yeah. We kind of are."

I sat down next to her.

"Why are you still here, anyway?" she asked me.

"I signed up because the old scow broke into my head, found out who I'd been and what I'd done, and threatened to tell you if I didn't," I told her. It couldn't hurt her anymore. "Even after I told you, she said she'd bring back those memories, make me feel what I felt then, if I didn't protect you and obey her."

She stopped crying immediately. "I'd have killed her," she hissed. "Bond or no bond, if you'd told me, I'd have killed her."

"And if there is a lethal bond that would have been a bad move. That's why I didn't tell you. It would've been the Peragus fuel tunnels all over again."

"Or the Dantooine ruins."

"You aren't going to get anything done if you keep focusing on that," I told her. "So you messed up. But as far as I can tell, if Kreia had waited until after those Jedi had closed the breach in the Force, or whatever you said, we'd probably be a lot worse off right now. Those Jedi weren't soldiers. You are. They didn't know what's coming. We do. So be the General and make a plan of attack. We'll probably all die anyway, but let's not do it feeling sorry for ourselves."

Aithne, Mical spouted assurances of his allegiance left and right. He promised he believed in me and that he acted of free choice, and all it'd done was make me feel worse. But Atton's practical assessment of our slim chances, his frank acknowledgment of the terrible mistake I made, was so much more helpful. I still don't get it.

The kid was trying to make you feel better, sweetheart. But you had damn good reasons to be losing it a little, and realizing it wasn't all in your head helped you stabilize. I didn't expect it, but that's what happened. She started breathing a little more evenly. She stared at me. "Atton—why did you stay?" she asked again. "Don't tell me you couldn't have left on Nar Shaddaa. Don't tell me you didn't think about it."

She knew why I'd stayed. "I stayed because apparently you're a freaky Force leech and you've been messing with my head since the day you walked into the detention area in your underwear on Peragus. What do you think, sweetheart?"

She smiled a little, and relaxed. She reached out, and I took her hand, and she leaned up against my shoulder. "I'm sorry we're walking into a deathtrap. If you get hurt—"

"—I'll like it a hell of a lot better than if you do."

"I love you."

She said it just like that. It just sort of tumbled out, and it hit me like a durasteel beam to the head that she'd suddenly decided to put everything out into the open like that. Then I laughed. It wasn't really uncharacteristic, come to think of it. "Is that it, then? Are we talking about it now?"

"Does it matter now?" she replied.

"Typical. She finally makes up her mind right when we're headed for what's probably going to be a last stand. I…me, too. You, too. I…uh…I love you, too." Weird how I'd suspected it since the day I met her, and known for a few months, but saying the words out loud still made me feel so…so out there. Vulnerable, I guess. Love's not like lust. It's dangerous.

"Yeah, I know," she said.

"Want to do you, too. That wasn't a game, either."

"I know that, too."

"Don't suppose we'll have the time or privacy now."

Totally floored me, what she did next. She reached out with the Force and slammed the med bay door shut. I heard the lock engage. Then she looked up at me. "It's 0300. If they're not asleep, they ought to be."

It wasn't even fair, Aithne. I'd wanted her since the second I saw her, pictured how things might play out a thousand times. But her eyes were all glassy and puffy from crying. Fear, grief, anger, passion swirled around her like a hurricane, and at the very moment she offered to give it up, I found out I'd changed so much I couldn't take her up on the offer. Not then. I kissed her on the forehead, and stood. I had to get out before I changed my mind. "If you were anybody else I'd take you up on that, sweetheart. Anybody else. But you're exhausted, you're vulnerable. But you're exhausted, you're vulnerable. Sleeping with you now—it'd be like you were drunk, or strung out on spice. Huh. Few years ago I wouldn't have cared. Hell, when we met I wouldn't have cared. But now? I like you too much for that. Dammit."

I punched the door open, but stopped in the doorway. I looked back at her. She looked somewhere between amused, proud, and disappointed. "Hey."

"Yeah?" she asked.

"If you're still up to it before the big battle in a couple weeks, let me know, huh?"

Aithne Morrigan smiled wearily. "There's something about oncoming battle that makes you say the things you wouldn't otherwise," she remarked. "Knowing that you might not survive, you want to make sure you haven't left things unsaid. But then if you do survive, you might find yourself in a relationship you had concerns about to begin with."

"I know what you mean," Darden replied. "If we hadn't been going into what could be a fatal battle, I probably wouldn't have told Atton how I felt."

Aithne glanced at Atton, but he didn't look hurt or surprised. "Nah, you couldn't have pushed past what it might mean. I probably couldn't have, either."

"And now?" Aithne challenged them.

Darden looked her straight in the eye, not for a second mistaking what the question was really about. "Once you've made the jump, you either sink or swim," she answered. "You deal with your concerns, or you don't, and hearts get broken."

"But can they be fixed?"

Atton's hand was still wound around Darden's, like it had been for most of the last two hours. His lips quirked up. "That'll be something you'll have to ask him," he said, not unkindly.

Aithne shifted. "Did you lose Brianna?" she asked then, softly. "Is that why there are only five Jedi, even though you trained six?"

"We lost someone on Telos," Darden confirmed sadly. "But not—not her. I kept thinking of her, kept trying to reach her, all through the weeks we chased her and Kreia to Telos. And finally, an hour before we arrived, I reached her…

A/N: Be on the lookout! Before I post again in Defining the Jedi, I'll post another, separate one-shot entitled Defining the Jedi: Choice. Each of Darden's pupils has their own moment of definition. This will be Brianna's.

After that, there will be another chapter in this story where Darden picks up the tale when she arrives on Telos and finds Kreia gone and Atris fallen to the Dark Side, standing against her.

Thanks for reading,

LMS