Praven knew something was wrong—dreadfully wrong. Rhiabe wasn't exactly subtle on her best days, and that was… before.
He glanced over his cup of caf at Lethe, almost lying on the table, a disconsolate droop to her lovely features as her eyes tracked back and forth across the datapad propped against the cereal box.
The Force bond between twins hadn't survived Vitiate when the original strike team confronted him: Rhiabe, rather than let her twin be dragged into darkness with her, severed it. Lethe said there was some reconnection, but it was faint, and Rhiabe had a habit of blocking her out on purpose, which she'd never done before.
Rhiabe hadn't been mauled by the Sith Emperor before, either. Nor had she been prone to angry fits of pique, as if her control over her emotions had weakened during her nine months missing in action. She was angry, and the Jedi kept telling her she shouldn't be.
The truth was far simpler: she had to be angry, otherwise she would succumb to despair. 'Angry' was 'fighting back,' refusing to let whatever Vitiate did to her ruin her or break her. It wasn't as if she was attacking civilians or mauling kittens. The Jedi would end up doing more harm than good if they didn't pay attention to the basic fact that Rhiabe was a victim of brutality—psychic brutality, but brutality nonetheless—and those kinds of assaults changed people.
Praven was astute enough to read between the lines: Rhiabe didn't want her changed nature tainting or troubling her twin. So she shut herself away, put a wall between them to prevent any… seepage. He bookmarked the thought for later, rather suspecting that when Rhiabe was ready to ask for help, or finally absolutely had to talk to someone, she'd come to him.
He glanced at Lethe, still drooping as she read whatever the report was, her fair hair caught up in a plain knot at the back of her head, face devoid of makeup. Life had taken its tolls on both women, morphing the once-identical features until they were easily distinguished even at a distance.
'Look after her for me. I know you will. I just want to hear you say it.' Rhiabe's eyes had glowed with unnatural intensity when she made the request.
'Of course. But why would you—' The answer was stamped on her face, a baleful sense to her aura like burning insulation: she was being thrown back at the Emperor, this time to make sure of him. One of them wouldn't walk away from the confrontation and, her burning eyes said, she wasn't sure it would be her. But she would try, because while Vitiate might have maimed her, he hadn't destroyed her, and that was his mistake.
Praven saw through the bolstering litanies running like frantic mice in her mind: she was terrified, but unable not to attempt this thing.
Personally, he felt the leadership was being foolish. The Council, the wisest and strongest of the Order, champions of the light (so it was said) ought to be leading this assault. Not leaving it to little girls who had already fallen before the Emperor's darkness.
He clipped the thought: if he thought of Rhiabe as a child, he had no business carrying on as he was with her sister. They were twenty-two. Grown women.
She hadn't told Lethe what was happening. In fact, he suspected Rhiabe of making arrangements to keep her twin in the dark so Lethe wouldn't have to wait for the axe to fall. She'd either know in one horrible moment that her sister was dead… or she'd hear about whatever attack was made ex post facto. No time to worry or fret or feel helpless.
Praven was glad when Nadia bounced into the room and neatly swapped the cereal box with the milk jug so as not to interrupt (too much) Lethe's reading. Nadia never put milk on her cereal, preferring it simply dry.
"Good morning!" Nadia chirruped.
"Morning," Lethe answered, rousing herself from her morose contemplations. "Did you sleep well?"
"Oh, yes." An impish grin skittered across the girl's alabaster features, but she didn't return the question.
Praven disappeared behind his coffee as the two young women began to chat, Lethe perking up a bit in response to Nadia's youthful enthusiasm. Apparently Nadia's meditations stones were seven days old and had yet to explode—a new record.
The truth was he and Lethe both got more sleep but less rest on Tython… and less sleep but better rest aboard the Promethean. He doubted the Council would approve of this liaison had he been human and a Jedi from a young age. They might just lose their collective minds if they ever found out.
'You're old enough and smart enough to get what you need from the philosophy.' Lethe's assurance at the time proved quite accurate. He would never be a model Jedi, but with his slightly dubious opinion of the leadership this wasn't a problem. If he could be a good man, live an honorable life dedicated to more than the petty ambitions and degrading machinations of the garden-variety Sith, he was content.
He pushed aside concern for his brother and parents, but not before wondering whether he was believed dead or was known as a traitor. Part of him hoped they thought him dead; it would be less painful for them, given enough time. The likelihood of running into them again was remote.
Praven closed his eyes, hoping that wherever the Emperor was, wherever Rhiabe was going to confront him, his family wasn't anywhere near.
"Praven?"
He opened his eyes to find Lethe regarding him with some concern. He opened his mouth to answer her, but the words—that it was a nostalgic kind of morning—never came out.
Through the Force ran a massive shockwave, so large and unexpected that Nadia gasped.
When she screamed, Lethe's scream was for her sister, a vicious crescendo of anger.
-P-
Author's Note: Yes! Praven travels as a "Padawan" with my Jedi Consular. Ostensibly, he's there to help her with the heavy lifting, and to be her Jedi backup, her health being what it is and his unorthodox self being what/who he is. His character made such an impression on me in the Jedi Knight's story, that I had to have more of him. (Also, if you played or watched the Empire side of Rise of the Hutt Cartel, you'll have encountered his aforementioned brother.)