Where We Left Off
Author's Note: This is my first Star Wars fic and one that I couldn't help but write after finishing Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order. It was partially inspired by the spite I feel after Trilla dies in the main game. So guess what? She's surviving in this fic. Because I said so.
"A good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad act the good. Each should have its own reward."
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
"We can be redeemed only to the extent to which we see ourselves."
― Martin Buber
By: VampireQueenAkasha
~O~
So It Begins
Where am I?
Who is that?
There were alarms going off all around her, constantly blaring. They were loud, but sounded so far away. Her body felt light.
She was moving through the corridor, but not moving. Someone was carrying her.
"Hurry! Go! Go!"
Trilla could see shapes around her as she blinked in and out of consciousness; she saw a door and Cere running ahead, armed with a red lightsaber. HER saber.
"There's more down the corridor!"
"I got them! Go!"
Trilla shuddered, looking up into the face of her savior - Cal Kestis. He was staring ahead of him with a face full of purpose and resolve, flanked by the Nightsister in their company. He was panting heavily and Trilla's head rolled weakly on her shoulders, noticing several troopers pouring in to stop them.
It won't be long then, won't it?
It was such a lovely thought, but you were fools to try...
She remembered how He had come and struck her down - She had failed, of course. She had smelled the smoke, tasted the burning of her flesh in the air. She heard Cere scream from somewhere far away. She felt the Force buckling around her from Him. From His wrath and His hate.
He had killed her. How was she still breathing?
Why had they come back to save her?
"I have them!" the Nightsister declared.
A flash of green light from her hand that was almost unbearable to watch; then came a chanting in Dathomirian. The troopers were propelled backwards by the force of her magic with several terrified shouts as they struck the wall like dolls.
Trilla's eyes closed, she felt so weak. Her body was numb.
She lost consciousness once more.
When she awoke again, she felt warmer.
Trilla could barely see where she was through a haze of pain; a ship of some kind, piloted by a Latero, shouting something to the others around him. The ship was rocking violently and weapons were discharged. Shouts all around her. It was chaos as she struggled to keep focus on what was happening through the pain.
A hand was on her shoulder, steadying her.
She could vaguely see the Nightsister at her side, her pale face a mask of focus. She was chanting something in her native tongue, her eyes and lips green. Such a haunting sight.
"They're still on us! Hold on!" the Latero shouted.
A crack, a thunderous roar of entering hyperspace and Trilla's word went black once more. She saw a Rodian Youngling watching her before her eyes closed.
He had died.
They had killed him in front of me.
O
"She has a fever. She needs a healer."
"Sorgan is a backwater planet. There's no way anyone will be here to help us."
"It's the best chance she has and the closest planet. I need to keep her awake."
Trilla laid there, shivering uncontrollably. She clutched the metal of her bed tightly, feeling hands on her back. The Nightsister had undressed her and her hands felt as cold as ice. It was like being stabbed all over again.
She sucked in a sharp breath, retreating from her touch like a wounded animal. She would fight her like one if she had to.
There is no threat. They tried to help, didn't they?
But why?
Why, indeed?
"Your hands!" she hissed at the Nightsister, voice hoarse, "They're cold."
Merrin sighed, shaking her head. "No. You're just burning up." she told her. "You have a fever." She trailed off, confusion in her low tones. "It's so very strange."
Cere was suddenly at her side and Trilla hid her face from her in the cool metal of the bed. She didn't want to look at her like this.
Don't.
Don't look at me like this.
"What's strange?" Cere asked, worry in her voice.
"I've never seen a wound from a lightsaber cause an infection like this one," Merrin explained, wrinkling her brow, "This is not a sickness of the body. But one of the mind."
It was certainly something that stirred Cere where she sat. She looked down at Trilla with pain. She knew what sort of sickness of the mind it was.
The lightsaber wound that had slashed her back was tended to by Merrin's magic; light of green that cast a glow across the room. It was an ugly wound that had discolored her skin and burned it. It would heal on its own if they managed to save her, but the scar would always be there.
A chanting in her native tongue; the Nightsister was attempting to help.
Trilla felt a soothing warmth wash across her and for a moment, she was comforted by it. She could sleep again, really.
"I can find something in the town," Cal spoke from somewhere in the ship. "I'll go and you keep a watch over her."
"Yeah, sure," the Latero spoke from somewhere, his tone dry, "Assuming she doesn't trash my ship when she gets strong enough."
"Greez..." Cere said, with a sigh.
"Alright, alright. Just be quick, okay? She's not lookin' too good."
Trilla hissed softly, her eyes focusing weakly on the alien standing there now, watching her. They were all poking at her like some kind of specimen. But she had little strength in her to protest and little will to say otherwise. Her mind was in turmoil along with her body. The Nightsister spoke truth.
Cal was there at the door and gone, his little droid chirping the entire time.
O
Trilla stood there in the dark.
There was nothing around her, but she felt it; it was a cold change in her heart, a twisting like knives, a sound scraping against her head.
Someone was laughing near her.
Trilla looked over to her side and saw a version of herself strapped to the table, eyes wild, laughing madly.
Another version was standing across from her, eyes cold and accusing.
Another version of herself as a young Padawan.
"Don't look, don't look, don't look..."
Whispers around her, in various voices chanting it over and over again.
Heavy footsteps and Trilla's breathing quickened with fright.
The voiced stopped.
She looked up and saw Him stalking through the shadows toward her.
He was breathing heavily through his black, shining mask, stepping through the mist, armed with his red lightsaber. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move. She could only stand there as she hyperventilated, eyes wide and frightened.
He raised his saber and brought it down upon her.
Cere struggled to hold Trilla's body down and Merrin was helping, urging her to roll her on her side as the woman convulsed uncontrollably. She was choking, pooling saliva beneath her chin and Cere held her, struggling to speak.
"Don't let her choke!" Merrin hissed, with effort. "Keep her on her side!"
"Trilla, I have you, I have you," Cere soothed, when she felt the tremors slowly subside, "I have you..."
She gently ran a hand through the sticky locks of her hair, soothing her with all the grace and maternal warmth of a mother. Trilla didn't respond, but her breathing seemed to even out, her shaking stopping completely. It seemed to work.
"There. She should be fine for now." Merrin replied. She watched her for a moment, her features softening. "I hope she gets better."
"Yeah," Cere agreed, taking a moment to calm herself, "Even then, there's so much I have to do. So much I have to fix. It'll take a long time."
"Yes," Merrin agreed, with a small smile and a nod.
"Do you think it'll be easy from here on out?"
"No." Merrin replied, blunt and to the point. Off of Cere's troubled frown, she continued. "But this is a good enough start. She needs to know that she's safe with you again and that the path she chooses is the best path."
"You believe that?"
"I believe it's worth the effort."
Cere nodded slightly. She looked down at Trilla, watching as she slept soundly now. Her skin felt burning hot to the touch and sticky with sweat as she pressed her palm across her forehead. She hoped Cal found something.
Trilla mumbled something and Cere leaned forward to hear better. But she couldn't make it out.
O
Someone new was there with them.
Trilla weakly opened her eyes, spotting the sight of grey robes in her field of vision. A female voice was speaking and she could barely hear it over the muffled roar in her ears.
"...You're blind."
"Yes, I am."
"Forgive me for asking, but how do you plan to help?"
"I was born blind, but my skills in healing have never been questioned," the female voice spoke, her tone patient, "Now, may I take a look at her?"
"Of course. I'm sorry."
Trilla thought the voice was pleasant to hear; she was given a warmth from it that filled her being and the hand that touched her cheek felt gentle, soothing. She couldn't help but barely lean into it.
"What is her name?"
"Uh...Trilla." Cere answered.
"Trilla." Her name on the woman's lips stirred her chest. "I like that. It's pretty."
If the former Inquisitor had the strength, she would laugh. But even that hurt.
"Tell me, where is your kitchen?"
"Uh, over here." Greez said. "Right this way."
Footsteps retreating, but Trilla could still hear them talking through her feverish senses.
"...I'm sorry. It's a bit of a mess."
A chuckle from the stranger, a rolling warmth down her spine. "Don't worry. I have a mess like this in my shop. It's not a bother, I promise."
"What are you making?"
"A brew that she can drink," the stranger continued, "It'll help with her fever and give her strength to move around, at least. I can give you the recipe, if you'd like."
Cere sounded quite grateful. "Thank you! I'm...grateful for your help."
"Of course. May I have some time alone with her while this brews? It'll be done in a few minutes and that's all the time I need."
"Of course!" Cal told her. "We'll be out here close if you need us."
The sound of approaching footsteps made Trilla look up weakly. She could barely see the person there. She felt hands on her bare shoulders and it made her draw into their warmth. She felt fingers near her wound and uttered a sharp, rather loud gasp.
"Sorry." the stranger said, truly sounding remorseful, "I can feel the wound here. It's...aggressive. It's full of dark hate. Biting. Stinging in your skin."
Her words were soft, but filled with a strain that Trilla could hear through the haze of her fever.
She could feel a change in those hands; a warmth that searched through her very heart, deep into the place where her connection to the Force lay deep.
A Force-sensitive woman. Of course.
She set her jaw, swallowed thickly, struggling to see her caretaker. The fever, combined with her twisted mind set her thoughts ablaze and her senses reeling.
"You are suffering," the woman continued, sympathetically, "You're in pain." Her breath hitched with pain and she coughed to hide it. "Even when this saber cut you, I felt it go in. I..."
Her hands retreated and she returned only after a moment to the wound. The sensations Trilla felt next were comforting. The pain in her back had ceased, and through it, she noticed the woman had looked over her shoulder briefly when the door opened.
Cere had entered, holding the brew in her hand. "It's finished. I thought I'd bring it to you - Are you alright?"
"Oh! Yes, I'm fine! I didn't eat before I arrived and I'm a little dizzy."
Trilla felt a hand behind her head and found Cere smiling warmly at her. She was holding the brew in her hand.
"Drink this, Trilla." she said, "It'll help."
Trilla stared down at the cup as she pushed herself onto her elbows; it smelled horrid and she grimaced. "What...What's in this?"
"Best you don't know." the stranger replied, with a small laugh. "But it will help you feel better."
Trilla hesitated for a few moments before taking the cup and bringing it to her lips. She took a drink, wincing at the terrible flavor. Her hands were shaking and it took effort to keep the contents from spilling everywhere. The warmth of it was soothing and it did help her feel a little more relaxed. She tasted a hint of alcohol as well, which suited her just fine.
When she blinked and looked around, the found the stranger was rising and leaving the room. Trilla gave a weak grunt and collapsed into the bed.
O
Her eyes opened in the dark again.
It was cold, the whispers returning, pleading with her not to look. But she was pushed, drawn to stare at the shadows in the dark corners. Her eyes widened in horror.
She was in the interrogation room, looking at herself as she was strapped to the table. She could see herself as the Dark Shadow, smiling with cold indifference; eyes glowing red.
The electricity came next.
Then her screams.
Trilla's eyes opened with a strangled sound. Cere heard her scream from the other room and quickly hurried to her side. She thrashed, screaming again and the older woman shushed her, attempting to calm her as she fought.
The walls of the ship buckled from her emotions, the Force bending around them with her grief. Cere cupped her cheeks, making her look at her.
"Trilla! Trilla, it's me! It's me!"
Trilla looked up at her, letting out several frightened breaths before she looked sharply around the room, struggling to come to terms with where she was. The metal of the ship groaned once more as she relaxed as much as she felt possible.
The air was no longer thick, the crackling of her emotions gradually declining.
And there was her former master.
She hadn't left this time.
She still felt weak as she leaned against her arm, holding a hand to her face. There was a dizzying sensation that took hold, threatening to have her vomit everywhere.
"How long was I gone for?" Trilla asked, her voice rough.
"A few days." Cere told her, wringing her hands together. "We couldn't risk moving just yet. Not after that Imperial squadron chased us down through three systems. We've been camped here on this planet."
Trilla's brow knotted. "Where are we?"
"Sorgan."
Trilla gave a dry, humorless laugh. "And to whom do I owe thanks for their healing hands?"
"There was a healer who came to visit you. She's been visiting for a few days."
Trilla started to stir and Cere raised one hand. "You need to rest."
"I've rested. Enough." Trilla whispered, severely. The roughness disappeared, replaced with that smooth, dangerous pitch she was infamous for.
Cere sighed through her nose and lowered her head briefly. "I know. I know you have. I was just worried about you, Trilla. I saw you fall and..." She paused when she caught the brief look of fear that lit Trilla's face. Her voice caught in her throat. "I just want to make sure I don't fail you again."
Trilla let out a small groan, but she was far too weak and had no interest in arguing with her for now. She leaned back slightly before hissing as she turned to get comfortable on her back.
"Where are the others?" she asked. "It's quiet. I assume that loud Latero isn't here either?"
Cere chuckled slightly, nodding. "That's Greez for you. He went into town looking for provisions with Cal and Merrin."
"Oh?"
"Yeah we were running a bit low. We're keeping a low profile for now."
Just then, Trilla noticed BD-1 hop up beside her. She frowned down at the little droid and watched as it studied her, antenna flicking back and forth. It chirped a few times and she continued to stare for a few moments before speaking.
"I can't understand you." she said.
BD-1 gave a disappointed chirp before hopping back to Cere.
"We can talk later," Cere's tone was strangely harder than she probably intended; something was bothering her, "Right now, rest up. I'll be outside if you need me."
A simple nod from Trilla and nothing more was said.
Cere departed, but the little droid chose to remain. Trilla knew he was standing there on the nearby table, watching her. She glanced down partially to see it tilt its head and wave its antenna once when she acknowledge.
"What do you want?" she said, tired. "Go bother someone else."
BD-1 lifted its head and a sliver of light beamed out from one optic. Trilla looked up, eyes heavy with exhaustion as a hologram of Cere playing the hallikset. Trilla gave a caustic laugh, shaking her head and looking at the droid.
"You're cruel, you know." she said. "Playing that song to torment me."
But she didn't fight the little droid on it. She only watched the hologram of Cere as she played the instrument and was reminded of better days. Before her betrayal. Before the torture. When it all seemed so very simple.
"You know, the Younglings used to enjoy her music," Trilla didn't know why she started to talk, "They'd laugh and play when we finished our training. Cere had a heart that most Masters did not. Hm. Perhaps that's how they broke her first."
She gave a short laugh. BD-1 let out a little forlorn beeping sound before moving closer and taking a little spot at her side. Trilla looked down at the droid, let out a small sigh and decided to let it stay there for now.
Whatever came tomorrow, she didn't know if she'd sleep.