A/N

Timeline:

First Half: End of Star By Star and obviously you can tell when this is happening...with a smidgen during Rebel Dream/Rebel Stand

Second Half: During RD/RS

Background for 10.2 Borleais Occupation Day 37 in the books is a day when the Vong, in an effort to mess with the rebel force's mind disperse a bunch of prisoners into space, and a fleet of fighter pilots Jaina included go out and push them out of the way of the atmosphere until transports can get to them. The Vong have placed oxygen bags over their heads so they're alive, but the rest of their bodies are uncovered.

Day 39 is when the families of the Jediwhich includes a heartbreaking scene with Mara Jade and Jaina finally talking to her mother...say good bye to the young childrenthey are going to the Maw to be safe. That is the scene that Keladry is watching.

Both situations are from Rebel Stand

Oh and all along I have been working on the premise that there is no way civilians could know, aside from rumour of Nom Anor's existance post Rhomommool. In the NJO we hear about it b/c its from the top down
the hero's POV. In this case I like to think that while in my world my OC's were working with Dr. Oolos, classified information such as Nom Anor's existance and reappearance in Balance Point has been kept hidden from the public at large. After Star By Star is when I see things like official breakdown of information disintegrating...


Post 10

The galaxy spins and time whirls by…

Yavin IV has fallen—the Jedi hunted all over the galaxy by feral creatures called Voxyn.

Each day the holnetnews reports on the dead, and today was no different.

No one knows how or when...just that Leia Organa Solo collapsed in a fit of despair on Coruscant...because her son was dead.

Anakin Solo. Gone.

In his youth he had been a pillar of hope for those who still looked at the Jedi as their protectors. Now...

There have been ripples...and explosions...

Darkness is becoming stronger than whatever light we reflect back in opposition.

Married now for months, Tristan and I are content, as content as anyone can be fighting a war that does not seem to end. We continued to work with SELCORE escorting refugee's to supposed safe havens, coming back to Coruscant...pretending that the planet was safe.

No more...

Fey'lya...dead.

The NewRepublic in shambles...

It's a game of survival...

I said that there would be a time when the hatred and anger secreted away by my husband would resurface, a time when he reached the breaking point. I said that I saw how hatred can make a good man choose evil; how I could just as easily fall prey to the dark.

Even for a moment...the dark side can consume.

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Coruscant

Chaos.

He could feel the sweat pouring down his face as he raced to where the Selanore was berthed. He could hear Syla's footsteps behind him and yelled, just missing a pile of rubble at the entrance to the bay. "Did you get a hold of them? Are they on their way?"

"Tristan said they'd meet us at the ship. He's bringing the others." They turned into the docking bay, just in time to see a group of ragtag humans standing in front of the onramp with a blowtorch.

Stealing my ship! Pulling out his blaster, Nestor kept up his pace shooting above the head of one of the assailants. Seeing them, the group dispersed, leaving the man with the blowtorch staring at his hand with desperation. Gently pushing him out of the way Nestor glanced around making sure that the other malingerers had disappeared—a sudden clank in the next berth made him realize that the pirates had moved on. We should stop them...

His ears picked up a whistle, and instinctively flinched as an explosion rumbled through...

"DUCK!"

In the corner of his eye he saw Syla fall to the ground, covering her head. He had just enough time to grab the guy holding the torch and pull him to the ground. The building shook, and the noise in the next bay ceased.

No time. No time.

Shrugging off the bags he carried, he frantically punching the code on access panel, the Selanore's ramp began to creakingly come down. Not waiting for it to fully open he pulled himself onto the ramp, running straight to the cockpit. Muttering he sped through a rushed start up list, slapping switches and turning life-support dials to make sure they were functional. Gently, he coaxed the engines to life.

"Syla." He yelled back..."Syla...are they here yet?" No answer. Swearing under his breath, he slapped on the navicomputer, and nearly trampled Syla, who was dragging on the heavy bag he had left at end of the ramp.

Swinging it onto his shoulder, he apologized. "Sorry. Do you see them?"

She shook her head silently, still catching her breath from their mad dash from their apartment.

A sound at the front of the bay caught thier attention, and he sighed with relief. "Alluvia! We need some help!" It was Keladry, with Tristan and a gaggle of other sentients, among them a balding man with a mustache, and a stately looking woman with two children. From their disheveled appearance they had obviously been fighting against the crowds to get to the ship...it was a miracle that they even had gotten past the gates.

Looking at the balding man he did a double take, Face Loran, before shunting aside errant thoughts. "We have room for everyone. It'll be a bit cozy... but hopefully we'll be able to get off alive." Nestor reached for one of the bags that Keladry was carrying—taking note of Natir's hovering hand lending support.

Ushering everyone onto the ship, Nestor grabbed Tristan's shoulder keeping his voice low. "Doctor, we don't have enough fuel or food to get us very far. Just maybe somewhere close along the Perlemian..."

Tristan nodded. "Hapes, maybe?"

"Or Borleias?" Nestor rejoined.

The doctor's brow furrowed, "Wouldn't there be Vong there?"

"I don't know..." Nestor shook his head, and then gestured to the on ramp. "You better get on board. Is Kel all right?"

Tristan nodded, "She's still struggling with the morning sickness...but..." They turned as Natir and Syla bounded down the ramp.

Nair's face was sleek with perspiration. "Tristan, Kel needs you."

Tristan met Nestor's eyes one more time, and both men were filled with heady sense of déjà vu. Abruptly, Tristan turned away and scrambled up the ramp. Proof, once again that history does not repeat itself.

Nestor's eyes flitted to his fiancé, "Get on board Syla, I'm going to do a quick exterior check before we go." His voice was gruff, but soft. Briefly watching her retreating back, he mustered a modicum of patience, forcing himself to look over the ship, just to make sure the thugs had not done anything that would endanger them later. All of his senses were screaming to run, the entire planet was falling apart around them.

The sound of scuffling caused him to spin around, finally pinpointing the source. Bending over to look under the ship Nestor found himself face to face with the blowtorch wielder, who was holding out the instrument as a weapon.

Impulsively he barked, "Come on. We can take one more." On all fours the being crawled out, and Nestor realized that this man was a mere boy, no older than fourteen.

Looking him over, Nestor turned and moved towards the ramp, failing to realize that the boy was rooted to the spot. When he looked back, the boy quietly held out the torch as an offering and it took the elite fighter a second to realize that it was meant as payment for the ride. Striding backwards, he gave the boy a gentle nudge, "No charge," before practically shoving him up the on ramp.

Within moments, the Selanore was rising up through the debris laden planet and moving through the air. Inside, Tristan flicked on the transponder to a broad band frequency, trying to see if they needed permission to evacuate. "This is the Selanore, Independent Ship X25124, do you copy?"

A voice behind him interrupted him. "They're not going to answer. Everything has gone to hell in a hand basket." Tristan glanced back to see the bald guy who had introduced himself as Garik Loran, leaning against the doorframe to the cockpit.

"I figure."

Loran eyed the scopes, "We're about to break through the shields, or where the shields should be. Does this ship have any defenses?"

Nestor, who had been shifting power resources to the shields, nodded. "Yea, one turbolaser battery and a few...concussion bombs. It has been retrofitted with lasers, but you can only fire those from the cockpit." He turned and appraised the former star, "Can you shoot?"

Too late he remembered that the man used to be a part of one of Wedge Antilles' squadrons.

The man's lips broke into a wicked grin. "Can I shoot? Can a Ewok throw rocks?"

Nestor rolled his eyes, "Well then...get to it. Right, then left and then left again." The man moved away, and Nestor realized he may be able to help them..."Mr. Loran!"

Face turned around at the sound of his name, "Wherever you decide to fly will be fine. You had it right outside, aim for somewhere along the Perlemian, we can double back to Borleias from there."

Nestor blinked, dodging two smaller ships, and some burned out coralskippers, before glancing back quickly. "How'd you know?"

His eyes twinkled, despite the seriousness of the situation. "I'm a mind reader." Then he jogged back towards the turbolaser.

Tristan and Nestor looked at each other again.

Casually, Tristan spoke. "The Vong are ignoring most of the fleeing ships."

"Hm..."

"They probably realize that there is nowhere to go."

Neither of them spoke, unwilling to break the silence, but both jumped when the comm suddenly crackled to life. For a moment, the two froze, wondering if they had accidentally tuned to a military frequency.

Leia Solo's voice filled the ship, and Nestor quickly flipped a switch that had it broadcasting throughout the Selanore.

Her voice was strong, and commanding—and hopeful, even a she acknowledged her son Anakin's death.

Nestor's heart sank.

"Soon, the enemy will be on our rooftops, in our homes, roaming the dark underlayers of our city. To those able to evacuate and to those trapped behind, I say the same thing I would tell my twins—were I able to reach them behind enemy lines: Keep fighting.

This is not the end. Twice already, Jedi-led forces have decimated Yuuzhan Vong fleets, and we enter each battle with new weapons and better tactic. We have prevailed against ruthless enemies before, against Palpatine, against Thrawn, agains the Ssi-ruuk. This is a war we know how to win. Keep fighting until you can fight no longer, then exhaust the enemy chasing you, and turn and fight some more. Keep fighting. I promise you, we will prevail."

The cockpit was silent, and Tristan's eyes closed. Outwardly he appeared to be saying a quick prayer. Inside, a switch had been flicked, and when he saw his reflection in the mirror he saw a stranger, one who merely appeared calm. Enflamed, his anger and fear for Keladry and yet another unborn child was churning, and he quickly armed the lasers as the Yuuzhan Vong armada grew in their scopes.

Unaware, his own adrenaline surging, Nestor hit the communications console. "Everyone make sure you're braced and that all loose objects are secure, it's about to get bumpy." He reached over and secured his own webbing before pushing another button.

"Mr. Loran?"

"Face."

"Face. Lets get them."

xxxx

When the alarm sounded, when we first realized that the Vong were going to succeed in taking Coruscant, no one moved. Tristan, Natir and I were in a meeting with some personnel from Dr. Oolos' office, trying to help decipher data on another pathogen that had been sweeping through the city. In between refugee stops, we had been hired to wade through the data, primarily due to Tristan's uncanny ability to pinpoint patterns. The offices were located next to an apartment complex, and almost twenty-five levels and fourteen blocks away from the shipyard where the Selanore had been docked.

Society was collapsing, and everywhere you could hear people scrambling to ships trying to gather as many refugee's as possible. Over the din though, we saw Face Loran, two young girls, and a woman who we later learned was Iella Wessiri Antilles of Intelligence. He was yelling into a commlink, telling someone to take his ship and leave the planet without them. Hero's are always selfless, never thinking of personal safety—always putting the well being of others before themselves.

Without thinking, Tristan and I stopped in our tracks, and convinced the pair that we had room in our ship for all of them. We ran the entire way.

Once on the ship, the nausea resumed, and I spent the entire trip to Borleias, sleeping, trying to keep food down, trying to prevent miscarriage. My last memories of Coruscant are of a 'fresher bowl and tears as Leia Organa urged us to keep fighting.

By the time we arrived on Borleias, I had numbed the grief that accompanied Coruscant's fall, and my morning sickness distracted me, prevented me from noticing Tristan's odd behavior until it was almost too late.


Borleias Occupation Day 8

Schooling her face, Keladry Stanton-Romani quietly made her way into the med center at the biotic factory on Borleias. Stoically ignoring vacuous sterile environment which was once again, shoring up for an attack, her eyes searched out her husband's profile. She didn't make it very far before the smell of fresh gauze and rubbing alcohol attacked her senses, causing her stomach to lurch.

By miracle, a warm arm pulled her over to one of the cots, pushing a small pail into her hands.

Kel pushed it away, shaking her head no, before leaning back against the soft linen. Breathing deeply, she, tried to regain some composure. A moment later, when she opened her eyes she found herself looking into the kindly face of Nasirn Tan, the kindly former assistant to Dr. Oolos, who was running the medical unit on Borleias. Like Dr. Oolos he was a Ho'Din, and very gifted in the medical field.

"I see it wasn't merely a flu virus." He was smiling.

Abashed, Kel smiled, "No...a little bit more than that."

"Are congratulations in order?" The green scales on his back rippled, while his eyes twinkled in mirth.

She smiled, "Yes, thank you. Have you seen my husband?"

Tan shook his head. "He was here an hour ago." He grew curious, "Is everything alright with him? He seems less...calm."

Keladry stiffened, surprised that someone not within their inner circle had noticed. Instead of answering she stared up at the ceiling tiles, releasing another breath in frustration. "He's been on edge lately. I'm convinced it has to do with my pregnancy. They day we evacuated, was when we realized what was going on."

She hesitated, "His last wife...she...miscarried, from what we believe is the same disease that Mara Jade Skywalker survived."

Tan's eyes widened slightly, catching the inference of the first wife's death, before cautiously asking. "And you believe that he is worried about your health?" He wanted to ask more about Dr. Romani's wife, but sensed it was a sensitive subject.

She shook her head, "That and the war...he worries about our safety." It's more than that. I think he's trying to stop himself from repeating history, from letting his insecurities stand in the way of being excited about the future. He wouldn't be Tristan if he did not still worry. Letting his past go by marrying me, does not eradicate memories or emotions of how he reacted before.

Somehow the doctor knew that there was more to it. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a tab. "Here, this is L-zat. It should help with the nausea."

Kel swallowed the tab then slowly sat up, feeling less lightheaded. "I should go find him."

"Are you sure you're all right?"

She nodded, "We're housed here in the biotics factory, in fact two doors down." Almost to the door she looked at the doctor curiously. "Why did you ask me about Tristan? Did something happen?"

Nasirin Tan's large eyes blinked slowly mulling over his words. "He snapped at a few techs, and then when one of our aides came in, he abruptly left."

Not trusting her voice, Keladry cleared her throat, looking around the bay. "What was the aid's name? "

"Donyer Camer," The Ho'Din looked closely at her, wondering if he should ask her to sit again. Dr. Stanton's face had grown pale.

Her response was sharp. "And did he see Tristan's reaction?" Her eyes flitted across the room, furtively.

"I don't think so," Nasirin blinked, "but he did ask about you."

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Borleias Occupation Day 37

"Look at them,"

"That's incredible."

"Well they're not Jedi for nothing. Leave it to the Vong...despicable."

"Do you think they'll be able to save them?"

Ignoring the voices of the bystanders, Tristan tapped an earpiece. "Nestor, this is Tristan—I'm with the other medics, do you have a count?"

Through the crackling, Nestor's voice came back. "I have five, but Syla and the medic on board says that we have one deceased. There was some murmuring in the background. "Along with the other shuttles, it appears that there are a total of twenty-two. Hold on a second."

The medic's calm voice came over the comm., "They're all suffering from exposure, I have a Twi'lek with a broken arm, and a Rodian who suffering from a head wound."

Tristan relayed the message to the teams on the ground, then checked in with the other shuttles. When the four shuttles came to a soft but quick landing in the hanger bay, the teams went jumped into action.

Almost immediately, the medics and their volunteers began to transport the refugees off the ships, treating them for exposure, hooking the more serious ones to portable monitors to be transported to the bacta tanks and the 2-1B's. Tristan moved around, snapping off orders, while quickly setting the Twi'lek's arm. "Alright, move her back to the med-center."

His fists clenched as Donyer Camer grabbed the stretcher along with another aide. His chest tightened and he moved over to help the next patient. Placing the compress on the Rodian's head, he noticed his hand twitching and casually placed his right hand on top to still the movement. Of late, Tristan's anger was once again quick to rise, and the prior feelings and pressures of responsibility plagued him in his dreams.

The presence of his wife's stalker did nothing to quell the situation. In their presence the man was unobtrusive, pretending to not recognize any of them, despite his almost casual questions to others in the department. Occasionally Tristan would catch him watching Keladry work, his dark eyes penetrating and threatening. It took all Tristan's will power to not attack the man in fury.

All of their proof had been lost in the mad dash from Coruscant. No one could corroborate their story, and their patience—all the planning, was another casualty of the war. So they continued on...and once they realized he was on planet, they knew it would not be long before he had to make a move again. He still was unaware that his quarry could identify him.

Now in the medical center, Tristan moved between patients, monitoring their progress. For exposure and shock, the best thing that could be done was to stabilize temperatures, and other vital signs, before bacta. In the background he could hear some of the other doctors talking to each other, and silently he absorbed their observations, making sure to keep his mind on the task at hand.

"Ridiculous, lack of respect for life..."

"Waste...another one lost..."

"Use refugees and disease to their tactical advantage...enemies...the Vong emissary, Nom Anor, admitted to Mara Skywalker...at Duro"

Tristan flinched hearing Nom Anor's name. It had been three years since he had thought about that man and what he had done to his world. Focus. He began re-wrapping a broken ankle. Most of the physical injuries the refugees had sustained were when the fighter pilots had pushed the victims away from the planets atmosphere.

"...disease, they introduced it. Dr. Oolos, told me. Nom Anor introduced it before the invasion."

The scissors that Tristan had been holding clanked loudly to the floor and he found himself staring at the ankle, not knowing what to do next.

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Keladry had been rubbing the arms of a human woman trying to bring circulation back to her vessels, when she heard the commotion. In a surreal moment she knew before someone tapped her arm that it was Tristan.

Ignoring the whispers, she made sure someone took her place and then ducked around the curtained area where Tristan had been working. She had taken not more than two steps, when a loud crash led her toward the entrance to the ward.

A few feet away from a sedated Rodian, her husband was struggling against some medics, pushing through the crowd. At one point he swung around, and his rasping breath could be heard above the other medics still trying to maintain order. He looked directly at Dr. Tan and asked him, no demanded. "Is it true? Is it true?"

Her voice shaking, Keladry called out his name, and he seemed to hear, his head moving towards the sound. His actions were alarming enough, but...when his eyes met hers...she realized she was looking into the face of a man torn with madness, consumed with a level of hatred so deep...

His grey eyes, that had reminded her of the sky at first snowfall, were now the color of coal, unseeing, unfeeling. They passed through her, and somehow, he slipped out of the restraining arms and bolted out of the medical center.

Shoving through the shocked medical staff, Keladry passed quickly through the doors, only to find that he had already disappeared.

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The words slammed into his brain, pounding, pounding. Repeating itself like a broken holorecording.

"Dr. Romani, are you alright?" Turning slowly, He turned to speaker, his mouth ashen, dry. Vong. Nom Anor. Disease. The world around him spun, and an uncontrollable feeling of rage swept across his vision. Everything in the room tilted. He was cognizant shoving past everyone in the room, of eyes staring and grappling for him. He sensed that he was a danger to his patients, and struggled against those that held him, concentrating on making it out into the hallway...Vong. Nom Anor. Disease. He heard Keladry's voice in the distance, but ignored it, the rage...the adrenaline...swept through his senses...

Pounding, Pounding. Vong. Nom Anor. Disease. Alive.

From somewhere within, his carefully guarded anger, his stored away his pain, his selfishness, awoke like a rancor coming out of hibernation. Ravenous, bloodthirsty. Like soot in a flame that burned all in his wake, his vision was tinged with the onyx and crimson of death. His fists were clenched, and his white lab coat flapped in the wind tearing through the hallways, trying to find a place where the anger could be expelled.

Then the voices started, and in his minds eye he saw Elbereth's violet eyes accusing, Iker's laugh, grating stabbing, crushing. Everything was different, everything he knew had changed...

Nothing was the same. The galaxy had conspired against him from the beginning.

Happiness was non existent, an extinguished flame overtaken by glacial winds.

Somehow outside, two paths appeared before him, just as in his dreams. His surroundings were unrecognizable, but he saw his wife, he saw Keladry's ashen face dressed in Elbereth's red and silver...and she was walking away from him moving towards the icy wall that Elbereth had gone through. NO!

NO! The tempest grew in intensity.

Pounding, pounding. Through brush and trees, tripping over rocks and debris. Scratching, pain, pounding, pounding...pain. Iker's voice echoed in his head: Fear and pain are a mark of a soldier, and your child will learn from your mistakes to be better, and greater. In fact you should transform the fear into a tool, for it is through fear and sometimes the pain of mistakes that one learns most appropriately.

His legs were leaden, and suddenly he stopped. His arm stiff, his body bruised, he saw sky then earth then sky then earth as the world spun around him.

His heart stopped and he fainted dead away.


Borleias Occupation Day 39

Looking at the crowd gathered next to the Millennium Falcon, where onlookers watched as General Antilles, the Skywalkers and other parents said goodbye to their children. Keladry felt her heart flutter. Will my child never live to see her father again? Where are you Tristan?

In one of the booths above the landing pad, she tried to free herself of the morbid thoughts, turning back to Dr. Tan. "Tell me again, what you know about the disease, about Nom Anor."

The Ho'Din's guilty look re-formed, and he shuffled anxiously before replying. "Nom Anor did not die three years ago. In the last year he has been seen by three members of the Skywalkero-Solo clan. On Duro, he told Mara Jade Skywalker, under the alias Dr. Cree'Ar that he had infected her on Monor II, that the disease was his weapon to weaken the republic before the Vong invaded." He grimaced, "Most of the higher-ups knew about it, though I'm not sure how you didn't find out with all the time you spent on Coruscant with Dr. Oolos."

Keladry sat back down, her mind racing. "Maybe they thought we knew, that someone had told us. We had been jumping between refugee ships and Coruscant for over two years. I'm sure some of this information was classified, and we were never high enough..." She looked up, "And Tristan heard that? Amidst the chaos?"

"I assume that is what he was asking about, but I do not know why this information had such an effect on him."

Keladry started, "No—you couldn't know. " She took a deep breath and gave him the short life history of Tristan Romani and his world. "He has always been plagued with insecurities, trying to believe that there was nothing he could have done to save Elbereth, or his first child. In an effort to make her dream come true, to bring their planets to peace, he raced after the malefactor, the insurgent that had started it all. He sought vengeance and undeniable proof that they had been manipulated. Iker Rafagr, was his only hope, to bring justice, to make Elbereth's death have some meaning."

"When we thought Nom Anor—Iker Rafagr was dead, when Tristan thought he was dead for the second time, the last time, I believed he was relieved of his burden, freeing him to live again. Even learning that Elbereth had contracted the illness that so many others had, seemed to show him that there was nothing he could have done, and he accepted it." She continued sadness tinged with bitterness, "instead with no place to go, it looks like the darkness stayed within him, taunting him."

She looked up at the doctor, who had volunteered to stay with her while Syla, Nestor and Natir searched for Tristan. "Something changed. The fall of Coruscant, the war destroying more constants, maybe he felt that he had not fought hard enough, and layered subconscious guilt on top of everything else. Which is why he was angry, tense frustrated—especially with my mother's murderer around." She looked at the doctor apologetically; they had been forced to come clean with him, when they realized that the man worked in the med ward. Measures had been made to limit his access to patients, and he was being monitored. "I think he may fear losing me to violence as well."

Keladry stared at her hands, "Maybe the connection between this war, his home planet's destruction and his wife's illness was too much for him to bear. He lost his family at a young age, his sister...twice. His first wife, his child...and now to realize that his planet's destruction and Elbereth and Salya's death could have been prevented? To find out that they were mere pawns in the Vong's plan for this galaxy?" Her arms snaked around herself, and she shuddered as a chill overtook her body. "I have a bad feeling about this, Doctor Tan...I have a bad feeling."

All of a sudden, the door to the room slammed open and the blue stun beams of a blaster slammed into Dr. Tan's upper arms. A moment later, Donyer Camer, his maniacal expression mixed with a level of glee stepped into the room. In an instinctive gesture Keladry wrapped her arms around her midsection, somehow not surprised that the man that had tortured her for over six years, through eight planetary systems chose now to make his move.

When he looked at her, no, looked through her, she was afraid he was going to kill her right away. Instead he stepped closer, not even acknowledging her presence, and began to walk around her. His apologetic look was all she saw before a sharp pain hit her skull and her world went black.

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"Is he going to be all right?" Nestor asked quietly, looking at his friend lying just beyond the borders of the jungle floor.

The medical technician looked up at the tall man, taking in his fearful features. "I think so, at least physically. Something must have happened to cause him to faint away for nearly two days."

Syla's voice was suspicious, "Look, he's waking up." Tristan's arms had twitched, just for a moment.

Bzz. Bzz.

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Their voices bounced around his head, and Tristan came to, his entire body aching. What happened? How long has it been? What is that buzzing noise? His eyes seemed to be closed, and refused to open.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bzzz. Bzz.

"Mr. Alluvia, This is Doctor Tan." The man's groggy voice came through the commlink.

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And he remembered. Nom Anor was a Yuuzhan Vong. Nom Anor infected Elbereth with the disease. Nom Anor is still alive. Nom Anor destroyed everything...

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nestor looked at Syla with fear. "What's wrong?"

"Camer, he came. Took Doctor Stanton."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tristan's eyes snapped open. Camer has Keladry.

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"Shavit." Nestor's swear echoed through the trees. "Do we know where?"

"Someone saw him dragging her into his bunk. The door's locked, reinforced, but we can hear both of them inside, alive."

There was a rustle deep in the Jungle and the trio standing froze.

Finally the medic turned to the pair. "We have to get out of here, there may be Vong." He quickly packed up his equipment, and stood up from his kneeling position.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Nom Anor took Elbereth. Nom Anor took Salya. Camer took Keladry.

Camer is Nom Anor.

Camer is Iker Rafagr.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Nestor," Syla's voice trembled, and Nestor found himself looking at Tristan's face.

His eyes were open, pupils wide, they were bloodshot rivulets of veins coming together at the center of his eyes.

His lips were moving.

Dropping to his knees, Nestor leaned in to hear what he was saying. Tristan's hand shot up and Nestor twisted away reaching to hold the man down, grasping only air.

With a burst of speed, without looking back, Tristan raced back towards the medical ward.

Nestor stood up quickly and began running—he knew exactly where Tristan was going, and he was afraid of what was going to happen if they didn't stop him.

Echoing through his head were the words that Tristan had been mumbling. Camer is Iker Rafagr. Iker must die. Camer is Iker Rafagr. Iker must die.


"Let me go? Please?"

Keladry was frightened. Not for herself, but for her child. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she looked at the man sitting next to her on the bed. It was as if he didn't hear her.

"And then, you went to the park. And you smiled at me—and I knew that somehow we were meant to be together." He laughed gleefully, waving the blaster around, in the process his finger slipped and the blaster, now set to kill, shot out a red beam melting the synthetic dresser in the corner.

Keladry jumped, trying to stay calm, trying to not let the stress take a toll that would be dangerous to her child. She shivered uncontrollably.

A noise outside the door turned her head, and she whimpered.

And then a miracle, she heard his voice. Calling through the metal doorway, providing her strength. "Keladry, it's Tristan. Stay calm. Everything is going to be fine. I love you, I promise. Stay strong."

"LOOK AT ME!" Donyer's voice rose over the din, and hardened. "You didn't love me after all...I was going to protect you, and you chose him—who you hated. He was always whining, mewling, and you chose him. YOU CHOSE HIM."

He dropped out of the chair, crawling over to her, begging, and she shrank away, moving into the corner of the bed. "Why? "Why did you choose him?"

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He was running again, but something was happening. Instead of his anger growing with each movement, it was fading away. Instead it was being replaced with fear, with love, with desperation to save his wife and child.

He had changed, he had moved on. New information of events long past could not dictate his actions. In the light of the day, the oxygen flowing from through his veins, his head no longer pounding, the mantra from the forest faded away...Camer was not Iker Rafagr, Camer was a sociopath not related to the war. I can't be too late.

Turning the corner, he almost ran into a small group of personnel standing outside the door. He pushed his way through, aware of the looks that he was being given, his disheveled state made him look like death walking. Reaching the door he faced Doctor Tan whose surprised expression was mixed with sorrow. "Is she in there?" The doctor nodded and then tried to stop him as he called through the door.

Softly, knowing that she was probably frightened, needing strength, he summoned as much as he could and projected it into his voice. He had walked away from her, and left her unprotected—he had to make sure he was there for her now. "Keladry...it's Tristan. Everything is going to be fine..." He was rambling, and had finished telling her he loved her, when Camer's raised words traveled through the reinforced metal door. Taking advantage of the situation, the technician leaned over to quietly fiddle with the lock.

"LOOK AT ME!"

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"Why? Why did you choose him?" His plaintive plea shocked Keladry into action. Maybe if I play along...maybe...

She was soft, her voice lilting in the way she hated; it showed her fear. "I did not choose him. I...choose you." And then she looked up and really looked at Donyer Camer for the first time.

His eyes were deeply emotive, the color of honey and chocolate depending on the light. His hair, was brown but flicked with strands of pearly white, a weak chin hidden by a light fuzz of sandy colored hair. He was wearing a medic volunteer uniform, and gone were the old fine clothes they had seen on the Fatem. In there place were dark slacks, an equally threadbare dark shirt, and a NREMAT patch.

His eyes were hard, they were disturbed, they were pained.

Quietly, he reached out for her, and she took a leap of faith to protect her child...and hugged him back. She pressed her lips together to stop from screaming in fright, but it was too much, and without her permission a small cry escaped.

His grip tightened. She had doomed them both.

A new voice, Tristan's voice. It's too late.

"Let her go."

Click.

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It was too quiet. Something was going on, and everyone outside the corridor was waiting with bated breath. Anguished, but steady Tristan turned to Nestor who had slipped to the front. "Are you all right, your highness?" In his nervousness, the former bodyguard had forgotten Tristan's almost ancient orders.

His heart no longer tightened at the title, knowing that he may hold it but that it was irrelevant, his world was a monarchy no more. Silently, his eyes trained on the lock technician, Tristan nodded. He was serene, he was at peace. He knew what had to be done.

From the other side, a small cry was heard just as the technician stood up, his hands molded, thumbs up. Slowly, all eyes turned to Tristan.

He held out his hand and Nestor, with great care, slipped Tristan his blaster. Setting the gun to stun the doctor took a deep breath and quietly, tapped the button, waiting as door slid open.

His hand steady, his eyes clear he pointed the blaster at Donyer Camer's head. As his arm swung up without hesitation, Elbereth's words in the letter to Nestor flitted across his mind.

While putting his faith in others, Tristan has never truly believed in himself. I tried, but there wasn't enough time to show him just how much I believe. He needs to be a shown a purpose beyond us so that he can truly see all the good that he can accomplish. I put my faith in him; I know that he can be successful.

He needs to be shown a purpose beyond us so that he can truly see all the good that he can accomplish.

A purpose beyond us...

And quite simply, he knew what that purpose was. His cause, his purpose, was standing in front of him.

Love.

Slowly he raised the blaster and held it at Donyer Camer's head. "Let her go."

Click.

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He smiled, feeling her warmth in his arms. How comfortable she was with him. Maybe she did choose me?

It was a mere moment, but her cry destroyed his last hope. It was all a lie.

His grip tightening he held her closer, hearing the whisper of the doorway as her husband entered.

It could only be Tristan Romani, her husband. The floor creaked.

"Let her go."

Click.

Looking up at the sound of the door closing, Donyer smiled to himself, raised the gun and squeezed the trigger.

End Post 10

Credit: The speech Leia gave From Star by Star. The situation with Loran and Iella I pulled from information in RD/RS, and created the situation on my own, b/c they never really explained how they got off Coruscant aside from the fact that Face helped. Oh yeah, Loran an Iella, not my characters...(duh)

In the second half, situational things are from RD/RS...oh and the words that Iker Rafagar told him are from Changing of the Guard

Everything else is mine..