A/N: I've had several requests recently for a novel-length retelling of KOTOR, but unfortunately the chances of that happening are pretty minimal (I've explained why in my profile). However, I will be writing more short stories in the near future.

Epilogue

The clink of glasses mingled with the sounds of chattering and laughter inside the Black Rakata enclave, where the former crewmembers of the Hawk were celebrating the success of their mission. The Rakata had proved remarkably amenable to having their planet taken over for the medal ceremony; perhaps they simply wished to show goodwill towards the Republic, which had already begun negotiations with the Elder Council. Or perhaps they were genuinely grateful to Revan for destroying the Star Forge, finally lifting the dark curse which had plagued their world for so long.

Revan was standing alone in a corner, mesmerised by the traditional Rakata drum beats emanating from the next room, when he felt a tap on the shoulder. "Another drink?" proposed Carth, good-humoured and affable after several glasses of Tarisian ale.

"Why not?" He handed his glass to Carth, who poured him out another generous measure of ale. "What did you think of the Admiral's speech?" he asked his friend.

Carth screwed up his face. "Usual crowd-pleasing nonsense," he muttered, then coughed loudly. "Erm... I mean a fine, inspiring speech, of course."

They were interrupted by a burst of laughter from the other side of the room, where Jolee stood in conversation with Mission and Canderous. Carth nudged Revan furtively and lowered his voice. "Is it true that Jolee's thinking of going back to the Order?"

A faint grin spread over Revan's face. "So I've heard, but he's not letting on to any of us." He shrugged and took another gulp of his drink. "What about you – are you off to Telos after this?"

Carth nodded, his expression softening a little. "Yeah," he said simply. "I've got a whole lot of stuff to sort out with Dustil. I was away from home for far too long."

"Well, good luck," answered the Jedi with considerable feeling. He didn't envy his friend the task ahead; from what he had seen, young Dustil Onasi had a chip on his shoulder the size of a small planet. But at least Carth now had a chance to mend his relationship with his son, after so much time with nothing to live for but revenge.

They sipped their drinks quietly for a little while. "And what about you and Bastila?" asked Carth after a minute. "Have you two made any plans?"

A dark cloud passed over Revan's face. "It's really too early for that," he said soberly. "We've only got a few more weeks together. I don't think we can take any major decisions until after the war." He hardly needed to state the obvious: that it was far from certain whether either of them, let alone both, would survive that long.

Carth nodded understandingly. "Well, at least the Council didn't force you apart," he pointed out, then glanced around the room. "Where is Bastila, anyway?"

Revan looked around at the other party-goers. All his other friends were there, but Carth was right: Bastila was missing. He tried searching for her through the Force; she was still in the area, not too far, but some distance away from the enclave. "She's gone out," he said with a resigned shrug.

"Not much for socialising, is she?" muttered Carth. His brow wrinkled slightly in concern. "Look... she is going to be OK, right?"

"I think so," the Jedi answered quietly. "But it'll take a while." He took a last, wistful glance at his half-finished glass of ale, then laid it aside on the table and took up his robe. "I guess I'd better go and find her."

-----

Bastila sat by herself on the secluded central beach, gazing out to sea. Her fingers trailed absent-mindedly through the soft, powdery white sand as she watched a flock of birds wheel and dive overhead, silhouetted against the setting sun. Every now and then she would glance down at the small medal pinned to her tunic, finger it for a moment, and heave a sigh of vague, intangible discontent before turning her attention back to the clouds above.

As always, she sensed Revan's approach long before she could see or hear him. She did not look round, however, but waited until his footsteps came to a halt beside her and she felt his hand ruffle her hair. "Not in a party mood?" he enquired, crouching down next to her.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to take you away from the others, Revan."

"I'd rather be with you anyway," he said gallantly. She smiled a little, but made no reply. "Is something the matter? Or did you just want to be alone?"

"There's nothing the matter, really. It's just..." She sighed again, trying to find the words to convey her thoughts. "All this adulation, the medals... it doesn't seem right. Not after what we did."

He sat down in the sand beside her, covering her hand with his. "I know what you mean," he said quietly.

"I can still feel the darkness inside me sometimes. The taint..." A slight shiver ran through her, despite the warmth of the evening. Revan slid his arms round her and drew her back against him, holding her lightly around the waist.

"It'll take time, Bastila," he murmured into her ear, and she nodded ruefully. "Anyway," he continued, "you deserve this a hell of a lot more than I do."

"Do I? I don't know any more." Her voice was distant, brooding. "I'm not as sure of anything as I used to be. It could be that Carth was right after all..."

Revan looked at her blankly. "About what?" he asked, puzzled.

"About the war," she explained. "Who knows; if you hadn't done what you did, maybe we really would all be speaking Mandalorian now."

"Maybe there is no right answer," he said softly. She nodded again and leaned her head against his shoulder. Both of them lapsed into silence for a while, watching the sun gradually sink towards the horizon.

After a while she felt Revan tense slightly, as if he were preparing himself to say something unpleasant. "Bastila," he began eventually, "may I ask you a favour?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "What kind of favour?"

He hesitated a moment before replying. "It's just that I know almost nothing about myself," he explained at last. "Would you mind telling me some things about what I was like before the war? I would ask one of the Masters, but they're far too busy."

"Of course I will," she replied, astonished that he would regard this as a 'favour'. "Why would I mind?"

He shrugged. "I thought it might be painful for you, that's all."

"To think about happier times? No, not in the least." She paused for a moment. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, we could start with my second name," he said with a slightly ironic smile. "Do I even have one, for that matter?"

She laughed, and then suddenly grew more thoughtful. "Do you know, I'm not actually sure," she admitted. "People hardly ever used your surname – I don't think you liked it very much. I think you once told me you were named after a ship..."

"A starship?"

"Yes." She thought for a minute, and then all of a sudden it came to her. "Skywalker," she said firmly. "That was your name. Revan Skywalker."

Skywalker. A bit of a strange name, perhaps, but it could have been a lot worse... "Thanks," he replied, with unaffected gratitude. "It's nice to know at least something about myself that isn't a complete invention."

Bastila realised how hard it must be for him, trying to piece together the details of a life he couldn't even remember. She gently reached up to stroke his face, a sudden tenderness welling up inside her. "What else would you like me to tell you?" she murmured.

Revan looked down at her. She felt soft and warm in his arms, and the sun's dying rays cast a rosy glow over her face, adding a tinge of colour to her fair skin. At that moment she looked lovelier in his eyes than he had ever seen her before, and suddenly the distant past was the last thing he wanted to think about. "Maybe some other time..."

She was beautiful, perfect. He wanted to lay her down, there in the smooth ripples of sand, and make her utterly his. More than ever before he hated those faceless, anonymous men who had hurt her so badly; he adored her, yet he hardly dared to touch her for fear of re-opening the wounds they had inflicted. She was nothing to them, but everything to him – and now he was paying the price for their cruelty.

Bastila felt the yearning that he couldn't hide, and her heart swelled with pain; she knew she could trust him not to harm her, but the dreadful memories were still too vivid and too powerful. "One day," was all she could promise him, and he nodded in quiet resignation. One day...

He spread out his cloak on the sand and lay back on it, gazing up into the sky. Darkness was falling, but it was a calm, peaceful darkness that held no fear. Bastila snuggled up against him, slipping an arm around his waist, and he felt her warm lips graze his neck.

Together they lay there, at peace with the Force and each other, as a burst of fireworks exploded over the Rakata enclave and mingled with the stars.