Touching Humanity
Teeth-rotting LSF Revan/Carth fluff. Post KOTOR, pre KOTOR II
Rated PG13
Disclaimer: Well, what should I say? I don't own anything.
Touching Humanity
Winter reined hard and frozen over the brittle, charred landscape of Dantooine. The golden grasses that usually spread out to the horizon were now masked by a depressing white blanket of snow, and the sky was a sloping grey, fading into an indistinguishable white to blend with the ground below. Wildlife activity had stuttered to a halt and nothing moved in the harsh, silent cold. Even the air held its breath, teasing not a single leaf, nudging not a single flake of snow.
The courtyard of the Dantooine Jedi academy was glinting with polished marble and frozen ice. After its original resurrection, dozens of milky marble statues had been erected all over the premises, and each statue told its own story. A placid man with a calm face stood with his hands clasped before the entrance, his lightsaber pointed to the sky, his robes teased in a nonexistent wind. His story was one of serenity and control – he was once a great Jedi that had fallen during a war centuries ago.
An additional statue was that of a young woman, at the very beginning peak of her life, meditating on her knees, her hands folded in her lap, her hair twisted into complicated braids. Her pretty face was expressionless and collected, and her lightsaber lay, unneeded, between her knees. This was a statue of the legendary Bastila Shan, who had become an object of affection for the public after the Star Forge.
The statue was enchanting. It captured the real Bastila Shan perfectly, but something about her unruffled calmness was false.
Another figure sat, curled with her knees beneath her chin, her hair twirling about her face. Snow had turned her ebony hair white, and her skin had blanched beneath the cold. From a distance, she seemed to be just another statue that stood still in the courtyard, but as one neared, it was clear that she was not.
Her eyes were glassy and pale as they lifted to the sky, but they shone with tears. Her skin had grown dangerously pale, her mouth flat and frowning. She lowered her lashes, which were clumped with icy tears, and she exhaled. A plume of mist rose before her, drifting into oblivion.
Her name was Cortessa, and regret had overwhelmed her over the past month, along with so many emotions she could not hope to solve. She spent her time in meditation, ignoring the constant requests for attention from Carth Onasi. He had become increasingly persistent, interrupting training lessons to speak with her. She desperately wanted to end it all – his contact brought so many raw, uncontrolled emotions about. Merely thinking about the times he would pull her from her studies made her shudder.
It wasn't just that he wanted her attention. It was a shameless act of courtship, encouraged by their comrades despite Bastila and Cortessa's protests. Carth would hold her, boring her eyes with his, asking her earnestly if she loved him.
So far she had not yet come up with a reply. Bastila, a Jedi master, or HK-47 would always come to her rescue before she would have to deliver the painful truth.
As she sat there, composed, she knew he would find her again.
A single breeze flicked a strand of her dark hair across her face, and then the wind held still once more. Behind her a door opened and a man stepped out, bundled against the harsh temperatures. Cortessa listened as he approached, his feet nearly soundless, for the snow muffled his footfall. He knelt beside her, and she did not look at him as she focused on inner peace and tranquility.
"Cortessa," he said.
"Hello, Carth," she murmured, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath. "I knew you would seek me out again."
"You can't ignore me forever," he murmured.
She glanced at him. His face was handsome and honest, and his eyes were dark, helpless… swarmed and shadowed by mixed emotion. She couldn't bear to hurt him… he was such a good creature.
"You cannot love a former Sith Lord," she told him quietly, keeping her voice controlled and bland. "I have done far too much."
"Are you saying you don't deserve love?"
"Yes," she said. "And that you do not need me. You have much ahead of you… you don't need this monster dragging you along."
"You are no monster to me."
"And that is where I make sense."
Anger rose in his throat, and his voice came out strangled. "You can't do this! After all we've done – after all we've seen! How can you blow it off like that? You don't find love every other day, Cortessa! Hell, some people never come across it once!"
"I have loved too often. I am beyond redemption. Leave me to my studies and meditation."
"I won't stand for that, and you know it," he said, and he became distressed. Cortessa soaked up the Force around him, tasting his desperation. How seductive it was… it was awful that the dark side could be so intoxicating. That was why she had to remain firm – to be around that temptation all of the time would be overwhelming.
"I will not discuss this with you," she said. "It's as if you want the Dark Lord back."
Carth gaped. "You can't be serious!" he gasped.
She said nothing. She had found peace.
He grabbed her arms firmly, and she realized with a jolt how exposed she was in nothing but her robes, and she stared up at him, daring him to touch her again. He didn't release her, but he physically softened.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "Why must you tease me like this?"
"I'm not teasing," she told him firmly. "I am executing a decision that will be better for the both of us." She didn't mention how hard this decision was, while his touch burned through the fabric of her robes and scalded her skin relentlessly.
His breath flowed hot against her lips. She blanched, drawing her brows together in her defiance.
"I don't believe you," he breathed. His voice was barely a whisper, as if it was just a trick of the wind, but there was no wind.
She mustered up the strength to resist him. "How can you prey upon me so?" she said, her voice dangerously soft, but she could tell he was enjoying the taste of her breath upon his face. She flushed with agitation.
He bent low and she braced herself, but instead he whispered in her ear, shamelessly allowing his lips to press against her skin. "What are you going to do about it?"
Despite herself, she allowed a shuddering moan to slip through, and she shivered while his heat came in contrast with the cold of winter.
His lips wandered downward, over her jaw and neck. Exhilaration and fear wound tight around her mind, and she wanted desperately to be free of him, but he persisted, his hands roaming absently down her back and over her body.
She tried to dissuade him to no avail. The cold was stimulating – it gave his advancements more heat and meaning. She didn't like it… and at the same time she loved it. Finally, with the last of her resolve, she pushed away, leaning back in the snow and looking into his eyes, which shone bright with his elation.
"Please," she mumbled. "I cannot do this."
"I don't see Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith," Carth told her, his voice barely above a hiss.
Her skin ached where it had been touched. She bowed her head and resumed meditation, ignoring him.
Morning dawned fully over the plains, and still Carth remained, even as the first of the Jedi apprentices filed out and began their practices.
"Come with me, at least," he said at last, taking her hand and standing.
She stood, wet and bogged down from the snow, but as graceful as ever as he led her inside, through the halls, unseen, unnoticed. He took her to his room, and she immediately dug her heels into the ground.
"I'm not an idiot, Carth," she told him.
He brushed this off, and she realized she couldn't fight him as he played with her hand in a casual, affectionate way. He pulled her inside, letting the door shut, and she looked around.
The room was clearly his. The obvious things had been firmly cleaned up – the pictures were straight, the bed was made, and clothes were put away, but on the various counters, items were in disarray, and things lay scattered about, dripping contents onto the floor. His coats were hung over the backs of chairs, and the place smelled faintly of soaps and leather.
He breathed onto her neck, his arm finding her waist, and he began to persuade her, slowly but surely, to give in to him and temptation for once.
"No," she said, but her tone was half-hearted between his lips, her mind reeling. "I am not a good person… no… I'm not who you think I am… please… I'm as good as a tyrant. No…"
As always, he wouldn't listen, and slowly… gradually… her protests melted away into nothing…
And winter turned to spring.
------
Author's Notes: I don't think I can write anything without extreme doses of humor or angst. I suck. Oh well.
Edit: Typo.