This was originally supposed to go up on Valentine's Day, but there was an… issue… with hives… so, here it is now. I'm afraid it's not a very V-day themed chapter.

Wellingtonboots – Thanks! I liked Serra a lot too – she was a lot of fun in the video game. I fear this may take a bit of a u-turn from the accepted canon, though everything that happened in the movie still happens (think of it as behind the scenes). Anyway, I hope you continue to enjoy it.

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Preface:

I always wondered why Darth Vader wanted Arden Lyn to beat up members of the Alliance. So, I gave him a reason…

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9. Without a Light

"Aren't you going to at least make him beg?"

The lightsaber skimmed millimeters over his head, cutting through empty air as Skywalker whirled around.

Joclad Danva exhaled, and still lived.

He turned his head with some effort to see what had just saved him. In the shattered doorway, dramatically backlit by the hellish flames of the burning temple, stood a woman.

The fact that she was standing there at all made Joclad wonder if he were hallucinating. Or maybe he was dead already, and now he was trapped in some sort of uneven limbo, doomed to fight the same battles over and over again. Nonetheless, his would-be savior clearly needed a little correcting. "I don't beg."

"I wasn't really talking to you," the woman said, "but I'll make a note of that."

"Who are you?" Skywalker demanded.

Joclad looked in the direction his other 'saber had flown off, and spotted the hilt gleaming dully in a corner. He stretched his left hand for it, but as it skittered against the scorched tiles, he realized he lacked the strength to summon it. Damn.

He thought the woman chuckled. "I'm someone who has a severe dislike for executions," she said, coming closer. Nearly-black hair brushed her shoulders, and she was clad in a simple black outfit. Not a single weapon – blade or blaster – adorned it. "I prefer a straight fight to the death, to be honest."

Skywalker looked at her incredulously. "What, precisely, do you think it is we're doing here?"

The one who carries no weapon is the one to be watched most carefully. Joclad swayed to his feet, pain racing through every joint and muscle in his body. The woman stopped a few meters away, hands clasped behind her back. "I know both your faces."

"A shame – they'll be the last you see." Skywalker – Darth Anakin, Joclad decided– bolted toward her. Joclad did his best to surge after him, but only crashed to his knees again in exhaustion, a reddish haze creeping across his eyes. Am I bleeding? I must be bleeding. Maybe my eyes are bleeding. Oh, that wouldn't be good.

Darth Anakin's azure blade swept toward the woman in a precise, body-cutting arc. Or at least, Joclad thought it did. It was hard to see beyond the haze, but Skywalker had either misjudged the woman's position or she simply moved with impossible speed.

It was like watching a dream play out. This woman – is she real? Did I dream her up as I died? – danced around a Dark Lord of the Sith with all the precision and grace of a Laeraen skyrider. Skywalker chopped away at her, but she dodged over and around each blow so perfectly….

She rolled forward, skimming underneath the blade and leaping upward, practically smashing into Skywalker. As he brought his weapon inward, though, the woman's right fist came up and out. There was a surge in the Force, and the last thing Joclad saw of Anakin Skywalker were his boots as the boy sailed out the fractured doors and over the balcony, presumably to land several stories down.

I know that move, he realized. Rancor-rising… Phow Ji had used it on him to great effect. But Joclad had never seen it used like that.

Looking closer at the woman, he felt he ought to recognize her. "Teräs käsi?" The words sounded weak at best.

She looked at him. "You're still here?"

Joclad shut down his remaining 'saber and, with some effort, clipped it back to his belt. He regarded the woman uneasily from his spot on the floor and wondered when the room had started spinning.

She was suddenly next to him, and a cool hand pressed against his forehead. "Joclad Danva, master of teräs käsi," she said, her voice slightly grating but not unpleasant. "What happened here?"

He shook his head. The haze in front of his eyes thickened, until all he could see was the diffused orange of the fires that still raged outside. "Where is he?"

"There are some Knights below us causing him trouble," she said. She touched his shoulder, and the haze slowly dissipated. "Last holdouts. Let me see that hand."

He obediently held it out and caught the edge of her disapproving examination. "Nerve damage," she said, and Joclad jumped as icy-hot fire shot through the appendage in question. "How did you manage this?"

"I wanted to save the… the her…" He wavered, and then doubled over as that same freezing fire nearly blew through his entire body. "Gah! What'd—what'd—"

But nearly as soon as it started, the pain vanished. Joclad opened his eyes and lifted his head, staring around the room with startling clarity. The woman stood there gazing at him rather bemusedly, and he caught a hint of a smile. "Feeling better?"

"What'd…" He took a deep breath and banished the pain from Skywalker's little gift to a distant corner of his mind. "What'd you do to me?"

"Don't worry so much about what, Danva. It won't last long, and I don't have the strength to heal you fully. You'd best go while he's… occupied."

Joclad looked at his hand. The damage from the blaster was still there, and it still felt like a bantha had stomped on it, but when he reached out for his missing lightsaber the hilt flew to his palm without hesitation. I've heard of jump-starting a system with the Force, but… no, Joclad, stop thinking, it's bad for you. His fingers remained stiff and outstretched, unresponsive to his various efforts to close around the hilt. At last he grasped the fingers with his right hand, and, closing his eyes against the pain, bent them into position around the hilt one at a time.

He opened his eyes again and nodded. It would have to do.

With some effort, he flicked the blade on and took comfort in its reassuring hum. "Oh, I'll go," he said, getting to his feet. He tested his legs out, and found he could walk without too much trouble. Dropping down to the levels below would probably kill him outright, but maybe if he fell on Skywalker…

He made for the balcony.

"Don't."

It was just one word, and spoken very quietly, but it stopped him in his tracks. He slowly turned around to stare at her. All right, she needs more correcting. "He can't get loose. You… I don't know what you are, but you saw what he could do. I have to stop him."

She shook her head. "By splattering bits of yourself on him when that fall pulverizes you? You're alive, Danva, but only just. Don't push it."

Why are we having this conversation now? And how? He regarded her uneasily. "And what is it you propose I do? Run away?" He spat a mouthful of blood out with the words, staining the tiled floors further.

She folded her arms. "You say run away, I say take cover. Those Jedi down there may earn you a reprieve, Danva, but not a long one. You can't save them anyway; you must know that. Make your choice."

"I won't leave. Not when there's still fighting. Not while I can still—I can still—" But could he? He tried twirling the left 'saber and had to grind his teeth to keep from crying out. Force, if he went down there he'd get skewered in an instant, even with his good right blade.

The woman gave no response, and Joclad felt his temper rising again. "What do you suggest I do, then? Run between the shadows and wait for him to seek me out?"

She looked at him appraisingly. "There are worse things than the life of an exile, Joclad Danva."

How would you know? Something told him that wasn't the brightest question to ask. "Who are you?"

She came no closer, but he caught a glint of light in her eyes, and sensed strange power flickering around her. "He needs you," she said. Joclad blinked at the information, and in the space between one heartbeat and the next, the woman vanished.

He stood there, not entirely sure that he could keep his feet. Who needs me?

He heard a soft rustle of cloth across tile. Joclad wheeled just enough to see Cin move his hand, and pain was forgotten. The green 'saber slipped from his clenched fingers, leaving an unsightly mark against the floor before it shut down.

"Cin! Master Drallig!" He scooped the man up in his arms, and blanched upon seeing the round hole in his middle. No human's innards could survive such a cruel blow with a lightsaber. "Master..."

"Joclad?" Watery blue eyes opened, and, for perhaps the first time in his life, Joclad thought he saw genuine, unmasked pleasure there. Cin lifted his hand, gently touching the younger man's face. "Joclad, you are alive... Skywalker said... thought it was a dream… powers and… you're alive…"

"I'm alive," he whispered, trying to block out the terrible burning in his mind. Though only just.

"Good form," the man said. He caught Joclad's useless left hand with his and squeezed it tightly, seemingly unaware of the scorched flesh. Joclad bore it as best he could and tried not to cringe. "Good form… watch out… for the Dark…"

Joclad longed to shout for a medic, a healer, anything -- such things were ingrained in him by now – but he knew no one would come. No one but the Sith. "I cleared out some of the clones, but there are too many, and I—"

"You must go," Cin said. "Take who you can and get out."

"No! They need me here, I can still fight, and we--"

"Don't be an idiot," Cin groused. His eyes slid shut, but fluttered open again. "They'll get you one way or another, Joclad, but don't let them get you here."

"Skywalker," Joclad said. "I have to stop him--"

"He's Darth now. Darth Something. A Sith." Cin clutched at his wrist. "A Sith! He'll sense you. You can get rid of it -- you can push the Force away so he won't see you--"

"Stop talking, we can--"

Cin cracked him lightly across the face. "Don't be stupid, just listen to me! He's finding us by our signatures. Cut yourself off. Don't let him see you. You're worth more alive than you are dead."

Am I even alive anymore? I can't really tell. Joclad struggled to infuse the man's fading life-force with his own, only to find his hand batted aside.

"Stop it, son. I'm on my deathbed. Accept it, take my last words, and leave." Cin's eyes shut again.

I faced off a Dark Lord of the Sith and he's going to die on me? "No."

The eyes snapped back open. "What do you mean no?"

"You can't die," he said firmly. You still have to lecture me about what I did a few minutes ago… what I tried to do…

Cin rolled his eyes. "Who's going to stop me? You? I'm dying, and that's all there is to it."

Joclad almost laughed at the absurdity of it, arguing with a dying -- but clearly still obstinate -- master. The chuckle barely made it past his throat, and it turned into a strangled, desperate sound. "I don't know what to do, Cin. Everyone's dead."

"Everyone dies. You know that. You'll remember when you stop wallowing."

Joclad nodded mutely.

Drallig took Joclad's left hand and pressed his lightsaber into it. When it didn't stick, he frowned, but looked back up at his former apprentice wearily. "Joclad. About the teräs käsi..."

"Master…"

"Use it. You'll need it. The Sith are in command again, and the rules have changed."

Joclad bowed his head. "I know." Oh, how I know.

Cin tried to smile. "The rules have finally changed...and I don't get to see it. Well, that's just the Force. Ah. Joclad. Yes. Padawan..." Joclad stared down at him, unwilling to fully accept what was happening. "A willful padawan. That's what you were. Stubborn. Better Knight, I think. You and Serra and I, pretty strange family unit...be careful, there's more of them now…more for the Darkness…."

"Master," Joclad whispered. Father…

"Get out, Code-breaker," Cin told him. "Live and fight another day."

He felt his master die, and bowed his head. Tears prickled sharply at his eyes, and he covered his face with one hand. No, this isn't happening, this can't be happening...you stupid old man, how can you die on me like this?

Cin's voice floated to him then, with one last reassuring touch against his mind. Oh, don't be so melodramatic.

And then Cin Drallig was simply another hole in the Force.

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Once, long ago, someone had saved him.

Don't give up, the gentle voice said. Don't give up now. Come back.

You're too late, he whispered to the fragment of memory. He'd heard these words before, on the windswept mountain of a far-off world. I'm done. I can't go any further. I can't…

Please, she said. Stay here. Stay with me. Live for me…

Her fingers touched his face, and he caught the sweet scent of the bree-vines clinging to his rescuer. I've got a ship, the memory said. Come on. Hold on to me…

All those years ago, he saw her as if for the first time.

And he stayed.

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In the strange waking dream between a healing trance and sheer exhaustion, Joclad staggered out of the arena on Geonosis. The gunships had come and gone, leaving him for dead when a blasted Super Battle Droid had shot through his defenses. He felt the weight of his lost compatriots as clearly as the sandy, blood-soaked air of the arena, and his trip to the tunnels was slowed by stumbling over the remains of both droid and Jedi.

His eyes opened, and he was still kneeling beside Cin's still form. He sensed the Darth Anakin somewhere in the lower levels of the temple, battling a last barrage of attacks from the pinned-down Jedi.

He picked up the 'saber he'd dropped and clipped it to his belt, and held Cin's old hilt for a few seconds. Maybe Cin hadn't seen him dive into shadow during the fight with Skywalker…

Of course he didn't. You shamed him by doing that. You're lucky he was passed out.

Master… forgive how far I've already fallen. He clipped Cin's lightsaber to his belt also, and then stretched his hand out for a less obvious weapon.

The blaster rifle flew to him, but the very motion of grasping it properly with both hands hurt. Give your pain to the Force… slowly… open to the Light, Joclad, it's still there…

But the Light did not respond. Must be Darth Anakin's fault, he decidedHe tucked the gun under his arm and glumly regarded the bodies on the floor: Cin, Serra, and yes, little Bene, still clutching her lightsaber. Joclad felt around on his belt with his good hand and wondered how the hell he was supposed to put a pyre together for three Jedi when he could barely move.

I can't even send them to the sky-kings, he thought bitterly. For a brief, hysterical instant, he thought of torching the whole temple; why not set the entire blasted building ablaze? Let his home become a pyre to all the dead it now housed….

But then I'd be on fire, too, he reasoned. I don't like being on fire.

Instead, he stood in front of the shattered balcony and held out his right hand. The fires that raged in the spires and floors below flickered and jumped at the edge of his conscious, just outside of his power's grasp. Hot wind cast his hair about his face, and he deepened his connection to the Force. Listen to me. Listen to me! Please, just this once. Listen to me… listen to me….

The fire listened. It crept upward, its arms embracing the balcony and smoothing inward. Joclad felt blood trickling out of his nose as he closed his hand into a fist, asking the fire to turn inward on itself. Listen to me…listen to me… the Force might help him now, but he knew he'd pay dearly for this excursion later.

A tiny flame landed at his feet, and awaited his command.

He guided the flame into the room, and took one last look at the shattered holocrons and the tapestries that had always disgusted Master Drallig. I'm redecorating for you, Cin. You're welcome.

He opened his fist, and the fire breathed. Sparks and embers jumped from one object to the next, burning hot and bright. Joclad waited until the room was in flames to respectfully back away, but still he stood in the doorway, watching as the blaze grew beyond his control and simply took over.

"The Corellians say it all ends in fire," he said to the dead within the room. "Maybe one day we'll meet again."

But maybe we won't.

Joclad left without saying anything else. Cin and Serra were lost forever, but there was yet one tiny spark of hope left in him.

He found the way to Depa's little room on instinct alone. No bodies cluttered this hallway; perhaps Skywalker and the clones hadn't gotten to her yet. He needed to take her somewhere, anywhere - he could not leave her in this smoking ruin, now a tomb to so many Jedi.

I'll find you, Depa -- we'll get out of here. He had no idea where they'd go, or what he'd do with her -- she'd be deadweight, at most -- but he couldn't leave her here. Not here. Not this way. Not when she was the one thing left that might still be good.

I'll find a way to wake you up, he promised as he limped toward the door. I swear it, Depa. I swear no harm will come to you. I'll die before I let them hurt you.

He swore the oaths like a Rogue Knight of the old stories, dropping the vows into existence as they came to his mind. I'm going to live, and so are you. I'm going to protect you….

He palmed the door. It slid open silently, and the gentle scent of bree vines caressed his senses. He took a deep breath of the sweet fragrance before stepping inside, ready to scoop Depa into his arms and rush for the nearest exit.

And he would have, if Depa Billaba had still been there.

Joclad stared blankly at the empty bed, and then surveyed the rest of the room. "Depa?"

His voice sounded terribly hoarse. He leaned forward, looking under the bed – what? She might be under the bed, I might hide under the bed if the Chosen One went—stop it, Joclad, she's not under the blasted bed! She's not anywhere!

He knelt on the floor, casting his depleted power as best he could. He felt no sign of the Sith, but then, darling Ani Skywalker had learned to shield as he pleased, hadn't he? He touched the pillow and felt the slightest hints of Depa's empty presence, and something -- something dark --

Skywalker? It didn't quite feel like Skywalker.

It didn't matter. It was dark, and it had taken Depa.

My oaths, he thought, my oaths are useless. I couldn't even stop him… couldn't save you…

"He was going to kill you in front of me," he said, running his fingers down the indentation where her body had lain. "He pulled you from my mind so easily…."

She's not here, you fool. Why are you still talking to her?

He closed his eyes tightly, holding back the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to swamp him. The fights, the battles, the loss – it all jumped into his mind at once, and he put his head into his hands. She's gone, they're all gone, I'm gone--control your emotions, Danva!--I can't do this--I have to--my head is going to explode…

There is no emotion, there is peace…there is no emotion, there is peace….

But there was no peace; only raw, blunted emotion that he was not quite sure what to do with. I was doing it for her… but she's gone… the Light is gone….

He straightened up. He had no time to wallow; he needed to get out and find a place to stay until he could properly contact someone.

Or maybe he'd just die of his wounds. I can crawl to some dark part of the city and they'll never find me. Yes, let the urchins have their share of the Jedi Knights….

He rested a hand on the wall to keep upright, and looked back around the room once more.

Depa...

His thin call returned nothing, and the strength went out of him. He leaned all his weight against the wall, its cool durasteel surface soothing his burning wounds.

Depa, I'm so sorry, I tried… I'm sorry… I never should have….

Anger had but one rival in its potency, and that was guilt.

"I would have protected you from anything," he said to the empty chamber before he left. In the hallway, he cut himself away from the Force completely. The very action nearly downed him again, but he stubbornly held on to what remained of the teräs käsi and staggered for an exit. Clones might find him, but for someone searching for a presence in the Force, he was invisible.

Depa was gone.

Something inside him vanished with her.