At the End of All Things

The entire fleet had been orbiting the white world known only as Hoth. They had been there conducting repairs for the better part of four days. A fleet comprised of decade old warships from both the Mandalorian Clans and the Old Republic, Revan could only watch as the rest of the ships, both of his own design and initial Star Forge designs, rejoin the fleet and continue with the repairs.

How could I have been so blind? He couldn't help but wonder, as his eyes roamed across the damage of a neighbouring vessel.

The Republic cruiser had been carbon scored with signs of recent battle, parts of its hull plating was missing.

Turning around, he returned to his large briefing chamber, an austere room with few furnishings to fill its spacious interior. Clad in his worn dark armour, he scratched his goatee and looked over to his right, observing the large table that was a holoprojector displaying the fleet's coordinates as well as the intelligence reports coming in to him.

The door behind him hissed open, quickly closing behind the footsteps that approached him.

His eyes were still focused on the table, watching the fleet deployment. He already knew who it was—he didn't have to feel her presence to know that she was there.

"Your reports as requested, Revan," she said in a crisp and clear voice.

Revan nodded, moving towards a chair at one head of the table, sitting down and resting his elbows on the table and cupping his chin in hands. "Why didn't I see it coming, Theresa?" He asked, his eyes meeting her own.

She sighed. "We've been over this time and again, Revan. You're not infallible. We're Jedi and we're fighting a war against bitter old enemies."

He grunted, turning his direction to a bottle and two cups. Removing its cap, Revan poured the amber liquid in the cups, filling them and sliding one across the table towards her. "Can't believe this thing survived after so many years," he said, twisting the cap on the bottle and lifting the cup to his lips. "To the effort," he toasted, before taking a deep swig.

"To the effort," she replied, taking a sip and ignoring the burning sensation that ran down her throat. She sat down on the chair before her, facing Revan at the other side of the table. "So, what is it this time?" She laid the datapad on the table, while the red holographic images filtered out the physical objects on the table.

After a moment, he casually moved his hand towards the datapad, feeling his fingers wrap around the cool metallic surface as it glided to him. "What it is, Theresa, is something that somewhere around this ship—this fleet—is a traitor. We've suffered from a bout of subterfuge for almost three weeks now." He let go of the datapad, ignoring the clank it made when it hit the table. "We've been at this for a long time and we're losing to someone who thinks the Sith will grant them their desires."

Theresa sighed, taking another sip and resting her cup on the table. Her eyes met Revan's gaze once more.

"We both know the Sith won't share power," he muttered under his breath. "I wonder if coming here was the right move all along."

"Enough," she said, her tone soft and quiet. "You can't keep blaming yourself for all of this. We didn't know what the Mandalorian Wars was going to hold for us and I certainly didn't expect us to change to rapidly. Now we're here—you've been given a second chance—and yet you're getting upset because of numerous setbacks?"

He shot her an angry glare. "These aren't setbacks. In three weeks we've had our fleet ambushed, our base of operations destroyed and bombs go off inside our ships."

She took another sip. "Nonetheless, Revan, you have to get used to the fact that the Sith are adapting quicker than we had anticipated."

He blew hot air from his dried lips. "You're right," he conceded, his eyes looking over the fleet movements. "It's just been so frantic trying to remember whatever's left in my mind. The Jedi did their work really well, and it's not been easy watching the Sith counter the last two major assaults. We've lost a lot of good people, Theresa."

"I know, Revan," she whispered, tears were slowly beginning to form in her eyes.

"How's your friend?" He asked, looking deep into his cup and into the amber liquid.

"He's all right, but he'll need a replacement for his mechanical arm."

Revan chuckled dryly, "he's a tough one indeed. What was it they called him? 'The Mechanical Man?'"

"Bao-Dur has been my friend for a long time—and I couldn't have found you without him and the droids."

He nodded, swiveling his chair to look out at the large view of the planet below.

After a moment, Theresa joined his gaze on the planet. "Do you think the Republic is ready for this?"

He shook his head. "I can't say. I've left a few good people in charge, but you know how it is with politics. Carth will be doing his best as well as Bastila." Saying her name began to bring back memories of her. He could almost touch her skin; smell her fragrance that always seemed to be sweet and pleasant even under the most excruciating circumstances. He still had that bond, but he knew he would be too terrified to open himself up to that bond again.

Revan feared that touching Bastila again through the Force would make him want to return home and never leave again.

"She misses you," Theresa said, answering his hidden question.

"I know," he said, downing the last of his drink. "So," he said, rising to pour himself another cup, "how long has it been since your mister… what was his name again?"

"Atton."

"Atin?" He asked, surprisingly. "Isn't that Mandalorian for 'stubborn?'"

She smiled. "Oh he's stubborn, all right, but it's At-ton."

He shrugged. "You still haven't answered my question."

"It's been just over a year," she said, her eyes moving off to the planet again. Her mind turned back to that fateful night she left Atton. She had never wanted to leave, but when she saw him sleeping like that angel she knew existed underneath, she knew that she'd be doing this for him.

Even as she sat there, she couldn't help but wonder if his training had been finished. She was never one to leave those she cared about half-trained or feeling so lost.

"You'll get back to him," Revan said, smiling half-heartedly. In truth, Revan wasn't so sure anyone would make it out alive from this war. Julius was far too clever and despite the damage Revan had done, the Sith were still making their way back into the wounded Galaxy.

"You think Lance and Canderous made it to them?" She asked, lifting her cup as Revan poured her some more of the beverage.

"Canderous was never one to be late for war," he said, chuckling. "As for Lance, well, if he kept up his competitive streak with Canderous, then he definitely made it with the Clans." He went back to his chair. "Either way, we'll know soon enough."

After a few moments of silence, with the hum of the ship's engines filling the silence, Theresa looked back to Revan and asked, "so who is she?"

"Who?" He asked, pulled out of his thoughts.

"The one from your dreams."

He shook his head. "She's someone I don't know and yet I'm familiar with all the same."

She frowned. "A riddle?"

He took a sip, "I don't know."

"Is she dangerous?"

He shook his head. "No—in my vision she was protecting Bastila and…" he looked down, his shoulders heaving and finally sagging. "She was protecting my daughter," he finished, looking up to meet Theresa's gaze, his eyes brimming with salty tears.

"So this Rena is still a trump card then."

Wiping away his tears, he answered, "but I still don't know for whom. And I'm still having those other visions."

Her brows furrowed. "The one with the young man killing all of those Younglings?"

Revan nodded. "I don't know when that era might be, but there's no denying it: that boy must be from my line."

"Revan," she said weakly, "you don't know if that will happen. That might never happen—remember what Master Vandar always taught us: the future is always in motion."

"The Dark Side is strong in this side of the Galaxy. It's forever creeping throughout the Core, and I fear even the Jedi might be too weak from the Wars to do much about it."

"We can only see what will happen," Theresa said, placating. "We'll catch the ones who did this to the fleet. We'll stop the Sith and ensure that future generations won't ever have this happen again. I promise you that, Revan."

He smiled half-heartedly once more. "That curse I bestowed upon you from Malachor?"

Theresa lowered her head. "Before she died, Kreia said that this was a gift. She said it could be used to kill the Force."

"But she never said how to heal you from it nor how to use it in such a capacity," he reasoned. Shaking his head with every bit of command, he said, "I refuse to use you as such a weapon. I'll never do that again. It almost consumed everyone and everything that I loved. I won't do it again."

She snorted, "we'll see what happens when the time comes, o mighty Lord Revan."

Looking at her completely for the first time in a long time, Revan could only say, "I'll make sure to pay for my past sins. I will find a way to heal you and we'll find a way to beat the Sith once and for all."

They both lifted their cups in the quiet toast and sipped it.

They both watched out at the ice planet, knowing it would only be a matter of time before they fought face to face with the Sith Council.

They would be taking this war to its peak and Theresa's wound was the key to ending the war against them.

The only problem was that neither Revan nor Theresa knew how to unlock that power.

The biggest fear Revan had was that by using her wound against their enemies, it might cost Theresa her life.

He had no intention of watching the woman he had once loved die again.


Author's Notes: Well, this is almost at it's complete end. We'll see what happens to our conflicted protagonist up next. I know this isn't much in the way of Revan and the Exile, but in the third and final installment of the Dante Ravenmoon story arc, we'll see Revan and Theresa in action.