KotOR: Roots

A tear dripped down his cheek as he walked back into the room. The room was dimly lit, and chilled the child through his ragged clothes. Soft pitter-patter of drizzling rain broke the silence. The boy's bare feet were going numb on the freezing stone floor.

Mother, and Father had gathered together, sitting on a soft chair, meant for two. They both, however, were not together. The boy walked slowly, cautiously to the center for the small room. He glanced at who he thought was his mother. Her warmth spread through him, her eyes, deep blue, and caring. Her arms looked so welcoming and inviting. She was beautiful, long locks of blonde hair that reached just below her slim shoulders. She smiled, and a feeling of goodness, and tranquility went over the boy, stopping his hands from shaking.

"Boy," the father spoke for the first time. "They are coming now, you will leave with them. You understand?" The father leaned forward, putting his head onto his hands which were propped up on his knees.

He was tall, towering over the mother, and had short, jet black hair. He was slightly unshaven, and had a cold air around him. The force swirled around the two, though the boy did not know what it was then.

The boy nodded slowly, glancing back over to his mother, who looked back with pained eyes. She did not want him to leave, but she felt it for the best, so he could be something better, better than what they were. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Despite his age, he vaguely grasped the concept, but did not agree with it. He did not want to leave, to be a warrior, but his father had forced him, driven him to it. The child wanted his mother, wanted his family, wanted a home.

He darted his eyes to the large window which peered deep into Courascant's depths; A mere contrast to the slums of Derillia City. A light drizzle poured from the sky, dampening the streets and repulsor-cars that were rushing through the air, this way and that. Small shapes moved with purpose, bustling here and there, with goals in mind.

On the right, a merchant pawned off petty goods to wanting buyers. Further to the left, a man was being beaten. He deserved it, no doubt, and yet pity flowed through the child. He watched as the Rodian was hit to the ground, another man taking his credits and delivering a swift kick to the face. The Rodian recoiled into the shadows and tried desperately not to be seen.

The boy knows about this, for the place he has lived, is much worse than this. He looked down at his feet, uncurling the recently made fist. He glared at his father who stood and pushed him backwards.

"Go, go get ready!" slurred words spat at the boy as he moved backwards involuntarily, seeking refuge.

The child stumbles and runs around the corner, towards his tiny space. He walked quickly and rummaged through his things. The boy was very young, only four years of age; and yet no playthings littered his surroundings. He fumbled with his ragged shirt and slipped it into a brown, leathery bag. The room, too, was dark, and shadows danced on the walls. His bed, if it could be called that, was nothing more than a stiff cot with a thin blanket. No windows let any amount of light into the room, making the feeling of claustrophobia more evident.

He stood, done packing with merely one article of clothing: another torn bodysuit.

Screams shook him from his self-pity as he heard a sound that had been made familiar over the past months. His mother shrieked. He felt wetness down his face once more. He used his sleeve to remove the intruding moisture, sure of his father reaction to his crying. He stepped back into the aforementioned room and saw his mother crying. He stepped to go to her side, but two hands pushed his roughly out the door.

The quiet moaning still was heard all the way to the temple.

It'd be a long time until they were silenced.

High-pitched beeping drew Revan from his quiet contemplation. A recurring dream and the only one of him before he had joined the Order. He sighed lightly and decided to remain with his legs crossed.

He sat in the cargo hold of his Master's ship. The dim lights were flickering, and the room was utterly bear. He turned and looked to the doorway, seeing the barrier still closed, returned to his meditations.

Revan drew a large breath, trying to stop the shuddering and shaking. He felt a bead of sweat cross his brow, and wiped it quickly. What did these visions mean? Is it even me? He never actually saw the boy's face in this recurring dream, and never heard the woman speak; yet he assumed it was his mother.

His stomach knotted at the though of the man in the room. His face was now cloudy, unclear and his voice was distant, separate from his body. The disdain and eagerness was prominent in his words, and the physical contact was felt even here, in the hold. He reached desperately, trying to obtain any amount of clarity regarding the vision.

Revan had only confronted one person with these visions, Kreia. She had dismissed them as nothing, and told him to return to his training. It was two months ago; and they hadn't ended.

His head flooded with thoughts and questions about his past. He shook his head and rose, unable to concentrate. The door opened with a quiet hiss, and he made his way to the cockpit. The beeping was accompanied by blinking red lights, which pierced the darkness. Lights flashed on and off, and changed colors rapidly as Revan fiddled with the controls that flew the ship. The Autopilot responded.

"Set course: Datooine. ETA: Zero hours, Fifty- two minutes." He nodded grimly, disappointed at how long it was until he could finally step onto the Enclaves soil. He would finally attain the rank and title, he long deserved. The respect that goes with it as well. He would see her again, most importantly he thought to himself. He looked behind him, making sure that the corridor was empty as well. And so, thoughts of titles, love and Bastila replaced thoughts of his long lost childhood.

Seven months ago… Dantooine Hidden Jedi Enclave.

Malak swung again, not connecting this time either, as the padawan deftly moved out of the way again. Damnit! Frustration and anger clouded Malak's thoughts as he moved to attack again. His opponent moved out of the way again, but this time countered, as Malak rolled towards the incoming blade, and caught his opponent off-guard. This allowed him to go straight for the ribs, but the girl blocked that too, and rolled back, creating a brief lull between sparring outbursts.

From his beginning at the Enclave, Malak had been defined the Masters as abnormally strong in the force. Despite this affinity, he had chosen the path of Jedi Guardian, finding thrill in the rush of battle. He was skilled as well, and defeated most of his opponents. This one, however provided quite a challenge, and Master Vrook's constant criticism didn't help matters.

"Peace, Malak, peace. Do not let the anger or frustration control your movements. Clear your thoughts and let the force guide your attacks."

Pompous ass… Malak lead the attack again, as he loved to do. The happiest place here at the enclave, was in the heat of the fight. He brought the blade down to meet his adversary's face. She dodged it again, and went to go for his knee. Again, however, Malak blocked it, but then landed a solid blow to her shoulder. It was a firm strike, and he was satisfied with it, but not with her reaction.

Ariena showed no signs of pain at all. She let it flow through her as she had been taught; she allowed the force to block out the suffering, so she could defeat the foe. He was tough, and stronger physically than she, but he relied on that aspect too much. She was stronger in the force than him, and if she could use it, he could easily be dispatched of. Being a Sentinel, she spent much time in meditation, and less than he in combat.

But, the one thing she saw as a gaping hole in her friend's strategy, his emotions. Ariena had hers under control, preventing any annoyances from making her decisions for her. By simply moving out of the way, she made his movements more and more conspicuous. This round it was going to be different.

Ariena let him come at her again, and as expected, he went for the downwards strike. She stepped to the left and deflected the incoming blow to the ground. Then, effortlessly slammed her wooden blade into his side. She grinned watching Malak trying to catch his breath.

"Enough, you two. Malak, return to your dorm, and resume meditations, Ariena, walk with me."

Both the Padawans bowed, and Ariena hugged Malak, who begrudgingly accepted and the anger left slowly, leaving only traces of frustration inside him. He didn't return it, however.

"Hey Mal, you better pick it up next time, I need to start breaking a sweat." Ariena chuckled to herself and followed Master Vrook through the corridors. She heard Malak grunt behind her and used all her self control to not burst out laughing.

Malak walked back to his room, and sat down in position. He closed his eyes, and tried to center himself. He breathed deeply, and exhaled slowly, calming himself. He felt swirls of the force, but they were sharp, and bladed. He tried to settle his emotions, and for the resentment out of him, and slowly it left; leaving soft currents around him.

Then suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. He should have sensed Vrook coming; now his force aura was unmistakable. He rose and opened the door; the Master stepped into the room.

"Malak."

"Master."

"Malak, I have to consult you about your…"

Malak stormed out of his dorm. Vrook, what an inept show for a Master…Malak rounded the corner, seeing a looming oak and its branches that reached over his head. Vrook's words jumbled through his head, trying desperately to rearrange themselves but they couldn't. Something about consulting those who 'caused his anger.' And guess who had been first on his list? His favorite person in the world: Bastila.

He breathed deeply, trying to relax himself and then knocked lightly on the door, half hoping that the recipient wouldn't hear it. Reminding himself silently that if his best friend loved her, he'd make an effort as well.

The door whished open, and Bastila looked up as she was finished her 'hello.' A wave of disappointment went over her face.

"Malak," Bastila muttered keeping her eyes on him the entire time.

"Can I come in?" Malak inquired meeting and holding her eyes.

"Fine." Bastila stepped aside, allowing Malak into her room.

The room was impeccably clean, with nothing on the floor. It was near barren as well, having only a bed, a bookshelf and a desk with one chair.

Malak walked into the space, and sat on the chair, pulling it out from under its shelter. Bastila stood near the door, ready to kick him the hell out of there if he so much as looked at her wrong. She didn't think that she'd have to, he looked stressed, different.

"Listen," Malak spoke tentatively, and Bastila was surprised not to be consulting with the stupid, arrogant, headstrong young man he usually was. He spoke with a quiet hesitation as she could tell this was extremely hard for him to say.. "I, I wanted to, to…" Malak sighed and ran his head over his bald skull.

"Wanted to… wanted to?" Bastila mocked him while waving her hands to emphasize her point. Instantly, she realized that she had gone too far and dropped her hands to her sides, letting them rest on the bed.

"I- I don't need this," He stood and walked quickly to the door, opening it and walking out. A hand took him from behind and stopped his escape. She spun him around and looked at her feet.

"Come on in, I'm sorry." Her eyes pleaded with him, and succeeded when the door closed as Malak resumed his previous position.

"Listen, Master Vrook told me to resolve all the 'conflicts' in my life, apparently my 'frustration and anger' is 'deeply affecting my training. And, well the first person I thought of was- well- you." He looked up and caught her smirking, but she removed the smile as soon as she caught his eyes.

"I'm sorry if I was an ass to you, but I'm not used to losing in anything," he glanced upwards and Bastila caught a bit of dark humor coming off of him. "And well, I guess if your OK with Revan, your OK with me."

He ran his head over his scalp again and got up to leave.

"Wait, Malak," Bastila stood as well and the door opened.

"I'm sorry as well, with all my training, I haven't made the greatest effort to come to terms with our- relationship." Bastila looked him in the eye. "If Revan and Ariena are OK with you, your OK with me." Bastila smirked slightly and stepped back allowing the door to close rapidly. This time she let him win, convinced that that hadn't been the Malak she knew. That guy there was OK, that must have been the side everyone else sees. But then again, it might have been him.

She looked up at the closed door and giggled quietly to herself.

He never was one for words.

"Wake, pupil." Kreia entered the room and looked at Revan, passed out in the pilot's chair. "Get ready we're landing now, you must be prepared for the final test."

>>>>>>>> "Yes, master." Revan rose from the chair, and shot a quick glance at the screen

ETA: 00D, 00H, 02M, 06S

Revan smiled and opened the next message.

>>>>>>>Welcome, citizen, to Dantooine.

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A/N- Ooo, cliffhanger again, well sort of. You guys, everyone, I'm sorry about the long update time, life's been really hectic, however, I wont bore you all with the details. I was recently reminded that I can't thank my reviewers individually, so thanks, all of you. Also, any reviews are greatly appreciated, I need to know if you guys still follow this. Just a few words is great thanks! Also Story related I decided to make use of the Exile, so Jennyl was just... well... a really cool Jedi in the backround. Ariena is the to- be Exile.