Summit
Ahsoka couldn't sleep.
Their silently pitched camp was comfortable enough. The weather was mild, the temperature tolerable despite their considerable elevation. Her bedroll was warm and soft. A galaxy and more of stars shone in the sky above her. The mountain peak was still.
A few feet over, Ahsoka could see the lump of cloth and padding that hid Ventress from view. Ahsoka wondered if she was still awake. A part of her desperately wanted to ask, to say anything, to force any kind of communication open. For the few short weeks they'd been together, Ahsoka had felt for once in her life that she could be herself instead of the person her masters expected her to be. The fact that Ahsoka didn't know who "herself" really was didn't much matter, because Asajj didn't care.
No, that wasn't right. She did care. The reality was worse: she trusted. Even though Asajj couldn't know who Ahsoka was, didn't know what secrets Ahsoka was hiding, she trusted that Ahsoka knew what was right, and that Ahsoka would do it.
The vergence had stripped that trust away. It had exposed their shames, to themselves, and to each other. Trust is faith, and faith requires ignorance. Otherwise it's just logic. Now that they both had all the information, they both had math to do. Could Asajj think her right or good when she knew that Ahsoka didn't think herself either?
And what did Ahsoka think of what she'd learned about Ventress? Had she learned anything?
Ahsoka rolled over, burying her head in her pillow, and resisted the urge to scream. Why couldn't things be simple? Thoughts like that didn't make things simpler, but Ahsoka couldn't help but feel her frustration was well-earned.
Ahsoka did her best to parse through what she knew. The list wasn't long, not with a Vergence involved. For all she knew, she was still seeing only what it showed her. With a spike of annoyance, Ahsoka wondered if she'd be having episodes ten years from now and still wonder if anything was real, or if she was still trapped on this mountain, the same way she sometimes wondered if she'd ever actually escaped Mortis.
Ahsoka refused to get stuck down that train of thought again. She hoped that everything was as it seemed, and dealt with that reality. In that case, Asajj had probably seen everything in the mirror, just as Ahsoka had. But was what they had seen true, or just their own insecurities brought to life? Ahsoka tried to recall what her reflections had said.
Master Plo said he was disappointed. Ahsoka was sure that he was, on some level. How could he not? He'd once told her the only reason he hadn't taken her as his own padawan was because of his duties as a council member. Knowing that she'd grown to be so weak and to watch her turn her back on her place among the Jedi had to hurt. But saying it flat out the way he had...that wasn't like Master Plo. She'd disappointed him in small ways in the past, and his response was always to help build her up, to make her stronger in the future. The mirror-Plo had only torn down.
Mirror-Rex was unbelievable as well. Though she feared his message about her inspiring more desertions and her absence shattering morale might be true, those aren't things Rex would ever say. Complaining and contemplating "what if" just wasn't in his nature. No matter how fierce the fight, he always found a way to focus on the next objective, find a way forward.
Her vision of Barriss though...Ahsoka couldn't be sure what to think of that. She was wearing Trooper armor again, as she had on Corellia. Ahsoka didn't generally picture Barriss that way in her mind, but she couldn't know if that appearance was reflective of present reality, or just the vergence ripping the most recent memory of her old friend from her mind.
And what had mirror-Barriss said about betrayal and a Darth Traya? Something about that title struck a chord deep in Ahsoka's memories. Too deep. She couldn't recall where she'd ever heard it, nor why it should matter.
Putting the three together, Ahsoka felt relatively certain the reflections were manifestations of her own regret, guilt, and disappointment. So if she was going to learn anything from Asajj's reflections, she'd have to be careful to keep that frame of reference in mind.
Ahsoka opened her eyes, looking out at the far off horizon, the world dark and the sky a dim array of a thousand thousand stars.
Should she try to learn anything from their shared vision? Assuming she could put the pieces together and learn what it was that Ventress was hiding about her past, did she have a right to know those things?
Her answer came from the most unlikely source imaginable. A memory from when she was a youngling, studying under Master Yoda. He had asked her class why it is that a Jedi should seek and confront those who have done wrong. Ahsoka had said something about punishment, but Barriss had corrected her, "The people who hurt others once are likely to hurt people again. It's the duty of a Jedi to to teach them to be empathetic. If violence must be employed, it's only for the sake of the future, so they won't be able to cause more harm. Punishment is wrong for the same reason as revenge: harming does not heal."
Asajj has done terrible things in the past. Ahsoka had thought that way back on Coruscant, and her partner had said as much on several occasions since. That hadn't stopped Ahsoka from growing to trust her. So far, she'd done nothing to betray the trust she'd earned. So Ahsoka made her decision.
"Hey, Asajj? You still up?"
Nobody answered Ahsoka's quiet call. Ahsoka rolled onto her side, watching featureless lump of a shadow that hid her partner. "The things on my side of the mirror...they're the things I hate thinking about most. My regrets. Dreams I've abandoned. My shame. The kind of stuff I don't want anyone to know about. I'm guessing yours were the same.
"I want you to know, you don't have to explain anything to me. I've decided to trust who you are, no matter who you were. If you decide not to tell me about what I saw, that's okay. I'm not sure I want to talk to anyone about all my problems, so how could I blame you?
"But I think it might help you to talk about it. Saying things aloud has a way of helping a person sort out their feelings. And if it would help you, that probably means it would help me to do the same. So tomorrow, if you don't mind, I think I want to talk about Barriss."
Ahsoka rolled back onto her back, admiring the leisurely swirling of the cosmos. Ahsoka could remember almost nothing of Shili, certainly not what the stars looked like from there. And the night sky on Coruscant was always so bright. Even as far removed from the commercial districts as the Jedi Temple was, it was a rare evening when even a handful of stars could pierce through the light pollution. Her first time outside its atmosphere had been on a Jedi Starfighter, receiving advanced pilot training from Master Plo. Intellectually, she'd known there were hundreds of billions of stars in their galaxy alone, but to feel all their light upon her skin, to find herself unable to tell which had planets with millions of inhabitants, and which could burn away into nothingness without anyone noticing put the galaxy and her own incredibly tiny place in it into perspective like nothing before. Privately, she considered it the moment she ceased being a youngling, and became a Padawan, albeit one without a master for another three years.
She used to sometimes sneak out when she could find any time away from her superiors, borrowing a ship just so she could stare at the heavens. She used to find her favorite stars, draw pictures between them with her fingers. During her time hopping between stars, she'd often made a point to see which of her pictures had maintained their shapes, and which were stretched, contorted, or annihilated by her new position. Seen from a new distance, the sun above Coruscant was all but indistinguishable from any other place in the sky.
It took time, but even on this remote mountaintop, Ahsoka found stars she recognized: the brilliant gleam of Tatooine's twins, which had once nurtured and tortured her master; the piercing pinprick above Shili, which had watched her birth; the steady yellow glow from a faraway galaxy, whose light had traveled a long time to delight her closing eyes.
"I tortured one brother of mine until he killed another of my brothers."
Ventress was awake, her voice quiet and barely calm in Ahsoka's mind.
"You keep saying that you trust me. You shouldn't. I've done monstrous things. I like to pretend that I was a war hero, but even then I acted without honor. More an assassin than a general, more concerned with my bloodlust than tactics. I like to pretend that all my flaws are Dooku and Talzin's doing, but I conquered half a planet exacting my vengeance for Ky Narec's death, long before I met either. I am none of the things you wish me to be. I just pretend, fake, compound lie upon lie so that you won't leave me like everyone else. The way I've left them."
Ahsoka said nothing at first, taming the vortex of reactions that was so desperate to be heard. She recalled Asajj's words at the base of the mountain, urging her to speak honestly by speaking quickly. She tried to find a middle ground between her hesitation and Asajj's request by delaying.
"When you did those things...after you did those things...an hour, a day, a week later...did you regret them? Did you think they were wrong, at the time?"
"No. I didn't care about right or wrong, about who I was hurting. If I did, I justified everything as being in service to a greater cause: my vengeance. Against Dooku, against the Jedi, against everyone who'd hurt me and everyone who might."
Ahsoka was struck with a kind of clarity, "Then you didn't do them."
"I assure you, I did. And denial solves nothing and excuses less."
Ahsoka spoke over Ventress's continued protests, "Okay, yes, obviously you did those things, but you didn't do those things. If you did those things with a clear conscience then but consider them monstrous and wicked now, than you have changed! Grown! You aren't the same person you were then, so it isn't you who did them."
"You're quibbling over nothing. I haven't righted my wrongs, haven't healed anyone I've hurt. What difference does it make?"
"Everything," Ahsoka said with passion. "Tiny differences are all that separated my sabers from yours: a small twist of the hilt, a few inches of blade length. But you complained constantly because those differences matter."
Asajj somehow mentally projected the impression of rolling her eyes, but that didn't dissuade Ahsoka.
"You might not be able to heal the people you've hurt, but we saved those kids on Corellia."
"For profit. And if we hadn't, someone else would have taken that bounty eventually."
"And on Quarzite, you botched the job, betrayed Fett, and saved Pluma Sodi for profit?"
Asajj shut up.
"Yeah, I looked into that after you told me about how much Aurra Sing hated you. A week stuck in that Bith helmet gave me plenty of time to search the holonet. She's free, and happy, and alive because of you."
"So what? Do you plan to pardon everyone who's ever done anything nice to anyone, no matter their crimes? Dooku spends massive amounts of his own fortune supporting the arts and all sorts of education on Serenno and across the galaxy. Nute Gunray is an affectionate husband and has taken great pains to make sure his family is never anywhere near the war. Are you willing to just forgive their crimes as well?"
"If they were actually sorry, maybe!" Ahsoka realized her blood was racing, her breath hurried and uneven. Hadn't she been nearly asleep a minute ago? "Barriss used to talk about an ancient Jedi, Kreia, who she either adored or abhorred, I'm honestly not sure which. Kreia was famous for a lot of things, but I bring her up because she was exiled from the Jedi for her claim that, 'Only the Sith deal in absolutes.' It's a bit of wisdom that's taught to all Jedi younglings now, a puzzle for them to solve. I didn't even realize it was a paradox, but Barriss pointed out how clever it all is. The statement is itself an absolute, so by refusing to recant it, Kreia was actually claiming to be Sith herself.
"She said there was a bit of the Sith in every Jedi, a bit of the Jedi in every Sith. It was a warning, to never be too confident that you were on the right side. Pay attention to the details, the consequences of your actions, never be satisfied with yourself, never stop thinking."
"Could have used that advice a decade ago…" Ventress muttered.
"You still don't get how incredible you are, do you?" Ahsoka asked. "You were deep in the dark side. Drowning in it. Willing to do anything for more power, every inch the monster you've been claiming to be. And you came back. Do you have any idea how few darksiders have done that in the long, long history of the Jedi? Almost none. Sith might have altruistic motives, or occasionally show moments of kindness, but a full regret of past methods and attempting to be better? It just doesn't happen. That's why the Jedi have such massive sticks so far up our asses. Their asses. To keep them upright, at all costs. Because when a Jedi falls, they don't get back up.
"I love everything that Master Anakin is: heroic, compassionate, surprisingly wise, and more alive than any other Jedi in the order. But the Jedi Council is terrified of him, because he's constantly dancing with the dark side, fostering strong emotions in himself because it gives him the strength to do all the amazing things he does. They think that he's bound to snap one day, to dive too deep into the dark side and never resurface. And honestly, I'm can't say I disagree with them. But when I look at you-the you-you, the person you've become-I see hope. Hope that no matter how deep he dives, he'll find a way to breath.
"So please, don't tell me you can't do what you're already doing. Don't think that someone as incredible and fantastic as you isn't worth saving. Maybe we, as a pair, aren't doing all that much good in the galaxy. There's a war on a hundred planets and we're camping on an unknown planet. But I can't tell you how much good you, as an individual, have done for me. There's good to be done on an interstellar scale. But there's also good to be done just between me and you. And maybe, for now, that's good enough."
Asajj's mind was silent for a long while.
Ahsoka noticed a new cluster of stars appear from behind a cloud she hadn't noticed.
"That's a lot to think about for one night." Asajj eventually thought, an involuntary quaver in her voice that made Ahsoka wonder if thoughts could cry. "I think that's enough for me to sleep on."
Ahsoka smiled. "Sleep sounds good. It's been a long day."
"And Ahsoka?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks."
Ahsoka closed her eyes to the stars above and all their wars, "You know, your thought-voice is way more beautiful than your throat voice. Fits you much better."