2: Defrosting

It took about two days for his sight to return, and about another day and a half before he spent more hours awake than asleep. Mara'ja turned out to be a young Togruta Master, with deep purple skin and navy-and-white montrals. He'd mentioned it once, only for her to laugh.

"It's a rare color, yes," she'd said. "If you ask those on my homeworld, I'm destined to either die young or change the course of history. No pressure."

The Grand Master visited him a few times, and Carth tried to figure out just why he merited her attention — when Revan was around, they'd done as much as possible to avoid Vandar's. Satele hardly looked like Bastila, but there was something around her eyes, or in the easy carry of a doublesaber on her hip — or perhaps in the way that, today, her face had already started to scrunch up before she sat down across from him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. A safe topic.

"Like I was frozen for three hundred years and then woke up for no reason," Carth replied flatly, running a cloth over his blaster. Her face scrunched further. He'd been thinking over the past two days about that warm spot in his chest, to the point that he'd asked Mara'ja about it. It hadn't helped his suspicions. If anything, he was more certain she was alive, out there somewhere — though a sense of cold emptiness surrounded it, almost holding it back, and he wondered if that was why she'd never come home.

Satele cleared her throat. "I see. Well. I am glad you are recovering quickly. I have heard that hibernation sickness can be unpleasant."

"It is."

"Admiral …" Satele sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Admiral, she would not want you to spend an eternity locked away when the Republic has use of you."

He paused, staring down at his blaster. "You read her letter."

"A draft was in the writings she left my ancestor — an edited draft, but one nonetheless."

Carth grumbled under his breath. That letter had been private. "And when we find her," he said, finally. "I know she'll give me hell for not listening to her."

"Admiral—"

"How many times do I have to tell you? She's out there, waiting. Why aren't you looking for her?"

"Where would we start? Wherever she walked, Revan left no trace. There are a billion worlds out there she may have found, and a billion more where she may have died."

"This was Revan."

"I am aware of her capabilities. But even a powerful Jedi could not survive three hundred years — not easily."

He half-laughed, shaking his head as he returned to his blaster. "You didn't know her. If anyone could ..."

"Are you certain you are not letting your—"

"'—feelings cloud my judgment?'" Satele blinked. "Does it matter? She's out there."

"Admiral, I did not wake you up for no reason."

"No, you woke me up on some quest for a hero."

Satele sighed, and her face unscrunched as she stood. "Very well. I will leave you to your maintenance." As the door opened, she turned back. "Master Thaymina will be landing shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself."

With that, the door slid closed behind her. Carth sighed and set his blasters on his table, leaning his head against the wall. He probably shouldn't be surprised. Mara'ja had said her friend was a Master with a vested interest in Revan-era Force techniques and philosophy, and that she would love to talk to him. She hadn't told him why, or what this particular Master would get from talking to him, just that the conversation was inevitable. And she seemed to get some type of glee out of telling him, though that might have been his paranoia.

With another sigh he picked one of his blasters back up, reaching for a can of oil.

#

Another few hours passed before someone knocked on his door again. Carth had finally finished with his blasters, and was considering an attempt at dragging himself around this corner of the Temple again, but called them in. The door opened immediately, revealing a tall, willowy Jedi Master wearing the long, ornate robes of a diplomat, but — no. He blinked as she drifted in. Vivid red hair was piled on top of her head and hung braided down her back, and she had curious, steel-gray eyes that hardly left him as she entered.

Revan's eyes.

But that was impossible.

"Admiral," she said. Her voice was on the husky side, almost too deep for her build and features. She held out her hand, and shook his with a firmness he should have expected. "Master Satele says she warned you I was coming. I hope you haven't heard only bad things about me."

"I've heard you're enthusiastic," he said. She laughed, and something scraped in his chest. It sounded so much like hers had.

"I suppose that is flattering. Are you feeling well enough for visitors? This will be my last time on Tython for some weeks, I'm afraid."

Carth motioned at the seat across from him, and she sank down with the ease he'd grown to expect from those raised in the Temple.

"Master Thaymina Galon," she said, motioning to herself. That knife scraped in his chest again. Galon? It couldn't be. "Currently acting as a diplomat for the Republic. I have a number of questions for you — as I'm sure you have for me."

"I …" he started, swallowing hard. "Galon?"

She nodded, frowning. "I expected Mara'ja to have mentioned it before now … figures." Thaymina carefully folded one leg over the other. "I, and my twin sister, can trace our lineage back to your daughter, Nova, and of course, you and Revanna Galon. We don't tend to spread this around. Popular history has made Revan a man, after all, and says that Grand Master Shan is his. Though not entirely incorrect — the Grand Master and I are second cousins, in fact — I prefer to stay under the radar." She smiled at him, and Carth wondered his sudden ease was a Force trick on her behalf, or if that was simply her. "I'm sure you can understand my interest, based on that."

"It's a lot clearer, yeah." Having children was one thing, but … he felt another, sharper pang of guilt. If he'd waited, if he'd not frozen himself in carbonite — what had he missed when he made that decision? Had he just been overreacting? Should he have listened to Bastila when she tried talking him out of it?

"Mara'ja said she filled you in on current events," Thaymina continued. "I—"

"Wait." Carth held up his hand, suddenly piecing together what she'd said. "Revan and Bastila?"

"Apparently."

He shook his head. "Bas would be turning in her grave."

Thaymina laughed again. "I thought I might be able to fill you in on more … personal information. Our family has kept fairly detailed records through the years — I likely know more than you would even find in the archives."

"Did she ever come back?"

"No," Thaymina said, firmly.

"No?"

"There is no record of Revan ever returning to known space, not even under any of the various and colorful aliases I am aware of. When I knew the Grand Master planned to pull you out of carbonite, I went back through my records. No one has seen her, or any indication of her, since she left."

That was that, then. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you think she's still out there?"

Thaymina frowned. "Master Satele didn't tell you …" His heart fell, and he shook his head. She sighed. "Just like her. I apologize, Admiral, she is not the most forthcoming of persons."

"You can just … Carth is fine. And what didn't—"

"There were visions involved."

Not too long ago, Carth would have scoffed. Visions once ranked even higher on his bantha-shit meter than Satele's current explanation for his release. But that explained it. Even if he was hesitant to take visions at their word, he wasn't going to dismiss it. Not after everything he'd seen with Revan … and her own visions …

"She's a good Grand Master," Thaymina continued. "Especially during this war. But she tends to expect non-Jedi to be much more skeptical of these things than we are — which is largely true. Knowing what I know of you, though—"

He shook his head. "I've seen too much."

"As I suspected."

"Were they of her? Was she involved?"

Thaymina sighed. "When my sister, Mariamne, and I approached the Council with them, their conclusions were mixed. Many believed Revan was not involved — I disagreed. The only thing we agreed on was you."

"You disagree with the Council?"

"What can I say? I take after my great-grandmother far more than is healthy." He managed to grin at that. Part of it was actual humor — it hurt to think that she would have, too. "But no, Carth, I suspect she's still out there. If anyone could find a way —"

"It'd be Anna. Revan."

"Yes. Unfortunately, as I said, the Council is reluctant to share my convictions — understandable, but irritating. And," she continued dryly, "I can do little to convince them whilst single-handedly keeping the Republic from falling apart."

Carth chuckled. "Sorry, you just … sound so much like her."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good."

Something chirped on Thaymina's belt — Carth was embarrassed to admit it took him a moment to recognize a comm ringing. Thaymina sighed. "One moment." Carth nodded as she answered. A hologram of a large, bulky Zabrak, wearing a heavy robe over Jedi armor, appeared on top of the small disk.

:: Thay. Where are you? ::

"I'm on Tatooine," she replied, flatly. Carth half-grinned. "I thought the sun would help my complexion."

:: So you're still in the Temple, good. Your diplomats are getting antsy. A situation's just come up that they want you to deal with. ::

"Of course it has. Assure them that I will be right there." She disconnected the call and looked up with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Carth, I have to leave. But I would very much like to talk to you longer — when I don't have this alliance breathing down my neck, perhaps."

"That bad?"

"I'm still surprised the diplomats don't insist that I, personally, take out their garbage," she answered. As she opened the door, she turned back. "When you're feeling better, I suggest speaking to Master Katherion. Tell him I said to stop by."

"Why?"

She smiled. "Just trust me."

#

He recognized her almost before he saw her, a diminutive form with vivid red hair cascading loose down her back on the edge of a hill overlooking the Dantooine Jedi enclave. He blinked once or twice, trying to convince himself, before stepping forward hesitantly.

"Anna?"

She turned, and it was her.

Revan was hunched over, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wore torn, simple black robes with enough billow for most Sith Lords, engulfing her already small form in a veritable sea of black cloth. It flowed around her, and when he stepped closer he noticed her hair had the same light lift — almost as if she were underwater, but not quite enough for that.

"Anna?" he breathed again, searching her face. She hardly looked older than the day she'd left, only the barest crows' feet encroaching at the corner of her haunted gray eyes. She stared at him, almost blankly, for a long moment, and Carth's heart fell. "Gorgeous—"

"No," she whispered, shaking her head and stepping back.

"What?"

"No," she snapped. Revan whirled away from him, tilting her face towards the sky. "You hear me, buir ik'aad gotaan? I put up with a lot of your shit, but I will not tolerate this!"

He called her name again, this time reaching for her arm. His fingers brushed her and his hand was thrown back, like an electrical charge had burst between them. She turned back, staring at him the desperate way a dying man stares at an oasis in a desert.

"Carth?" she breathed. He nodded, and she shook her head. "No, no, no, it can't … you can't … it's been at least three hundred years. You can't—"

"Be here? Because I am." She shook her head again, lowering her eyes as she mumbled no to herself.

It struck him that it was possible, albeit highly unlikely, that this wasn't a typical dream. It wouldn't have been the first dream between her leaving and the carbonite, but it was the first where she appeared like this, small and beaten and … broken, his brain added unhelpfully.

"Where are you?" he whispered. He desperately wanted to reach for her again, but he feared another shock like that could jolt him awake, make him lose her — and that he didn't want. She raised her head and looked around.

"Hoth?" she said, then added a laugh that lacked any mirth. "Or at least, that's the only place I can think of that's this godsdamned white and cold."

"Is that—"

"No, no, I'm … I don't know, Carth. I don't know where I am. I don't know how you're here. I don't…" Her voice broke again, and she looked away. "I don't know. I'm… I'm so tired."

"Gorgeous—"

"Carth, please, I-I don't know."

"Anna, I'm going to find you. I don't know what's happening, but I'll find you."

"Carth." She shook her head. "No. You can't. You don't know who this is, you don't know what he can do. Promise me that you won't look for me."

"No."

"Promise me!" Revan demanded. Carth shook his head and started to argue as the wind picked up on the plane around them, brushing the tall grass against his legs. Revan's head jerked up as the sky above them darkened, black fringed with purple light slowly spreading across the pale blue. "Shit," she breathed.

"What—"

The wind swirled harder, whipping his clothes around him — he half expected Revan to fly, with the way her robes snapped. When he looked back he found her face blank of emotion, except maybe the slightest hint of moisture at the corner of her eyes. She raised her hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Carth promptly found himself perched precariously on the side of his bed, arms windmilling as he fought a losing battle with gravity. He picked himself off the floor, kicking his sheets where they were tangled around his legs. With a huff he grabbed for a timepiece nearby.

Four. He groaned and slammed it back onto the table, dragging himself into bed and throwing his arm over his eyes.

A few moments later the door opened and he groaned as light rolled in from the hallway. He turned towards the wall.

"I heard a commotion in here, Admiral Onasi, are you well?" C4-J3 inquired. He groaned again.

"I'm fine," he grumbled. "Close the door."

A/N:

I forgot a note on the last one, so here we are.

Yes, yes, this isn't What is Past or Earn a Happy Ending. It turns out that taking a break from fanfiction to 1. finish your Masters' thesis, 2. drop out of your PhD program, and 3. churn out a high quality draft of your original series makes the KotOR 2 and Normandy crews take off on vacation.

That is to say, I'll finish them, I just need to track those losers back down.

In the mean-time, this is my 2015 NaNo. The idea is based off a prompt I got a couple years ago on my blog, about what would happen if Carth and Anna ended up in the SWTOR era, so now I'm writing an actual longfic instead of the one-shot it was. I'm planning to update 2 chapters a week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I'm glad to be back doing something fandom related. :)

(For reference and/or more information on the SWTOR-side of things, I have a legacy page on my tumblr blog, which is now the same as my fanfic username (clockworkcuttlefish,tumblr). Go to OCs on the left-hand side, then SWTOR Legacy.)