After that testy exchange with Sion's jailor, Meetra ruminates all day on how to handle the predicament she's in. She arrives at the conclusion she started with-that healing the Darkside zombie is appropriate compassion which saves others from suffering. Exposing Darth Sion to the Light can only be a good thing, right? She's showing the man an alternative path to the Darkness he espouses. Will that make a difference? Probably not. But you cannot compel a person to change, you can only set an example. And as for Sion's proposed treason against Vitiate? Meetra doesn't feel like she knows enough information to make that decision yet. She's going to try to find out more. Even if she doesn't join his conspiracy, maybe she can still help Revan.
Mindful of the jailor's bitter complaints about her attitude, Meetra resolves to skip the verbal brawl that begins every interview with Sion. That back-and-forth never accomplishes much. She will give Sion what he wants and take from him the Force she craves. And then, she will return to her cell with as much dignity as possible. Meetra plans to be professional and businesslike about his healing. Appropriately distanced. Maybe even aloof. But not meek.
When evening comes, once again the guards escort her to the residential portion of the fortress. Meetra isn't surprised. Healing is an intimate task that is best accomplished where the Master of the fortress moon can divest his armor in private. Like last night, Meetra first wanders through a large, empty antechamber to locate Lord Sion within his private domain. She confronts her captor, who stands facing away silhouetted before the dying red embers of the enormous fireplace hearth.
"I did not feel the touch of your mind today," he rumbles softly as she advances.
Is that reproach? Meetra confirms, "I was unsuccessful triggering the bond from my side." She tried. She really tried. But she made no progress. She's working hard to keep that failure from being dispiriting. She wants her Force back more than anything.
"You cannot activate the bond and yet I hear your thoughts," Sion muses. "I was on my throne attempting to conduct business while listening to you fret over 'what would Revan do?' in your circumstances."
Meetra flushes. Tony the jailor is right—the mere mention of Revan gets her upset. So, she immediately changes the topic. "I am ready, if you are." She bends to take a few pumps from the offered antiseptic bottle on her hands. Time to get this over with and get out of here.
The Sith takes that as his cue to shrug out of the voluminous hooded black cloak that conceals his form. Underneath, he is unclothed to the waist. He's helmeted but bare chested. This time, there is no armor to divest.
Even from this distance in the firelight, Meetra can see that Sion is better. The saber wounds on his back look smoother and smaller. They still immediately draw the eye, but they are significantly improved. The puckered, irregular scar tissue surrounding the punctures also looks more normal. The marks look less glaring overall.
"Oh, wow. Let me see." Meetra approaches for a closer look.
As she inspects the progress, he commends her. "You did more last night than torturing ten captives in a day could ever do. I am pleased by your efforts and impressed by your talent."
"Is the other side better as well?"
"Yes." He turns to display his chest. "You are remarkable, my Lady."
He says this offhand, but she can sense how sincere the praise is. How relieved he feels. How hopeful he is for a meaningful, enduring recovery at last. They're not currently touching, but for a moment, it feels like the bond is leaking through. That is also good progress. Meetra is now anxious to heal again. "May I?" She stands with a hand poised an inch from his chest, not quite touching his skin.
"Please do," he invites.
She needs no further invitation. Meetra flinches at their initial physical contact, not from any pain but from the immediacy and intensity of the bond activating. The Force rushes up to her mind. It's a flood of power that sends her brain reeling for a few seconds.
Sion is pleased that she is so dazzled. "Steady. Take your time. Get used to me."
Sion is far more patient than she is. Ignoring caution, Meetra rushes headlong into healing. It just feels so good.
Sion sighs deeply and the open bond betrays how much he relishes this feeling as well. He's had one brief taste of the Light, and he too wants more.
"Are you always this impetuous?" he inquires and Meetra can sense a smile behind his mask. The bond tells her that Sion finds her enthusiasm childish in an endearing way. He loves that she is anxious to heal him.
"Why overthink it?" She trusts in the Force.
"You almost passed out from this last night."
Right. Well, whatever. That was the initial attempt. This time will be easier. That's always how it is when you learn a new Force skill. "I'm been waiting all day for this."
"So have I."
"Then quit complaining and let me heal you." And here they go again—bickering, like she planned not to do.
"Very well. I will save you from yourself again, if need be."
"Just don't throw me across the room," Meetra grumbles.
"Then don't let things get out of hand. I want you to heal me, not to harm yourself."
"Healing is the goal," she affirms, trying not to feel dissed by his doubts. They need to stop talking, she decides. The man is too innately distracting, too provoking. She wants to be efficient and effective, and that doesn't require them to communicate. So, when Sion persists on talking, Meetra just listens.
He begins, "When I first heard you in my mind, it was during meditation. There was this sweet little girl's voice reciting singsong prayers to the Force in a Republic accent. I heard you ask forgiveness for your sins, like a truly humbled penitent. You were grave in your own informal way. I liked that. Piety has always impressed me."
Meetra merely nods, keeping her concentration on healing.
"On and off for weeks, your prayers would flit through my mind. I had no idea who you were until I heard you lamenting Malachor. That's when I realized that the charming, soft voice in my head was the Jedi Exile who had bested my men on Korriban. The walking, breathing wound in the Force who Traya couldn't stop talking about."
Sion pauses expectantly, but again she says nothing. She's here to heal, not to make conversation.
"Outwardly, you were so fierce. So stalwart and foreboding. But I knew another side to you. The hidden side that longs for absolution and still seeks a happy ending. I set out to find you. To save you from Traya's wickedness and to rescue you from other Lords' retribution. You needed help, and I needed help, and I reasoned that must be the purpose for which the Force connects us."
Sion says this like he's her divinely appointed Dark anti-hero. And is this speech a softer version of the resentment that Tony the jailor expressed earlier? Is she about to hear again how she should be grateful for her imprisonment?
"Meetra, I understand your posturing. I do it myself. We all present a false front to others from time to time. See here." Sion gestures to his mask as an example. "Posturing is often meant to mislead, but its primary purpose is to conceal." The Sith starts pontificating on that point now, and he gets personal. "Your prickly profane outbursts mask fear. Your quick frustration is anger showing through. Your doubts are sadness surfacing. Those are Dark emotions you don't know how to handle. They overwhelm you. Grief is like that. It's fine to surrender to it. Do what it takes to manage it when it flares. But do it with an intent to move on."
"Move on?" she finally speaks up.
"Yes. Do you need permission to move on? If so, I grant it to you now. You see, I myself am a graduate of regret. I wasted over a century wallowing in misery before I decided to stop looking back and to start looking forward. I cannot change what happened to my family. I cannot change who I have become as a result. But I can seek knowledge and I can also seek improvement, for myself and for the Empire. The best remedy for a painful past is to seek a better future. So, if you don't like who circumstances have forced you to become, become someone new and different."
Is that what she's here for now? To help Sion become someone new and different?
With the bond open, he knows her thoughts. "If you heal me permanently, I won't need to waste my days seeking pain for survival. I can finally expend my full efforts helping to rid the Empire of Vitiate."
Is he going to make his treason pitch again? No. Instead, he tells her, "I don't know if you can understand this, but the worst part of being me is the indifference I must show to the suffering of others. I thrive off the pain I inflict, even as I abhor my own pain. No one understands pain like I do." Sion pauses before he adds, "I am not without empathy. But I do what I must."
"So you have said." Was that comment noncommittal enough? Meetra is trying hard not to get drawn into an argument.
The Sith apparently finds her demeanor to be standoffish. "Why so shy? Don't be shy." Sion pulls her close. Her right palm is still splayed over the injuries near his heart but now she is tucked into him bodily. Her cheek is pressed against the right side of his bare chest as his arms encircle her. So much for her intentions to keep their interaction arm's length. Meetra is basically standing in his embrace. It's impossible to consider this healing session anything other than deeply personal in this posture. She's gone to bed with men who treated her more distantly.
All the physical closeness feels vaguely threatening, so Meetra forgets her resolve to remain silent and focused. She starts asking about the topic the jailor raised today: Revan. With their minds joined in the bond, Meetra reasons Sion will be unable to deceive her.
"Do you know where Revan is?" It's a complete non sequitur, but Meetra goes there straightaway.
The zombie Sith answers without qualifications. "I do not."
He's telling the truth. She can feel it.
"I do not know where Vitiate hides him, but I hope to find out."
"Why?"
"Stealing Vitiate's favorite prisoner will get his attention. Revan will be good bait for a trap."
"You want to use him for your revolt?"
"One way or another, Revan will help me kill Vitiate. Isn't that why he came back?"
"Supposedly." She's not so sure. Part of Meetra has wondered whether Revan became frustrated with domestic life alongside sweet, but dull Bastila Shan. She also wondered whether Revan recognized that he will always be out of favor. The Council tolerated reformed Revan, but marginalized him as much as possible. Could those be contributing reasons for why he abruptly one day set off to find Vitiate? Revan is a man of action, not a man of politics, speeches, or teaching. The change he seeks is seismic, not incremental. Meetra has difficultly envisioning him ever finding a satisfactory place within the current Jedi Order. She finds Revan the humdrum family man equally as hard to swallow.
Sion now makes a surprisingly magnanimous announcement. "If Revan has no continuing interest in the Empire after Vitiate is deposed, then he is free to return to the Republic."
"He's not Darth Revan anymore." At least, that's what everyone back home believes. "Why would he want to stay here? Wait—" she nearly chokes, "do you think he actually wants to rule the Sith?"
She's fishing for information, but Sion's answer is vague. "You tell me. That was his motivation at one point. It got a lot of people on my side excited. But who knows what the man stands for currently?"
Meetra wonders about that herself. But she's naturally suspicious of Sion's motives. "Why would you let your enemy go free?" Wouldn't publicly punishing Revan mean something within the Empire? Like punishing her would? They have both taken up arms against the Empire, at least indirectly.
Sion again surprises her with his response. "If I were in charge, the Empire would enter into a truce with the Republic. We can each keep our respective halves of the galaxy. We are a rivalry that will stiffly compete but can surely coexist. We're been doing it for centuries now unacknowledged," he reasons.
"You don't believe in the revenge of the Sith?" Meetra's surprised.
"I don't see what it will accomplish. It's time to move on to better, more achievable goals," Sion answers. "Plotting to kill one another every thousand years is a waste. And unfortunately, my people have a tendency to lose those conflicts."
"I didn't think a Sith would seek peace," she goads him.
"I'm not proposing peace. I'm advocating for a cold war instead of a hot one."
"Oh."
"Revan is my preferred tool to provoke the Emperor. If I am successful, Revan may join us or leave when I'm done with him."
That just begs the question. "And what about me?"
"Heal me, and we will discuss it."
Meetra doesn't like being put off. She grunts. "I'm leaving as soon as I get my Force back."
"We shall see . . ." comes Sion's vague and irksome response.
But recalling her resolve to avoid pointless conflict, Meetra opts not to pursue the point. Instead, she keeps fishing for information. "Where did your jailor get the picture of Revan without his mask? He showed it to me today."
"That's not Revan. That's the late Darth Collapse who died forty odd years ago."
"Collapse? Who is that? He looked just like Revan."
"If I'm right, he's Revan's father."
"Whaaaat?!" Meetra suddenly loses her concentration.
"Steady now," Sion hugs her closer, reaching to physically replace her hand at his chest. "Don't get rattled."
"You're gonna need to explain that comment—"
"I will. But first, focus. Yes, that's better. Oh, that's marvelous. Truly, you are my gift from the Force," the zombie Sith gushes as she resumes healing.
"You were telling me about Revan's father," Meetra prompts him.
"Of course," Sion sighs out his pleasure. The bond betrays just how content he feels as he holds her and she heals. It loosens his tongue some more. "There is a persistent tale whispered about your friend Revan," he begins. "It concerns a powerful Sith family called the Claudians. The Force ran strong in that family . . . too strong for Vitiate's taste. The male children born to one recent generation of the Gens Claudius paid a terrible price for it. There were several infanticides in close succession."
"I don't understand."
"Darth Vitiate tests all male children born to the Lord class for midichlorians at birth. If a child's count is too high, the Emperor executes them."
Yikes! Meetra quickly perceives the motivation. "He anticipates rivals . . ."
"Vitiate is terrified of rivals. The man's paranoia and fear cannot be underestimated. There is nothing our Emperor will not do to hold on to power."
"He kills innocent babies for their potential to supplant him . . . " Meetra is appalled at this cruelty. "How horrible."
"This is the sort of man we are dealing with. There is no limit to his ruthlessness. It is embarrassing at times. Our Emperor is overpowered and yet painfully insecure. Marka Ragnos would never have handled potential threats like he does," Sion sniffs.
"I see."
"Vitiate has had his foot on the necks of all the best families for centuries now. Lord and Lady Collapse surrendered two newborn sons for murder to the Emperor before Lady Collapse apparently had enough. When her third son was days old and determined to be too powerful to let live, she fled to the Republic. To the Jedi Temple on Coruscant."
Wow. But wait—is this story even true? "When was this?" Meetra demands.
"Forty-ish years ago. Before you were born. The details are sketchy, but the desperate mother reportedly entrusted her baby son to the Jedi to raise in their tradition. She and the rest of the Claudians paid a terrible price for her treason. Vitiate promptly murdered most of them. He left a few ancillary family members alive just to quietly spread the tale of his harsh justice. He made an example of the Gens Claudius lest other leading families follow their example."
"You're saying that a Sith child was raised by the Jedi?" That sounds wrong. Meetra could never see the Council agreeing to such a scheme. It's easy to envision them taking mercy on a Sith child and arranging for an adoption by a family of laymen. But training a Sith kid as one of their own? That would be risky indeed, and out of character for the Dark Side fearing, ultra-cautious Council. She's skeptical. "You believe this story and you think that Revan is the Sith kid?"
"Lady Collapse recorded a hologram transmission before she made it to Coruscant. She knew she would die. The message was a goodbye to her family and friends. She's holding the baby in the transmission. She says his name."
"Revan?"
"Revenio. It's from the Old Sith verb revenio, revenire. It means to come back, to return. For a homecoming, you see."
"Revenio . . ." Meetra says the foreign-sounding name out loud.
"Revenio became Revan."
"You're saying that—"
"The charismatic Jedi leader who defied his Order to go to war to fight the disguised Sith invaders is, in fact, a son of Darkness himself. Were Revan raised in his homeland, he would have been a veritable prince. Instead, he became an orphan Jedi foundling, languishing unaware in benevolent exile."
"That's—that's—"
"Incredible?"
"Yes. Incredible as in 'not credible.'"
"Search your feelings and you will know it to be true."
Meetra can tell that Sion thinks it is true, but that is not sufficient proof. Still, she thinks a moment, digesting the claim. If it is true, the wild tale puts a whole new gloss on Revan's tangles with the Council.
"Don't you see?" Sion whispers in a hushed voice. "The Force protected him! It let him grow up in anonymity far away from his enemy. But as fate would have it, his path would eventually cross with Vitiate. That's how these things always work. In time, Revan became Darth Revan . . . like he was always meant to be."
"You're saying the Force wants him Dark?"
"I'm saying that he was fulfilling his destiny, whether he knew it or not."
"No! You're wrong! That's not true!" Meeta has heard enough of this conspiracy theory run amok. "Revan is a hero of the Republic! Whether the Order will admit it or not—whether the Senate will give him the credit—Revan fought for the Republic!" For the values it espouses. For the ideals it imperfectly upholds.
"Yes. Until along the way, he realized that his one true enemy all along—the man behind the Mandalorians—the man responsible for his family's demise—the man who is his public political opponent and his private personal nemesis—is the Sith Emperor Darth Vitiate." Sion's voice is resolute as he proclaims, "Revan knew instinctively what many Lords here know but fear to say—that Vitiate must go."
"You think Revan knows this story about his mother? Do you think he believes it?" Meetra doesn't.
"I don't know. But when I find him, I'm going to tell him."
Understanding dawns now. "You don't want Revan to go back to the Republic," Meetra realizes aloud. "You want him to stay here in the Empire . . . "
"It is his home."
Maybe so, but quick-thinking Meetra perceives a different motive. She accuses, "You need his help!"
Sion's mask nods. "The Sith need a new Dark Lord. A charismatic man who will lead with ideas and vision, not a recluse who fears to show his face to his own people. Revan got everyone's attention with his failed Empire. The man is bold but principled. Meetra, my dear, he could be the one we have been waiting for."
"No! Revan is who the Jedi Order needs," she sputters. "The Republic needs him! Not the Empire!"
"His opportunities in the Republic are foreclosed now . . . as are yours. That is the past. The Empire is his future. Yours as well."
Those sentiments strike her as strange words coming from an uber competitive, power-hungry Lord of the Sith. "I'm surprised you don't think the next Dark Lord should be you," she observes coolly.
"It's not me. It could be my brother-in-law, but Cornelius doesn't want to do it. So, why not Revan? He's already made a big impression. And if he's who I think he is, he has all the pedigree he needs to gain widespread support."
Oh, come on. "He was a Jedi! How could your people ever come to embrace him as your new Emperor?"
"When the story is known, the Lords will see him for who he is—at least, who I hope he is—the Sith'ari."
"I don't know what that means."
"It is a legend as old as the Sith. My people have long awaited the advent of a prophet of the Force who will one day come to save us. It is said that the Sith'ari will destroy the Sith to make us stronger. He is a figure of rebirth and renewal, of revolution and resolve. He is the leader chosen by the Force when times are desperate. He is the answer to the prayers of the faithful. The Sith'ari comes out of nowhere, unexpected and unforeseen, but he is everything we need . . . and everything Vitiate fears."
His words come out in a rush of righteous fervor, but Sion pauses to let that last point sink in.
Meetra squints at him. "You believe it's Revan?"
Sion's mask nods. "What if a secret Sith walked the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant? What if he gave testimony before the Galactic Senate? What if his political movement drove the agenda of the Republic first before he helmed the Empire? What might that mean?"
"I don't know . . ." But the hair on the back of Meetra's arms is beginning to stand up with alarm at the possibilities.
Excited Sion keeps going. "What if the proxy war against the Mandalorians was really a proxy war for the future of the Empire? What if the stakes for that conflict were less about the Sith conquering the Republic to rule the galaxy and more about an adopted son of the Republic positioning himself to conquer the Empire? If you view Revan's progression outside the Republic perspective, things look very different."
Meetra's introductory crash course in all things Sith hasn't really given her the ability to appreciate Sion's point. But the strong note of hope in his voice cannot be missed. "You really think Revan is this Sith savior?"
"Force willingly, he is. Vitiate claims to be the Sith'ari, and he did lead us out of bitter defeat. But his day is done. Now, his leadership is the biggest threat to the Empire, not the Republic. The Emperor's extreme paranoia has him slaughtering our future. The fool fears our best and brightest."
Sion starts reciting something in his foreign tongue now. "Veni, veni, Sith'ari captivum solve Korriban, qui gemit in exsilio, privatus Tenebrae Filio. Gaude! Gaude! Sith'ari, nascetur pro te Korriban!"
"What's that mean?" It sounds solemn, like some Dark Side curse.
"It's an ancient prayer from before the time of the first Empire. It was chanted in plainsong at vespers. Usually in antiphon, with both choirs on the left and right answering one another. There are several verses, but they all mean the same thing: the faithful wait for the birth of the son of Darkness, who will lead the Sith to ultimate glory."
"The Sith'atri?" she surmises
"Sith'ari," he corrects her pronunciation. "He is the Dark angel sent by the Force who will come on wings of steel and fire to pillage and ransack. He will judge those who are worthy and those who are not, and his wisdom will be unerring."
"Yikes. That's . . . that's . . . like some end of times fable."
Sion grunts. "Vitiate had his Chief Priest reform the official liturgy a while back. He outlawed this Temple prayer in particular."
"The Emperor bans prayers?"
"The official view is that the prayer has been answered already. The savior has already come and he is Darth Vitiate."
"I see. What a humble guy."
"The Emperor's hubris cannot be matched. In certain Temples with—shall we say—dissenting, traditionalist priests, the prayer is still chanted as a quiet political statement."
"You can do that?"
"Pick the right time and place, and you will find small acts of civil disobedience performed in all corners of the Empire. I am not alone in my contempt for the Emperor. There are many likeminded Lords."
Meetra frowns at the intensity of Sion's zeal for this mythical leader who sounds every bit as much a fairytale as the Jedi prophecy of the Chosen One. "Sion, are you a Dark Side religious nut?" And wait, that came out wrong.
He doesn't take offense. "My politics are progressive, but my religious views are conservative. I would like to cleanse our Temples of political influence. The worship, study, and teaching of the Force should transcend support for the regime. If anything, the regime should support our religion, instead of our religion supporting the regime. It's cringeworthy how hard Vitiate seeks to enshrine himself." Sion shakes his head with seething disgust. This is clearly a point he has thought a lot about. "How far we have strayed from our core values . . . " The offhand, derisive comment reminds Meetra of how Revan once viewed the Senate.
But she's confused. "How can you be curious about the Light, how can you accept the Light now from me, and still call yourself a Sith religious conservative?"
"The Light is the Force, just like Darkness. Meetra, the Sith were Jedi once. Our birthright is the Force—all of the Force. We've nothing to fear from the Light. It's the Jedi and the Republic who oppose us, and those are but institutional, political constructs."
"Do others here in the Empire share that view?"
"No." Sion's tone is wry and self-effacing now, and that too is very Revan. "I'm a minority of one when it comes to my subversive, ecumenical iconoclasm."
"That's what I thought. Are you some sort of priest or monk then?"
"No. In my youth, only the youngest son could enter the seminary. All others were trained as warriors to fight the Republic." He explains, "I came to study our religion later in life. These days, I am mostly a proponent of power. Why limit ourselves to merely the Dark Side, when see what wonders the Light can achieve?"
Meetra thinks she gets it. "You want it all?"
"I want it all." Sion is a typical Sith, but with the added twist of ambition for Light Side Force tricks.
"You want it all, but you don't think you should be the one to lead?" That has to be a first among Sion's kind. Doesn't every Sith Lord want to rule?
Not Sion apparently. "I will never be the king, but I will gladly be the kingmaker."
"I see." Sort of. Not really. She's still trying to understand Sion's angle. "You think that you will be able to control this Sith'ari figure once you set him on the throne?"
This time, Sion does take offense at her words. He fumes, "Is it so hard for you to believe that I might want glory for my people, and not for myself?"
Meetra has nothing to say to that assertion. Mostly because the answer is 'yes.'
"The Emperor is not easily fooled," conspiracy theorist Sion assures her. "He knows that Claudian boy made it to the Republic to be raised as a Jedi. If I can see Revan for who he is, surely the Emperor has figured it out as well. Vitiate probably hoped to kill Revan in the Republic during the Mandalore war. Revan would have died none the wiser and the story would never come out back home. But you, my dear, won the war and scuttled that plan." Sion chuckles slyly. "Thank you, General Surik, for defeating the Mandalorians with ruthless Darkness."
"That's when Revan went Dark . . . after Malachor V," Meetra sadly recalls.
Sion has a different spin on the matter. "Revan went Dark because he was born Dark. The blood of generations of Dark Jedi flows in his veins, and likely some ethnic Sith as well. I would look up his actual genealogy except Vitiate has erased it. The Claudians no longer officially exist even though their Lords have been integral to the Empire since the days of the Hyperspace War."
"That picture you confirmed today erases any doubt. If that's what Revan looks like, he's Sith for certain. All that olive skin with ruddy undertones, the dark hair and eyes, the lanky build . . . it's quintessentially halfbreed in appearance. Revan looks like one of us. Only our ethnic purebloods have the red skin, and even they are not truly pure in heritage." Sion shrugs. "All Sith elites are a mix of ancestry. Look at my pale skin," he gestures to his bare chest. "But there are definite prevalent types, and your friend Revan fits one. Vitiate would see it immediately."
Meetra shakes her head. "This all sounds preposterous." It's not like there are not brown skinned, dark haired, dark eyed human Jedi in the Republic. They're not all imported Sith kids. But Meetra can tell through the bond that Sion absolutely believes what he's telling her. She came here tonight worried that she would have to put up with his heavy-handed flirting. She never guessed this would be the evening's topic of conversation. It's thrown her for a loop.
"The Force works in mysterious ways. And it has long been known to hide its favorites in obscurity to safeguard them until the time is right."
There Sion goes again, sounding very much the starry-eyed mystical zealot. But could what he is saying actually be true? Meetra thinks a moment about her missing friend and mentor, the man who she willingly followed into war and ultimately disgrace . . . Revan was willing to stand up to the Council's sanctimony and call their bluff, all the while knowing it meant he would never be granted the rank of Master as a consequence. He was the greatest Jedi leader of his era—maybe ever—but he never held any significant rank or title. Revan was a man who cared deeply about the values of the Republic and was willing to expose those in the Order and in the Senate who merely gave lip service to those ideals. It earned him powerful enemies, as well as respect. But no one ever doubted his sincerity. Revan was a statesman who fought for what he believed in. More than once he said privately that he was willing to bring down the Jedi Order and maybe even powerful members of the Senate, if that's what it took to wake the Republic up to the complacency and corruption that had set in. If this war cleanses our people, so be it, he once said. And it was remarks like that which fueled the impression that Revan was a dangerous loose cannon. But there were no sacred cows where Revan was concerned. And in the end, that 'do what it takes' ethos is what brought him down. For the man naively thought to protect the Light Side of the galaxy by dabbling in Dark means. He used the Mandalorians' tactics against them, meeting their Sith-directed ruthlessness with his own cunning and deceit. It worked. The Republic was saved. It was Revan and all who followed him who were lost.
Still, despite all that has happened, Meetra persists in wanting to see the best in her friend. Revan was—is—a hero in her eyes. Because even if he was wrong on some things, he was right on most. And he had a selfless courage that inspired others to be better. Meetra has many regrets from the war, but her greatest regrets are not the things the reform minded Crusaders did, but rather the things they didn't do. She privately would be fine with Revan dismantling the Jedi status quo to remake the Order fresh and better going forward. But to see him defect to lead the Sith? Well, that's something she never contemplated. And she's viscerally opposed to it.
The bond is open. Sion knows what she's thinking. "The Mandalore war and the aborted empire with Malak were just Revan's warm up act. If we free him, if we kill Vitiate, the Force only knows what he might become."
"Did you know all this when you captured me?" Meetra demands, feeling confounded.
"Yes. I have long prayed to the Force for healing. I have sought enlightenment to understand my plight. Why do I exist this way? What is the meaning of my suffering? Why did I not die centuries ago? It sent me you—the Force sent me you—for an answer."
Again, Meetra hears the zombie's streak of grandiose zealotry at work. And also, a deep undercurrent of possession. Maybe some women want to be adored and set upon a pedestal, but this is all very uncomfortable for her.
Sion, however, is just getting started. He croons an outpouring of words. "Unto me is given a young, beautiful, woefully misjudged and unappreciated Jedi hero. You need a protector and someone to care for you. I need company and healing. You bring the Light, I bring the Dark, and together our power amplifies exponentially. We are more than merely bonded, we are a true dyad—a dyad! Two favorites of the Force brought low by fate but clearly still destined to matter."
"That's a nice speech, but what does it have to do with Revan?" she responds dryly.
"That last part is the key—we each still matter." Sion says this emphatically with thick indignation. This is very important to him. "My work in this life was not done with superficial revenge. So long as the true culprit Vitiate lives, I am needed. In what role? I do not yet know. And you? Exile was not the end of your story. It might turn out to be the beginning. Your connection to Revan cannot be accidental."
"You think the Force lets you live so you can plot against the Emperor to replace him with Revan? You think this dyad is part of that goal?"
"Absolutely. Know it for a sign."
"A sign?"
"A sign from the Force. So let us embrace our lives as we find them now. Let the past go, Meetra, and walk confidently into the future hand in hand with me." She wishes crazy Sion would stop talking, but he keeps going. "By the grace of the Force, and with the blessing of your healing, I will one day fulfill my destiny. And then my suffering and loss will find its fruition. Soon, I hope you will regain your Force. What a powerful pair we will be then as a dyad. Think of the change we might enact together. Think of you and I, together with Revan, taking on the Emperor . . . "
She should say something. That sort of impassioned declaration demands a reply. But Meetra has no words to respond to Sion's speech. She simply steps back and looks up to stare warily at the inscrutable mask. She's heard his fine words. But just what exactly does Sion want from her? Because if this is some form of attachment he's proposing, she's not going there.
"Well?"
Meetra feels put on the spot. Taken aback. Threatened to the core by a man she's now certain will never harm her. Darth Sion poses different dangers, she realizes. He doesn't want to torture, he wants her touch. He doesn't seek to corrupt her, for he values her Light. He's not come to steal her soul, but he wants to claim her heart. He has told her as much all along, but she never believed him. His goofy old school overtures with the flowers confirmed it, but she blithely brushed them off. But here, now, corny Sion is making it very clear that he has big plans for her. And he said it all holding her with the bond open so she could sense his sincerity.
Once again, Sion is in her thoughts. He teases, "Don't pretend that you aren't partial to a crusading disruptor full of zeal for reform. Admit it, my dear—you like your men a little contrarian. Your hero Revan certainly played that role in the Republic."
She's about to retort that Sion's no Revan when the words die on her lips. Because maybe the zombie Sith could be, in his own way, the Sith version of a Revan figure. He certain wants to shake things up.
And that thought causes Meetra to panic. She begins slowly backing away. "I uh think I should go. That's enough for tonight." She's looking away. At the floor. At the wall. Anywhere but the mask with the opaque eyes that see right through her thanks to the bond.
And now, to her horror, Sion reaches both hands up to remove his helmet. He's all-in now for removing the only true barrier between them.
"G-Goodnight," Meetra yelps as she whirls. It's an instinctive rejection. She starts walking away fast as soon as she sees the tossed mask land unceremoniously in a nearby chair.
Sion follows her. He's hot on her heels. Before she makes it to the door, she's caught.
Meetra stops short. Sion's hands are on her upper arms with a firm grip. It immediately activates the bond. Suddenly, they're in each other's minds again. Meetra closes her eyes, but she can't shut him out. The Force won't let her.
Sion steps closer now and his chin hovers over her shoulder. Without the mask, his voice is husky and surprisingly soft. "Don't go," he commands, his Sith accented Basic ringing in her ears and inside her head. "There is nothing to fear. You are safest here with me tonight."
He says she's safe but she's afraid, terribly afraid. Threats from Sion she can handle. His scary Sith posturing is really no big deal. A true fight is something she's fully prepared for, even without her Force. Really, any conflict with Sion is fine. But this nutty conspiracy theory about Revan, this overt neediness muddled with ambition, this impassioned appeal for a pact for revolution . . . it feels unsettlingly raw. Manic even. Definitely highly personal. Whatever it is Sion is really asking her for, he wants it badly.
"I can't be whatever it is that you want," Meetra grinds out. She's deliberately being vague, afraid to put any label to his intent.
"I just want you to think about it. "
He's not getting the message. "I will never be in your life that way."
"Why not? The Force bonds us. It mates us."
Meetra flushes and cringes at his choice of words. "Look, you've got the wrong idea . . ."
"Just think about," he presses. His hands shift now to clasp her close. He's basically hugging her from behind. And now, his hot breath is on her cheek.
Meetra turns her chin away from the intimacy. Sion takes full advantage of the evasive movement. He starts kissing her jaw and nuzzling her neck as the bond suddenly flares in intensity. He's excited. It bleeds across the bond and part of her—a very small part—is excited too.
"Think about it. Think of me. Think of us," he rasps between kisses. "It's all I think about. How perfect you are. How much I want us to be together. We break every rule and I don't care."
Meetra bristles as soon as she senses her body begin to respond. Sion's hands have started to roam her body now. It feels good, but that's not the point. "You need to stop." Meetra has a saber in one pocket and a blaster in the other. She'll use them if she has to. "I agreed to heal you. Nothing else. Now, take your hands off me!" she hisses.
"I have offended you." Sion releases her instantly. "Am I doing this wrong? Is there someone who I should approach to ask for you?"
"Whaaat?" she breathes out. She's relieved he backed down, but not following what he's saying.
"I figured that as a Jedi without family, you would be the decision maker. But if there is someone in the Republic who I must approach to properly seek your hand, I will do it."
Meetra freezes. "My h-hand?" she echoes weakly.
"Yes. Your hand for marriage. I mean you no disrespect. My intentions are honorable."
What the Hell? "You can't be serious!"
"I am. Turn around and look at me. I want to marry you and hide you here as Lady Sion. You will heal me and we will nurture the bond until the time is right to move against Vitiate."
"You're fucking crazy!" He's insane and he's powerful, and that's a dangerous combination. Meetra starts walking fast—no, running—from the room.
Sion doesn't follow.
Meetra flies from the room and into the large antechamber. This time the entry doors at the far end do not slide open to reveal the waiting guards. Impatient, Meetra pounds on them herself. "Open up! Open up!"
The doors remain closed.
"Open up!"
Shit! What is she going to do? Maybe she can short out the door panel and it will automatically slide open. That's the default setting that doors manufactured in the Republic are usually set to. Meetra frantically looks around for something metal with a sharp corner to use as a tool to trick the door into opening. There's a console table with framed pictures on it. Maybe one of those will work.
The first picture Meetra selects looks like some super creepy bridal portrait. It's a red-faced woman shrouded in black lace holding a bouquet of red flowers. She peeks from beneath her hood in quarter profile with an enigmatic expression. It's bizarre. But that frame is glass, not metal, so Meetra discards it fast. The next picture she grabs shows two red-faced young boys dueling with play swords. It's a candid shot that has a crawling baby on the rug in the background facing away from the camera. But that frame is wood, so it won't work. And wait—there's a metal frame. That could do it. Meetra grabs it even as she hears Sion's booted footsteps enter the room behind her. This framed photograph shows a happy toddler girl beaming a big smile right at the camera. Meetra is about to start poking the corner of the picture frame into the door mechanism when she does a double take. The baby, she belatedly notices, has pale skin and auburn red hair.
"That's my daughter."
It's Sion. He has his mask back on and he's wearing his black cloak to conceal his naked upper half.
"Put it down," he instructs and Meetra quickly replaces the photograph on the console.
"Go ahead. Leave if you must," Sion tells her as he walks up. "I can be patient for things worth waiting for." Then, he gestures with his hand and the doors slide open with the Force.
The guards are revealed to be waiting outside. "My Lord?" their leader respectfully requests his orders.
"Well?" Sion turns to her for an answer.
"I'm leaving," Meetra announces.
"As you wish. Escort the lady back to her cell," Sion tells his minions.
She begins to march out and then stops short.
Think about it.
It's Sion's voice in her head through the bond. He's seven meters away, and yet she still hears his thoughts. Stunned Meetra looks back. Her mouth falls open.
The Force is with me.
She can almost sense the satisfied smirk behind the inscrutable mask.
The Force is with me. Yield to the Force.
Meetra gulps and entertains for the first time the prospect that Sion might be right. And . . . that the price for earning her Force back might be joining his cause.
Spooked, she turns to the guards and yelps, "Let's go!" Meetra can't get back in her cell fast enough. She needs to be alone to think.