Meetra stops by her bedroom to powder her nose and fluff her hair before she meets Cornelius Caesar, Admiral Lord Azamin, Tony's brother-in-law and his pick to succeed Darth Vitiate as the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith. Appearances mean a great deal in Sith culture, and Meetra is adapting to that mindset. To that end, she takes off the hooded Sith Lady cloak she wore to the Temple. Meetra decides to wear her new lace dress as is, without the usual long vest she dons indoors. It's one of her expensive couture dresses ordered from the Sith capital world, and it is exquisite. It seems a shame to cover it up, especially on a night when she needs to make her very best impression. With one last touchup to her lipstick and an impromptu spritz of perfume, Meetra is satisfied that her Lady Sion disguise is firmly in place. She heads out to meet the man who could be the next Emperor.
Tony and their guest are relaxing with drinks in the family living room, the housekeeper has already informed her. And that casual setting is telling. Usually, dinner guests are received in the terrifyingly stately formal living room, not the cozy hideaway that abuts the family breakfast room. Tonight's placement reveals just how comfortable Tony is with Lord Azamin.
As Meetra approaches from the back hallway, she can hear the men's voices through the open doorway. Meetra lingers out of sight to listen a moment. Eavesdropping has become her habit of late. She considers it to be intelligence gathering.
Their guest is talking in a jovial, booming baritone. "Why should I be upset? I've been telling you to move on for decades. It's about time you took my advice."
"I promise you—she will never replace Cornelia," Tony asserts. Even from out of sight in the hallway, his defensiveness lights up the unseen bond between them. Meetra also detects a faint whiff of grief.
"My sister is gone. We've all accepted that. It is no disrespect to her memory for you to find happiness again. Force knows, you've earned some happiness by now." Their visitor wonders aloud now in his big voice, "Do you think Cornelia foresaw her? She might have."
"If she did, I hope she approved. If she's watching in the Force, I hope we have her blessing." Tony says this solemnly. His tone confirms what Meetra already knows: that she will never equal Tony's first wife in his affections. And that's fine by her. She doesn't plan to get attached either.
"What's the new Lady Sion like?"
"She's very Republic. Don't let it unsettle you." Tony launches into his standard disclaimer about her background that he tells all their guests to preempt concerns about her otherness. "She lived among the Mandos for the duration of the war. In some ways, she looks and acts more like them than us. I'm being patient as she readjusts. She's trying hard."
"Who are her people?"
"No one of consequence. The first husband was from a minor branch of the Medicis. He was a tech officer sent to train Mandos to use our weapons systems."
"So not an Academy commissioned appointment?"
"No. Laymen routinely fill his type post."
"A low-count?" Azamin surmises.
"Yes. As is she."
"I figured as much. You'd never get a true peer marriage approved by the Palace so fast."
"I'm a low-count myself, remember?"
Cornelius Caesar scoffs at that description. "You're long past the point when your count matters. Antoninus, you are the example that keeps our Dark Lord up at night: the stealth Lord whose excellence doesn't fit any of the usual algorithms."
"You flatter me," Tony snorts. And now, he starts doing the 'aw shucks' routine Meetra has heard before. "I'm a nobody who lives on the edge of the galaxy. Vitiate probably doesn't know the name of my system, let alone my name."
"Oh, I assure you he knows your name. He knows the name of every Lord who lives past 100 years or has a count above fifteen thousand."
"We're so far from Dromund Kaas . . . nothing important ever happens out here."
"That's not what I hear," Azamin calls Tony on his false modesty. It's clear that both men pride themselves on their political scheming and can't wait to compare notes. Azamin's loud voice has a knowing, mocking tone as he slyly observes, "I hear there are lots of covert meetings out here where no one might think to look."
"Is that so?" Tony laughs coyly. Meetra can easily picture his smirk. "Tell me more," he laughs. He's having a good time and it shows.
But Darth Azamin is not laughing. He's suddenly very serious. "Watch yourself, brother. Your name has been mentioned in company that could endanger you."
"If you're talking about Lacerate, I'm not supporting him. I'll choose Vitiate over Lacerate any day."
"And Darth Gladius?"
"That's a harder call, but Vitiate wins again."
"I agree. You do know that the Palace is aware of your monthly vespers meetings, right?"
"I have always assumed so. When are you going to show up?" Tony teases.
"Never. I'm sure that Palace spies have infiltrated your little nest of malcontents. Don't push things too far. Antoninus, what was fine last month might become problematic soon. Crackdowns are coming and examples will be made."
"And yet, you're here now . . ." Tony observes.
His brother-in-law chuckles craftily and voices his own cover story. "We're family. And I want to meet the new wife. Where is she?"
"Coming from Temple. She'll be along shortly."
"What does she know of the past?"
"All the important parts."
"What does she know about me?"
"That you're the best looking two-hundred-and-thirty-eight-year-old I know, and it's damned annoying."
Loud Darth Azamin brays with laughter.
That's her cue. "Here I am, my Lords," Meetra strides in with a broad smile and what she hopes is a charming amount of feminine fluster. "Forgive my tardiness, but Lord Cohors had much to say tonight for his benediction."
Upon her arrival, both men rise to their feet. Meetra quickly crosses the room to flank Tony's left side. Then, she turns to get a good look at the would-be challenger to the Dark throne, the most dangerous man in the Empire according to Tony.
He's short. Really short. Meetra is on the smaller side for a human woman and yet she looks the Sith admiral almost directly in the eye. He's wearing half armor and a cape, like Tony does, but it doesn't make him appear physically imposing. Meetra suspects that beneath the warrior uniform of a Sith Lord, Darth Azamin is a slight figure. He's plenty intimidating, however, thanks to his gleaming yellow eyes. Their unnatural hue appears to be permanent, rather than a fleeting telltale sign of surging Darkness. Taking him in, Meetra is reminded of the Jedi teaching that looks can be deceiving and size matters not. For clearly, this little man with a big voice and eyes that speak silently is a giant of the Force.
He's also an ethic Sith. Like Tony's former Apprentice, his brother-in-law is what passes for a pureblood Sith in modern times, his ancestry leaning heavily towards the near-human Sith race that intermarried with the fully human Jedi exiles the Republic kicked out. That heritage gives Darth Azamin his distinctive ruddy skin, black hair, strong brow, and angular face. It marks him for the genetic elite of the Dark aristocracy. Looking him over, Meetra sees a very strong resemblance to the wedding photo of his twin sister that Tony still displays.
Darth Azamin bows in her direction like he's being presented to a queen. "It is I who should beg forgiveness for barging in unannounced. My Lady, you don't know how much it pleases me to meet you," their visitor begins smoothly.
She dutifully simpers back. "I know how much my Lord esteems you. It is a great honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Azamin."
"Call me Cornelius. We're family."
"Yes, of course. Please call me Mina," Meetra offers the false name that's on her forged official documentation.
Her deception is not technically spoken as a lie, but does he detect it? If he does, their guest doesn't let on. Instead, Azamin gushes, "Such a pretty name. And such a pretty face. An unforgettable face." Darth Azamin keeps studying her far longer than feels necessary. Meetra suppresses the urge to squirm.
Tony volunteers, "Like me, she's got a lot of throwback genetics."
"So I see. She could pass for an original exile with that pale skin and blonde hair." It's a comment Meetra has heard before. But is it her imagination or does Azamin's voice linger thoughtfully on the word 'exile'? Meetra glances to Tony, but he seems unconcerned.
Tony now hands her a drink that's been waiting for her arrival and their trio sits down to chat before dinner. She and Tony perch on the couch and his brother-in-law manspreads in the chair opposite them across the room. From his casual sprawl, it's clear that their guest feels right at home.
Meetra can't help but notice that Darth Azamin is still sizing her up. Gamely, she smiles back at him, hoping to seem friendly. If she appears nervous, she hopes he will chalk it up to her eagerness to please.
Their guest now reveals the purpose for his visit. "I come with news. It will be announced next week, but I want you to hear it from me first. I'm being appointed to the Council."
Tony's eyes widen and he sits up. "This is news! Is this Parabellum's spot?"
"Yes. I am to be the new Minister of Military Strategy."
For her benefit, Tony explains, "The Emperor killed Lord Parabellum last month during a meeting full of witnesses."
"It was one of Vitiate's epic tantrums," Azamin adds.
"Oh, dear," Meetra murmurs, unsure how to react.
The prestigious Dark Council appointment clearly puts Darth Azamin at the center of the action but also in the line of fire. Tony is concerned for what this means for his brother-in-law. "Cornelius, you dare not refuse, but I wouldn't want to be you."
"I don't think I want to refuse," their guest muses. "I think I could be more useful on the Council than as an Admiral now that the war is over." Still, Darth Azamin seems less than happy about his new job. Glumly, he mutters, "My father would be so proud . . ."
Tony snorts. "More like surprised. He always said you'd never amount to anything. But look at you—on the Dark Council."
"Ironic, isn't it? This is no great honor. Vitiate's only doing this to watch me closer. He lives by the advice to 'keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.' With Lacerate preparing his plot, I think he's worried that the Navy will field our own candidate—"
"And it will be you," Tony finishes the thought.
"Yes. I believe that's what he assumes."
"Are you going to do it?" Tony goes there straight away, and he's not talking about accepting the Council appointment. "You don't have to be coy with us," Tony assures him.
Azamin is noncommittal. "Lacerate will lead the stampede of challengers and I plan to sit back and wait."
"That's my plan as well." Tony meets his brother-in-law's gaze and provocatively declares, "I'm a loyalist until you make your move."
Darth Azamin says nothing. Is he refusing to be baited into this conversation? Could he be keeping his cards close to his chest? Maybe. But mostly, Darth Azamin keeps looking at her. Meetra finds it unnerving. But perhaps Cornelius Caesar finds it unseemly for a woman to be present for such a frankly treasonous discussion.
Tony seems oblivious. He's too focused on his scheming. "Now is the time. He's vulnerable."
"He's not as vulnerable as you and everyone else likes to think."
"He lost the war. He blew the element of surprise. How is he going to counter those failings?"
"With a new strategy that conveniently requires years of delay."
"Oh?" Tony is all ears for this gossip.
"He wants to build a super weapon. He saw what a game-changer the Republic's weapon was against us. He thinks we need a technological terror of our own that will eliminate the need for a slow and costly ground war to take system after system."
"Interesting . . . we will use the Republic's own strategy against them?"
Azamin shrugs. "Basically."
"I bet the Republic thought they were using Sith tactics when they used the weapon against us," Meetra remarks. And does she sound bitter? Because she's bitter about that point.
"So true, so true," Tony laughs off her remark.
But Darth Azamin doesn't so much as smile. The man is far too interested in her, and that remark did nothing to dispel his fascination. Azamin seems almost attracted to her? No, that can't be right. Still, something in the way he can't stop staring suggests Azamin either finds her appealing or revolting . . . maybe both. Meetra is getting very mixed signals. Intense mixed signals that give her vague vibes of danger.
Still staring at her, the Sith admiral reveals, "Vitiate thinks that a super weapon was his prisoner's strategy to use against him . . ."
Talk of super weapons isn't her preferred dinner conversation. Meetra now resolves to keep her mouth shut for fear her words will betray her.
"Is this more of those magical Star Forge rumors?" Tony sighs.
His brother-in-law nods. "Our Emperor is convinced that there are secrets of the Rakatan yet to be discovered. That's his explanation for why he's obsessed with his prisoner."
"Revan . . ." Tony says the forbidden name aloud and Meetra now begins studying her hands in her lap hoping Azamin will start to ignore her.
"Officially, Revan is dead . . . like any and all upstart traitors who come after him. So be careful speaking of him."
"Point taken," Tony nods. "But we don't censor our speech here, so say the name Revan all you want."
Darth Azamin raises his glass in a mock salute and takes a sip. "You've made your system a beacon of freedom. Careful, Antoninus," Cornelius Caesar chuckles, "lest the Republic try to annex you."
Talk of Revan has passed. It seems safe to look up now. But when Meetra lifts her eyes, she meets Darth Azamin's steady yellow gaze.
She smiles weakly.
Their guest resumes his gossiping. "Parabellum died because he openly confronted Vitiate about Revan and this super weapon strategy. Our Emperor made an example out of him. Fried him right there in the throne room for daring to say what most of the Council thinks: that he's obsessed and not thinking rationally. Revan really got under his skin."
"What do you think?" Tony poses.
Azamin ponders a moment before answering. "It's not irrational to see that the Republic has a super weapon they are prepared to use against us at great cost to themselves and conclude that we need a similar capability, if only for the deterrent value of mutual assured destruction. But I don't think torturing Revan will get us the weapon secrets we need. We're better off trying to develop our own technology or steal it from the Republic."
"We're not doing that?"
"Not that I know of. Vitiate is obsessed, I tell you. He's neglecting his statecraft for his revenge."
"It's as bad as people say?" Tony worries. "Lacerate's not exaggerating?"
"Sadly, no. Heed me when I say to watch yourself. The Emperor's always been paranoid, but he now has good reason to fear revolt. Vitiate will tolerate much less dissent going forward."
None of this is news to her pretend husband, who has heard many such warnings of late. "Let me ask you something," Tony presses his brother-in-law. "Do you think you can kill him?"
"Vitiate? No. I'm not sure anyone alive can kill him."
"You think he's truly immortal?"
"Maybe. Who knows? Look, I don't like him any more than you do, but I'm not going on a suicide mission. That's foolish."
"If you can't beat him, join him? Is that it?" Tony probes for his reasoning.
Darth Azamin bristles. "My concerns are for more than just me. I don't want the Empire to collapse into civil war that consumes us in chaos for the next several years until Vitiate eventually wins. What will be gained from that?"
"So you're saying—"
"I'm saying that I will only back a challenger who's a sure thing. Stability matters. Security matters. Vitiate might have his faults, but he holds us together."
"For now."
Azamin sighs and agrees. "For now . . . until the Republic regroups and shows up on our doorstep."
Tony frowns, "Vitiate rules by fear and always has. We need a Dark Lord who rules with respect."
"That won't be Lacerate," Darth Azamin smirks. Then, he turns to her. "What do you think, Mina?"
"Me?" Meetra chokes.
"Yes. You lived through our defeat firsthand. What are your views?"
This is the first time a Sith Lord has ever solicited her views. That makes the question feel like a trap. But Meetra knows she needs to say something, so she mumbles, "I don't like super weapons . . . they are a perversion of nature."
Lord Azamin takes issue with this characterization. "The Dark Side is a pathway to many things some consider to be unnatural."
"Yes, I suppose you are correct, my Lord. I stand corrected," she yelps. And is her Light Side showing? She hopes not.
"I'm still surprised that the Jedi used their weapon against us. I underestimated them," Azamin says thoughtfully.
"We all did," Tony chimes in. "They are formidable."
"Ever met one?" Azamin asks.
Is he talking to her? He is. The question comes off nonchalant, but there is nothing casual about it. Darth Azamin is looking at her expectantly. "Have you ever met a Jedi, Mina?"
Meetra knows better than to lie outright to a Force user. "Y-Yes, my Lord."
"On Mandolore?"
"No. Here in the Empire. Her name is Kr-Traya."
"Ah, yes, I have heard of her. What did you think of her?"
"She scared me. I fled from her." That's all technically true.
"What did she want with you?"
"She wanted to use me." That's true, too.
Tony now reaches for her hand in an outward show of solidarity that also fully activates the bond. They exchange glances and now her pretend husband turns to his former brother-in-law and tries to shut down his topic. "The past is very painful for my Mina."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," comes Azamin's quiet response. And though the words might be construed as empathetic, Azamin's demeanor suggests otherwise. The man is positively staring her down with those aggressive yellow eyes.
Meetra is starting to feel very cornered. Warily, she speaks to Tony through the bond. He's making me nervous.
It's fine. Tony squeezes her hand.
Okay . . . You know him, and I don't.
Azamin keeps up his uncomfortable observations. "It must be hard to be alone in a strange land . . . to be adrift among your enemies . . . to live a life of lies . . . to never know who to trust . . . "
Meetra gulps and looks down. "Yes, my Lord." They're talking about her pretend experiences on Mandolore, right?
"The aftermath of the war has been hard. She was hunted," Tony reminds Azamin in a quelling tone.
"Yes, and by you yourself, I understand. She is a fugitive."
"Was a fugitive." Tony pats at her hand. "She is safe from the Republic now."
Darth Azamin grunts. "Are we what you expected?" he asks her.
Meetra blinks. "I'm sorry?"
"Is the Empire what you expected?"
She mumbles, "I'm just very glad to be here."
"She's very glad to be home," Tony corrects smoothly.
"Yes," Meetra immediately agrees, smiling at Tony with what she hopes is convincing newlywed bliss. "I am very glad to be home. So many never got the chance to come home . . . "
"Do you feel guilty about that?" Azamin asks rather too innocently.
"Guilty?" she parrots with alarm.
"To have survived."
Meetra looks away and stammers the truth. "Mostly, it makes me sad." She has so many deaths on her conscience. It's overwhelming to think of them.
Make an excuse to check on something in the kitchen. It's Tony speaking through the bond. Let me speak to him alone.
Are you going to tell him?
You're a terrible liar.
I'll take that as a compliment.
Get up and leave.
Yeah, okay.
Meetra stands to her feet and smiles as broadly as possible as she plays hostess. "Let me freshen up your drink, my Lord." She collects Tony's empty liquor glass. Then, she turns to their guest and makes the same offer. "And you, my Lord? May I pour you another? I'm just going to check on the timing for dinner . . . "
"Yes, thank you. Talk like this merits a stiff drink, don't you agree?" Azamin holds out his glass.
It's still full, she notices.
"You finish that one, while I fetch another." Meetra makes to leave, edging her way towards the door. The Force is registering danger strongly now and she's truly anxious to flee.
But Azamin neatly tosses back the whole glass in one swallow and pointedly holds it out for her to take. "Here you go." The Sith admiral flashes a genial smile that never reaches his eyes.
Meetra gulps. She glances to Tony questioningly. He gives a slight nod in response. It's wordless encouragement that prompts her to cross the room to collect their guest's empty glass.
It's a mistake. As soon as she reaches for it, her wrist is nabbed in a vice-like grip. Meetra is yanked hard by Darth Azamin.
"My Lord!" Meetra drops Tony's glass and yanks back. But her resistance proves futile. Half a second later, Darth Azamin has shifted his grip to her neck. He has her in a firm headlock from the rear as she unsuccessfully bucks beneath him.
Tony launches to his feet. "Cornelius!"
"Who is she? Who is she really?" his brother-in-law demands.
"She's my wife and I do not appreciate you manhandling her! Stand down!"
"Who is she? Don't you dare lie to me! I know she's Jedi and she's not Traya."
Meetra is making no headway with her efforts. Cornelius Caesar might be compact, but he is all muscle. He easily drags her twisting form back with his right arm encircling her throat and the crook of his elbow restricting her airway. Frantic Meetra gasps, but keeps kicking. She jabs her hands, her elbows, and her feet hard, attempting to rotate her body so she can throw Azamin to the ground and break free. But the little Sith Lord is clearly skilled in hand-to-hand combat. He knows her objective and successfully preempts it. She's caught, Meetra realizes with a sinking heart as she strongly regrets the decision to omit her usual cloak that hides her weapons.
Wary, wide-eyed Tony starts bargaining. "Let her go. Let her go and let's talk."
"Answer the question!" Azamin retorts. "Who is she?"
Squirming Meetra wishes she could get a word in edgewise in this standoff. But as it is, she's struggling to breathe. The more she thrashes about, the more air she needs, and the more short of breath she becomes. She's forced to be a bystander as the two men confront each other about her. Suddenly, Meetra's a nervous onlooker to her own fate.
Darth Azamin hisses to Tony, "Her Force imprint is enormous! It's not like anything I've ever sensed before! She's full of as much Light as she is Darkness—maybe more. No—don't deny it! Others may be fooled, but I know what I sense! So, drop the cover story about her refugee status—she's not one of us and she never has been! There's nothing Sith about her beyond the veneer of pretense!"
Tony fumes as he stares down his brother-in-law. "Stand down! You are overreacting! We were going to share her whole story with you tonight over dinner—"
"Liar!" their guest hisses. "Answer me—is she Jedi?"
Tony hesitates. And that's understandable, since she's not technically Jedi any longer. Not that it matters much in this context, however. But Tony's less than immediate response fuels her captor's suspicions.
"No woman this strong with the Force would ever be sent undercover to the Republic nor would she be permitted to marry you! She's no low-count! Come clean! What fraud are you engaged in?"
"Cornelius—"
"Who is she? Which Jedi is she? There are still some at large."
Tony meets her eyes for a fraught moment of indecision. The bond tells her he's weighing the pros and cons before he reluctantly reveals, "She's the Exile."
"The Ex—Antoninus, have you lost your mind?"
"Calm down and hear me out! She is everything we need right now. You must listen—"
"She is General Surik? Jedi General Meetra Surik?"
"Yes."
"The number one most wanted fugitive of the Empire?"
"Yes."
"Revan's right hand? The general who used the weapon that decimated our fleet?"
"Yes."
"I thought so," Azamin sighs, swearing in Kittat under his breath. Then, he explodes, "What the FUCK are you thinking keeping her as a wife? This is treason for sure! Pointless treason, too!"
"Stop shouting. Stop shouting and let's talk," Tony keeps trying to tamp down the conflict.
Azamin is having none of it. "She seduced you, didn't she?"
"No!"
"She's known for that sort of thing. I read her file. She's a Jedi harlot who's got a habit of latching onto men and bringing them down. There's a word for it. Redem—"
"Redemption."
"Yes! It's a nice word for stealing Dark souls to the Light. Look, I get it—the Light can be beguiling and she's beautiful. That's how Jedi women seem to men as Dark as us—they're tempting! Just the feel of their power to your mind is a lure. But you must resist them!"
"Let me explain. You will understand when I explain."
"Antoninus, this isn't you . . . you've never been much for women . . . Force, man, if you were lonely, we could easily have found you a wife even in your condition. There was no need to resort to—to HER for female company."
"Our marriage is the will of the Force."
"Did she tell you that? She's the Light Side tease come to corrupt you, brother! Don't fall for her siren lies!"
"Don't be so dramatic!" Tony scoffs.
"You can't see it, can you? What did she promise you? Was it love? Antoninus, there are women—loyal, virtuous Dark Ladies—who will love you as you are. Trust me, we can find you someone appropriate. There's no need to lower yourself to this!"
Distressed Darth Azamin is a mix of disappointed, sympathetic, and outraged. Plus, he's fully convinced of his narrative that Tony is her victim. She's the femme fatale of the Light, the evil Jedi sulfureuse come to ruin Darth Sion's life. If the situation weren't so deadly, Meetra would be laughing out loud at the sheer ridiculousness. Azamin's got it all backwards.
"They come for the very best of us, don't they?" the Sith admiral laments. "It's bad enough that our Emperor is obsessed with his enemy . . . but now you too? I know you've long been curious about the Republic's freedoms, but never once have I known you to be anything other than a devout Darksider. And wouldn't she be dangerous for you?" stricken Azamin worries. "Dark power is what keeps you alive—Antoninus, this is reckless on so many levels!"
"Let her go! Please. Let her go and I will explain," Tony implores.
"You know I can't do that. I'm active-duty military and she's the enemy!"
"She's more than the enemy. She's my wife!"
"The marriage is illegal!"
"We are married in the eyes of the Force."
"Do you hear yourself? You sound like a lovesick fool! Look, whatever she does for you in bed, we can find another woman who can do the same."
"No," Tony chokes, "you can't . . . "
"Antoninus—"
"She heals me!" Tony blurts out. "She heals me with the Force!"
"Oh. Oooooh." Meetra feels the arm around her neck momentarily relax and then tense again. She can't see his expression, but she can tell that Darth Azamin is dismayed by this news. "Oh, Force—"
"It's amazing! I tell you, her power is extraordinary! You've never seen anything like it! The Light is simply amazing!"
Azamin's reply is grim. "I believe you. I've heard what her kind can do."
"I hope that in time she can cure me. That's our arrangement—she heals me and I hide her."
"Of course, she's convinced you to shield her," Azamin snarls. "She preys upon your weakness, she uses your desperation. Fucking Jedi bitch!" The elbow at her chin jerks tighter and Meetra heaves. She's getting increasingly lightheaded as this shouting match standoff continues. "This a good man who you are bringing down! For shame, you enchantress!" Azamin is livid as he tightens his hold further.
His left hand now jabs a deactivated saber hilt point blank into her torso facing out. Meetra can't see it, but she knows Azamin holds the weapon poised to ignite, his finger hovering over the switch.
Her eyes bulge wide as she comprehends what's happening.
"I am going to end this," Darth Azamin declares with a terrible calm. He's no longer reacting out of passion. His tone is pure reason.
White-faced Tony stammers in horror, "You c-can't!"
"She's too dangerous to be kept alive! Surely, you can see that!" Darth Azamin's voice is miserable, but resolute. He mutters, "You can claim the bounty and take the glory. No one will be the wiser. I will help you hide what happened. This will save you from yourself."
"Please—no! Nooooo! She must live! I need her!" Tony howls. He's pleading and indignant at the same time, his panic resonating strongly through the bond.
Her captor sighs. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I think I understand why you did this . . . It is a hard thing to live the way you do . . . You've been too long on your own . . . But she is not the solution! The Light is never the answer."
"Cornelius, please!"
"I will do what I must. In time, I hope you will appreciate the wisdom of this act. I do this out of love."
And now, Meetra feels Azamin re-position his sword hilt to ensure the ignited blade will skewer her through every vital organ in her torso. It will be a quick, clean kill. Not as instant as a beheading, but sufficiently effective. And if she suffers a little, Meetra decides, maybe Tony can use her pain to heal. It will be her parting gift of thanks for the unexpected kindness he has shown her.
"Nooo!" Tony starts spiraling over what's about to happen. "You can't!" The intensity of his emotion sharpens their connection. The bond is ablaze with his burgeoning Dark panic.
But not her. Meetra closes her eyes and gathers her composure. She has been living on borrowed time for years now. This ruse was risky, and she and Tony both knew it. Maybe her unmasking was bound to happen. But at least this way, Tony might escape being implicated. Azamin seems like the type that will help him concoct some suitable cover story. She's no fan of Cornelius Caesar, but it's apparent that he does regard Tony like a brother.
But for her, now at the end, she will meet the Force with confidence and dignity, like a good Jedi would. It's alright . . . Tony, it's alright . . . May the Force be with you always. There are worse things than to die. Meetra knows he understands what she means. For sometimes, to survive is the worst fate of all. Farewell. I'm glad that I met you. He opened her eyes to aspects of the Sith that she would never have appreciated otherwise. She didn't know it on Korriban, but she met an enlightened, tempered leader, and not a brutal raving sadist.
Tony is irate. "I need her! We need her!" His eyes are positively glowing yellow with Dark rage now. Meetra can sense him summoning his anger for power. It's clear that once Azamin kills her, there is going to be an ugly fight between longtime friends and allies who are heavyweights of the Dark Side.
"Your pain blinds you to who she is! She is the enemy!" Azamin howls.
"You fool!" Tony retorts. "She is the super weapon we need to defeat Vitiate! Kill her and you condemn our people to another millennia of that tyrant!"
They keep trading snarling points and counterpoints, but she ignores them. Meetra's life starts flashing before her eyes now. She's thinking of friends long gone, of mentors who have forsaken her, of comrades she disappointed, and of the nameless, faceless troops she betrayed to their deaths. The present fades away and now her mind is transported back to that fateful day which she can never get passed. She's been stuck ever since. And now, she will die reliving it all in excruciating detail once again. Maybe that's fitting, because her soul died that day even if her body lived on. But through the bond, the zombie Sith—the literal dead man—who has promised to help her, relives it too vicariously. This is the bitter pain she has hidden from finally catching up with her at the end.
Meetra can't tear her eyes from the cataclysm unfolding above Malachor V. She watches for hours in stunned silence as the planet's super energized gravity crushes everything in its vicinity—Republic, Mandalor, and Sith alike. None are spared in the indiscriminate slaughter. The warships of the battling fleets are impaled deep into the planet's surface as the atmosphere is sucked down into the gravity vortex. The surface of Malachor V cracks and its core ruptures from the awesome unseen gravitational pull.
The effect is something like creating a small blackhole. Even if she wanted to stop it, she couldn't. The gravitational field has to right itself. It must establish a new equilibrium on its own. Nature must find balance for this chaos to end and calm to return.
Just the sight of the colossal destruction is sickening, but the feel of it in the Force hurts on a primal level. It's as if hundreds of thousands of voices cry out in terror and are suddenly silenced. There are no words to describe the sensation. But the aftermath feels even worse. For once the weapon has run its course, it leaves behind a void in the Force. There is a blank space that remains in its wake, with nothing left alive to connect to the larger cosmos.
What has she done? Meetra feels utterly defeated even though it's clear that today will be a great victory. But the cost is high, too high for her to process. Standing transfixed, unable to turn away, Meetra's self-preservation kicks in and her soul reflexively shuts down. For like the shattered planet below, her torment must also run its course. She too is desperately in need of balance.
She's a wound in the Force as a result. A metaphysical void that is the walking, talking human version of the aftermath of the annihilation she caused. She's the freakish anomaly the Jedi Council recoils from and the war criminal the Senate condemns. They can't wrap their heads around the awful truth that you must measure the price of war in more than casualties and destruction. You must tally the lost innocence and damned souls of the surviving victors as well. The Crusaders were supposed to be the good guys. They set out to save the Republic, and they did. But now they have become the very thing they sought to destroy . . .
Darth Azamin and his lightsaber don't threaten Meetra nearly as much as these memories do. In the present, she is reeling. Traumatized and paralyzed by the past. Befuddled and entranced by her own Darkness.
But Tony knows exactly what to do with it. Since childhood, he has been focusing his mind through emotion and gaining strength from adversity. In maturity, Darth Sion feeds off pain for power. Meetra's melancholy reverie isn't physical pain, it's emotional torment. But it will suffice for what he needs right now.
"NO!" Tony raises both hands and red fire explodes from his fingertips. "NOOOOOO!"
What just happened? Meetra isn't certain. She is momentarily blinded by the intensity of the attack. Confused and disoriented. One thing is sure-Darth Azamin's reflexes must be incredible. He drops to the floor to avoid the onslaught and yanks her down with him. Meetra lands hard on her captor with an 'ooomph!' Is she hit? She doesn't know. Will Tony fire again? She isn't sure. She's in a tangled heap with his brother-in-law and there's not a clear shot.
Meetra has the presence of mind to roll away fast and scramble to her feet. Snatching up her cumbersome skirt, she sprints across the room into Tony's arms because as between the two Sith Lords in the room, she knows where her allegiance lies. Meetra buries her head in his armored chest as the bond flares like a supernova in the Force. And suddenly, she feels safe. Untouchable. Invincible. Like nothing Darth Azamin or anyone one else could ever do would hurt her. Right now, it feels like she and Tony could take on the whole Sith Empire together and live to tell about it.
"Don't you h-harm h-her . . . " That's Tony's voice in her ears and in her head. He isn't loud, but he is intensely emphatic. It's the tone of a man who is at his breaking point and about to lose all inhibitions.
Is Azamin dead? What the fuck was that Tony shot at him? Meetra has seen Force lightning before. She knows it is a Sith's rage made manifest, his Darkness distilled to its pure energy essence. But the Force lightning she's witnessed is blue—blue, like the energy of the Force itself. And that was not what Tony just shot at his brother-in-law.
"Oh Force . . . " The Sith admiral is indeed alive. He is slack jawed as he staggers to his feet. His face is the picture of disbelief. "Red lightning . . . you c-can sh-shoot red lightning . . ."
"Don't you dare harm her!" Tony hisses. He still has one hand outstretched to threaten, while the other clasps her to him. The outstretched hand trembles and sparks red with barely contained rage. Clearly, Tony is poised to administer more punishment. "Cornelius, you are my brother and I love you, but don't you dare harm her!"
His brother-in-law raises his hands in the posture of surrender. Darth Azamin looks positively haunted now. His dismay, Meetra slowly realizes, no longer concerns her. For staring at Tony, the little admiral breathes out, "If he ever learns you can shoot red lightning, nothing will save you . . . He'll do to you what he's doing to Revan . . ."
"I'll take that risk," seething Tony announces. "I'm not afraid to die."
"I am," Azamin confesses softly. "And now, I know your secret too . . . " Aghast, he looks away. "I wish I didn't know . . ."
"The Force is with us," Tony staunchly declares.
Darth Azamin doesn't disagree. He simply mutters, "I hope you're right."
"She's not Jedi any longer . . . not in the way you fear she is," Tony contends. "She's not the enemy."
Darth Azamin stares Meetra down hard.
Meetra glares back, still ready to fight. If Tony can shoot red Force lightning, then maybe she can too.
Tony keeps insisting, "She's no ordinary Jedi."
"Yes," Azamin finally relents, "I can see that now."
Satisfied, Tony lowers his threatening hand. Meetra can feel him start to relax. "Sit down," he orders gruffly. "Sit down and let's talk like brothers. I will not fight you, Cornelius. I never want to fight you."
Darth Azamin is no fool. He knows he has lost. He might actually be relieved about that, Meetra thinks. He limps back over to his chair and flops down. With a frowning glance her way, he mouths words he doesn't believe but must feel obligated to say, "Forgive me, my Lady."
Meetra makes an equally insincere reply. "No offense taken, my Lord."
And now that charade of an apology is through, Azamin eyes her and Tony as they retake their seats. "So, you two . . . you have a plan, I assume?"
"She is my Sith-born refugee wife as far as everyone knows. It would be helpful," Tony grinds out, "if you would publicly accept her as one of the family."
"You want me to endorse your conspiracy?" Azamin raises an eyebrow.
Tony's response is equally testy. "You are already tainted by the knowledge of who she is. It was an issue you forced! You could have looked the other way with your suspicions. A man of your experience and sophistication knows how to do that."
"I might have looked the other way, had it been anyone other than you," their guest answers glumly. "We have always been completely candid with each other, Antoninus. Even about ugly things."
Tony nods to silently acknowledge this reference to their shared history of family tragedy.
"Where did you learn that skill?" Azamin asks about the red lightning. "You didn't get it from her. It's not a Jedi trick. That kind of thing kills instantly, and it hasn't been seen in Vitiate's time. Simus used it against Ragnos in their duel reportedly."
"I am just beginning to understand my power," Tony answers cryptically. "Give me time to develop it. Give me time to heal. But when I am ready, I need you to be ready."
Azamin doesn't bother asking what he needs to be ready for. Instead, he looks away. His expression is inscrutable.
"We could do it," Tony urges softly. "We could be more than just talk. We could actually do it."
Their guest still says nothing.
Tony prods further. "We could bring peace, freedom, justice, and security to the Empire. Are you in? Will you help to save our people from Vitiate?"
Azamin sighs and shakes his head. "You might do it with that red lightning. Maybe. But I won't be able to help you. I'll just get myself killed. I don't have that level of power."
"You are too modest."
"I'm being honest. We have always been honest with one another," Azamin asserts with another resentful glare her direction. It's clear that he doesn't trust her and still believes she is manipulating Tony.
But Tony sidesteps that conflict and keeps the focus on treason. "We don't need you there when we kill him."
"We?" Azamin echoes. "Who's 'we'?"
"Meetra and I will do it together."
"So . . . Dark and Light united against Vitiate?"
"Something like that. Her power magnifies mine. We are a true dyad, like Ragnos and his Empress."
Azamin is plainly skeptical of this claim. "I don't even know what that means." Azamin's yellow eyes rake over her with disdain. "What's her role in all of this?"
"She will heal me and empower me, and together we will confront Vitiate."
"Let me get this straight. You're bringing the Republic general who defeated our fleet to assassinate our Dark Lord? What happens next? She claims the Empire for the Republic? We are left leaderless and ready to be conquered?"
"No. We install you as Dark Lord."
"And we free Revan," Meetra speaks up.
Azamin squints at her skeptically. "What is Revan's role in this plot?"
Tony answers, "He is a prisoner to be rescued."
"He's far more than a prisoner," Azamin snaps.
"That's right," Meetra agrees, inserting herself. "Your first act as Dark Lord will be to pardon him and send him home to the Republic."
"What makes you think he'll leave?"
"Because he will act as an envoy for peace. He can attest to the regime change here in the Empire that has installed a new and more reasonable Emperor who the Republic can negotiate with for a ceasefire."
"Peace," Azamin says the word with distaste. "You want to install me as Dark Lord so I can abandon the revenge of the Sith and achieve peace?"
"Yes," Tony affirms. "Peace for now, at least. We're in no shape to fight another war so soon."
"I don't disagree. But peace will be a hard sell. It smacks of surrender after our defeat. Many are clamoring for more war, not less."
"I understand their desire for revenge. But you and I both know that war is the wrong objective for our people," Tony digs in. "It is mistake to sleepwalk into another defeat just because that's our cultural comfort zone."
Darth Azamin now lowkey accuses, "You have been growing more and more isolationist, Antoninus."
"My views are nothing new. I've been saying this to the few men I trust for decades, and you know it. And don't pretend that you're a hawk, because I know better."
"I'm an Admiral. I can't be perceived as isolationist by anyone who matters."
"You won't be an admiral for much longer. Once you're on the Council, there's no need to account for your future career trajectory—you've already achieved it," Tony points out. "Peace is the only sensible strategy. Even if we could somehow launch a full-scale retaliatory invasion, it would be a bloody quagmire. None of us will be here when that sort of war ends. And I fear that everything we fight for will be lost . . . everything we love will be broken . . . all that's left will be the fanatics and fools. Cornelius, we need to stop assuming that some big climactic confrontation with the Republic is inexorable—it's not! But pretending it is could make it a self-fulfilling prophecy."
"What makes you think the Republic and the Jedi want peace?" Darth Azamin counters. "Since when have they stopped viewing us as an existential threat?"
Both men look to her.
"Revan and I will need to convince them of that," Meetra acknowledges the point.
"And why should they believe you as character witness for the Sith?" Azamin demands. "You—a fired general and disgraced Jedi whom they exiled?"
"Revan still has some respect," she offers weakly. "He will get us heard."
"But it's a long shot with no guarantee of success?" Azamin goads her.
"Correct," she admits as she meets his gaze steadily. "This is all full of risk. But the biggest risk is ours," she nods to Tony, "since we would be confronting Vitiate. If we fail, we die, and you can disavow any involvement."
"It won't be that simple. If you fail, I'm sure to die. It won't take much imagination for Vitiate to connect me to Antoninus."
Tony weighs in now. "If we fail, you can pretty much count on him executing the entire Dark Council to start fresh with new cronies. Come to think of it, that might happen if any of the conspiracies afoot come to fruition."
"You're right," Azamin concedes, adding, "You don't have to be guilty to die in the Empire."
"That's something you could change going forward, Emperor Azamin," Tony responds pointedly. Then, he bites his lip and looks worried. "This is a terrible time for you to get appointed to the Council . . ."
"I know," his brother-in-law agrees soberly. "Who's your second choice? If I decline your plot, who will you approach to install as Dark Lord?"
"You're it. You're the only choice. You're the only man I judge worthy for the task whom I trust."
"Why not do it yourself?"
It's a scenario that others before Azamin have suggested. Meetra looks to Tony.
He starts making excuses. "I lack the standing for the job. You'll be on the Council soon, you're from an old family, you're a military leader . . . you've got the perfect resume to consolidate power quickly. Hopefully, with minimum bloodshed."
"You have standing as a contender," Azamin pushes back. "Your birth is respectable and you once had a Naval career. You've been ruling a system for over a century now. You're as qualified as any of us. Far more than most of the names I've heard floated."
"I'm a nobody from a backwater system."
"Hardly. If you've never been in political favor, it's because you don't play the game. At this point, everyone knows you're very progressive and they think you're content to run things as you please out here."
"It won't be me," Tony again disavows his ambitions. "I'd be terrible as Dark Lord. I'm a kingmaker, not a king. You, Cornelius, are who the Empire needs."
"Alright. Then, if you're serious about this plot, let me ask you something," Azamin poses, leaning forward from his seat. "What are you going to do if you kill Vitiate and then she," Azamin levels an accusing finger at Meetra, "turns her magical healing Jedi powers on Revan and together they kill you? Then Revan claims the Dark throne and we've got a fallen-Jedi-turned-self-proclaimed-Sith-turned-whatever-he-is-now ruling us?"
Meetra can tell through the bond that this is a scenario Tony has identified as a possibility. In fact, he doesn't bother disputing the risk. "I will trust in the Force to safeguard our people."
"I trust the Force, but I don't trust her." Azamin shoots Meetra another cold glare.
Both men turn their attention to her. Now is the moment for Meetra to make a statement about her intentions. "I am here to rescue Revan." That has long been her vague goal, since before she ever met Darth Sion.
"Why?" Azamin asks.
"Because he is a friend and a mentor."
"And yet, you never joined his fledgling empire . . . " the Sith admiral observes.
"Correct. I'm not interested in building an empire." Joining the Dark Side was never her goal. "Back then, I preferred to return to the Republic."
"Is that where your allegiance still lies?" Azamin probes. "To the Republic and the Jedi that cast you out?"
It's a valid question—and it's THE question that her conflicted heart and mind cannot resolve. But who is she kidding? She has fantasized about a happy homecoming for years now. "If there is a path back to the Republic for me, I will take it," Meetra admits. "I would like to be reconciled to my homeland, but that might not be possible," she adds wistfully.
"In which case, you do what?" Azamin purrs.
"Then I remain here in hiding and start a new life."
Her answers are candid, but Azamin is not satisfied. He sits back in his chair, crosses his arms, and announces, "That's weak reassurance. Moreover, Revan is just as much a wild card as she is. Who knows what he wants?"
"True," Tony acknowledges. "But maybe he is the Sith'ari . . . "
Azamin's eyes narrow. "You still think he's one of us?"
"I do."
Azamin's eyes settle again on her. "Does she think he's one of us?"
Meetra answers for herself. "It's improbable, but it's not impossible. I don't know."
That answer, like her previous answers, clearly fails to put Darth Azamin's mind at ease.
Tony sees it. "Cornelius, this is far from a sure thing. But it's the best chance we're going to get. Now is the time. The Empire needs you to step up."
After a long pause, during which Meetra watches Tony watching his brother-in-law, Azamin declines to commit. "You have given me a lot to think about," he prevaricates.
Stubborn Tony won't be put off. "Is that a 'no'? Or a 'not yet'?"
"It's neither." Exasperated, Darth Azamin launches to his feet and starts pacing. He's frustrated with tonight's revelations and Tony's plot he did not see coming. "Look, I will keep your secret . . . you can trust me. But do us both a favor and lock her up." Azamin gestures dismissively to her. "That way, when she's caught, you stand a better chance of convincing Vitiate that you were duped and once you got suspicious you did the right thing."
Tony shakes his head. "She is not a prisoner."
"She should be!" The two men are back to fighting about her again, and Azamin doesn't hold back. "Only a fool would trust a woman as treacherous as her!"
"She's not a prisoner," Tony growls. "She's my wife."
"How are you sure she's not going to leave you and go offer Lord Lacerate the same deal she's giving you?"
"Because Lacerate will murder Revan the first chance he gets."
"Sounds like a good strategy to me," Azamin harrumphs.
"If he's the Sith'ari, none of us will kill him," Tony warns. "Ultimately, the Force will choose who leads the Sith, not us."
"Then I guess we'll find out soon enough, won't we? Lock her up, Antoninus. It's the only wise choice. Under the circumstances, you need to hedge your bets. Things are going to get ugly soon. And if you fall under suspicion, you may need to turn her in to earn some goodwill and save your own skin."
Tony shakes his head. "I will not use her as a pawn, any more than I would use you. Cornelius, I realize you have good reason to doubt her motives. But sometimes, you have to show trust to earn trust."
Unconvinced, Azamin jeers, "You are weak for her . . . blinded by her . . . "
"She's here of her own free will. She chose to stay."
"Because you're her fool!"
"Enough! You've made your point," Tony snarls. He's getting angry again now too. "Think about what we're proposing. Think about it long and hard. Others' plots are already in motion, and once you're on the Council you are not going to be able to avoid choosing sides. So, choose to stand with me, who you know you can trust."
Darth Azamin comes to a halt from his pacing. He responds, "Antoninus, you know I trust you. That's why we're having this conversation. And if this were just you and me hatching a plan, things would be different . . . "
Tony refuses the hint. "She is integral. This doesn't happen without her."
"Why not?"
"Because she has key to the power to kill Vitiate. I can't kill him on my own."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to explain that further?"
"No. Not until you decide you're with us."
"Oh, so you don't trust me?" Azamin goads.
"Not with her, I don't. Not after you just threatened to kill her." Tony stands to his feet now. His posture is stiff and awkward, and so are his words. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave now, Cornelius. I will not have my wife disrespected like you have repeatedly done tonight."
The little Sith Lord gapes at being shown the door. "You've got to be kidding me—"
"I'm not. Think about our proposal. Come back if you want to talk further. But come back with some manners."
Their guest is greatly offended, but he takes the dismissal. "Very well, then." Darth Azamin nods curtly to Tony and mutters, "I hope you know what you're doing. You're playing a dangerous game."
"Treason is not new for me," Tony reminds him.
"I'm not talking about treason. I'm talking about her." Azamin's scary eyes find Meetra once more and linger.
"I'll walk you out," Tony ends things there.