"Oh, that's better. Try it again and be sure not to kneel on your skirt, dear."
"This is harder than it looks," Meetra grumbles. She again attempts to perform the proper obeisance expected before the Imperial throne. Meetra sinks to the floor on both knees, lowers her chin, and clasps her hands in what she hopes is a convincingly demure pose.
Her tutor, Fatima, Lady Advance, nods her approval. "Much better."
"Do I smile?" Meetra wonders.
"Oh no! Contrive to appear awestruck. No nervous smirking like you're doing now."
Meetra accepts this good-natured reprimand and presents her best serene and docile expression.
Lady Advance is Darth Azamin's great-great-great-something granddaughter. Meetra heard the precise relationship at their introduction—it's something like six generations removed—and then promptly forgot it. But she's grateful for the Sith matron's practical, big sister style guidance for her upcoming trip to Dromund Kaas.
Lady Advance arrived at Fortress Sion not long after Tony included a copy of their Palace summons in his reply message accepting his brother-in-law's invitation to visit. Darth Azamin responded by sending Meetra a trusted female relative to help her prepare for the upcoming holiday social season and her presentation to the Emperor. The savvy insider Azamin knows that Meetra needs to fit in as well as she can now that her husband will be a minor celebrity. And though Tony might be capable of helping, these sorts of things inevitably require a woman's touch.
"My Lord," the newly arrived Lady Advance had informed Tony in her softly modulated tone, "your wife and I will handle things from here. Your job is to pay the bills." Tony had nodded and promptly fled the room. Ever since then, Meetra has undertaken a crash course in Sith social graces. This morning's task is throne room etiquette.
"Did you never kneel to your father or your first husband?" Lady Advance is curious at how new this skill is for Meetra. Apparently, kneeling at the foot of your Lord and Master is an obligatory show of deference in the always-formal Sith patriarchy. That makes the task especially distasteful for Meetra, but she gamely suffers through it.
"We were taught to fit in on Mandalore," she answers, employing her usual excuse for any social faux pas. "Kneeling isn't common in the egalitarian Republic."
"I see. How odd. How ever do they acknowledge the chain of command?" Lady Advance looks genuinely perplexed at the issue.
"Lord Sion isn't much for kneeling either."
"Yes, this household is rather . . ." Lady Advance pauses to choose her words with tact before she settles on, "charmingly casual. That is your Master's prerogative, of course. After all, a Lord's home is his castle," she trills her platitude. "But I don't see how you manage with so few servants, Mina. Truly, I admire your management skill."
"Mrs. Warrath is amazing," Meetra immediately credits the housekeeper who continues to run Fortress Sion with very limited input from herself.
"Things are very different on Dromund Kaas," Lady Advance assures her. "Everyone is fully staffed at all times. If nothing else, one must keep up appearances. Now then, let's see it one more time."
Meetra again attempts to kneel with grace. You'd think that with all her lightsaber lunges, this groveling show of deference would be easy. Except it's not. Meetra is beginning to think of this presentation as an advanced Dark Side yoga pose. But this time, she wobbles only a little as she slowly rises.
"Perfect!" her instructor declares brightly. "We'll practice it every day and it will be effortlessly graceful when the time comes. Now, let's talk wardrobe. I set my stylist to work searching for a Palace gown before I left, and she has sent along her suggestions. You there, girl," Lady Advance imperiously commands the housemaid who is dusting furniture across the room, "go fetch your mistress and I some fresh caf at once!"
Turning back to Meetra, Lady Advance is all happy, respectful smiles again as she slips an arm through her elbow and tugs her to the couch. "It's all on my datapad. Let's take a look, shall we? If we search hard enough, I know we will find something amazing."
The Palace gown is a big deal, according to Lady Advance, because Ladies are seldom in the actual throne room and because there's a good chance that her and Lord Sion's appearance will be—gulp!—broadcast live on the holonet. This makes Meetra's attendance an enviable fashion opportunity. To hear Lady Advance, the goal is to make Meetra the toast of Dromund Kaas for her moment in the sartorial limelight. In truth, Meetra inwardly dreads seeing the Emperor for reasons she cannot disclose. But she pretends to be extremely interested in what she wears for the occasion.
Meetra begins by swiping through a tedious number of black dresses that all look the same to her unsophisticated eye. "You can never go wrong with black," Lady Advance counsels, "but you can never stand out in it either. Maybe something red?" She pokes at her datapad again to produce more dress designs for Meetra to consider.
"They're all so fancy . . ."
"It is the Palace, dear. You can't be overdressed."
"Is there anything simple? I'm so small that many of these will overwhelm me . . . There's so much fabric . . . " So many dress trains and capes. Sith fashion favors the dramatic and ornate. More is more on the Dark Side, apparently. Meetra has never seen so much red tulle and black lace.
"By simple, you mean . . . ?"
"Restrained. Elegant." Something less frou-frou, except Meetra can't say that.
Lady Advance considers the request. "I suppose we could do something simple, if you wear big jewels. Send someone to fetch your jewel case and let's see what you've got to work with."
While the housemaid who delivers the caf is dispatched for that next errand, Lady Advance locates a silvery-grey gown in a style she pronounces to be plain, but timeless. It's a long-sleeved dress with a broad portrait collar and a skirt that hangs with a single inverted pleat down the center. An attached cape flows from the shoulders. The simple dress is completely devoid of embellishment. It is the closest option Meetra has seen yet to the Republic fashion aesthetic, and that makes it automatically appealing.
"Oh!" she reacts instantly. "This one is nice." She passes the datapad to her houseguest so she can opine.
"Hmmm. Maybe with the right jewelry . . . Let's see what you have." Lady Advance starts rifling through Meetra's jewelry box. She is less than impressed at the selection. "Is this all there is?"
"No." That's Tony's voice. In walks Lord Sion holding a flat black velvet box. "This has been locked in my office for safekeeping for years. It occurred to me that it might be just the thing for the Palace."
"Is that what I think it is?" Lady Advance's face lights up expectantly.
Clueless Meetra looks to her pretend husband quizzically.
"It's been a long time. I forgot about it," Tony explains, and the Force tells Meetra that's not entirely true. But whatever the reason for the delay, Tony now presents the box to her. "For you, my Lady. Go on. Open it."
Meetra accepts the box and lifts the lid. She finds herself staring at a dazzling diamond crown.
"Oh!" Lady Advance claps her hands with excitement. "How perfect! Put it on, Mina!"
Meetra is a little dumbfounded at the glittering jewels she beholds. She has never seen such riches. Not in person, anyway. Just in pictures on the holonet.
"It's the family tiara," Tony tells her. "It was a gift from my father-in-law to Cornelia for our wedding day."
"How amazing! And it's from Cato Caesar?" Lady Advance identifies the provenance of the heirlooms with clear familial pride. "How perfect for an audience with the Emperor!"
"There are matching earrings and a bracelet as well," Tony volunteers.
"A full parure?" Lady Advance clearly approves. "How wonderful! Mina, it's just the thing to liven up that dress."
Meetra doesn't know what to say. She feels put on the spot. "I don't think I can wear this . . . " she mutters as she pushes the box away. There's something very awkward about the second Lady Sion wearing the wedding present to the first Lady Sion. Besides, this sort of display of excess seems very un-Jedi-like. Meetra was taught to view stewardship as the proper relation to material goods. Wearing such costly bling feels like unbecoming self-aggrandizement. And since it's to meet the enemy Sith Emperor, it seems bizarrely inappropriate.
"But this would be perfect with the silver dress," Lady Advance half-wails at her refusal. "With your coloring and that old-fashioned style dress, you'll look like an exile . . . like a Dark Jedi princess marooned here in ancient times . . . like a heroine banished to the far side of the galaxy because she dared to use the Shadow Force . . . "
That statement is wrong on multiple levels. There are no Jedi princesses and if there were, they wouldn't prance around in diamonds and dresses. But Meetra holds her tongue and looks to Tony for guidance.
"I want you to wear it," he urges softly. "These have sat in the box too long."
"But—"
"She's long gone, and she's never coming back."
"I know, but—"
"It won't upset me to see you wear them."
Liar. All of this is upsetting you. The bond conveys it clearly.
It's just jewelry. These pieces are very appropriate for an appearance in the throne room. Cornelia used to wear them at important dinner parties when she wanted to assert her status.
"It's important that you look the part of a grand Lady, even if this is a brief appearance," Tony reminds Meetra out loud now. "Everyone back home here be watching to see us represent the Western Reaches, so let's put on a show. We're not nearly as provincial as everyone thinks," he jokes. "Where's this silver dress you're talking about?" He looks to Lady Advance.
Their houseguest hands over her datapad with a picture of the design. Tony studies it a moment and pronounces it the perfect choice. "That looks like you," he tells Meetra.
It's grey . . . I love it. I absolutely love it. Exiled Dark Jedi princess, indeed.
But that makes it a bad choice, right? She's not trying to look Jedi—she wants to look Sith.
Our problem won't be what you're wearing.
He's right, Meetra knows. It will be her telltale Light Side Force imprint that she cannot hide.
Tony now lifts the precious crown from its velvet box and places it upon her head.
"Oh, it's gorgeous! Mina, you're gorgeous!" Lady Advance gushes as she claps her hands.
Tony nods and for the briefest instant his expression is wan. "Gorgeous," he concurs, and Meetra knows he's thinking less about her than about the woman who first wore this halo of glittering stones. And for a moment—just a moment—Meetra is jealous of a dead woman.
"Buy the dress and wear the jewels," Tony instructs, adding "That's an order, Lady Sion," with a cheeky smirk.
"Would you like me to kneel next, my Lord?" Meetra retorts dryly.
"She's getting much better at it," Lady Advance assures him. "Lord Sion, tell us about your ceremonial armor. Is it black or silver?"
"Black," Tony answers. "It was my grandfather's."
Lady Advance beams. "All the best Palace armor is black. With your permission, my Lord, may we order you a new cape lined with fabric to compliment her dress? The outside will be black velvet, like usual."
"Sure. Do what you like. I'll wear it," Tony commits. "But no one will be looking at me. They'll all be staring at my gorgeous Lady."
"Oh, how striking you will look together!" Lady Advance exclaims, her eyes gleaming.
Dubious Meetra nods her reluctant agreement.
Ultimately, she is convinced to order the dress and to wear the jewels. In fact, Meetra agrees to order the entire party wardrobe Lady Advance recommends. Meetra also arranges to bring her personal hairdresser along for the trip and she conscripts the unsuspecting housemaid to play the role of her lady's maid in public because apparently proper Sith Ladies are waited on hand and foot. Meetra remains unenthusiastic about all this excess, but she's too savvy to be stubborn. It's all part of the disguise of being Lady Sion, she tells herself as she steps further out of her comfort zone.
As it turns out, Meetra is not the only one dreading the uncomfortable feeling of being a secret fraudster put on display. A few days after Lady Advance departs, Tony is obliged to sit for a personal interview to discuss 'killing' her for the state newsfeed channel.
The interview is staged on the back terrace of Fortress Sion. Masked and armored Darth Sion is seated in a casual power sprawl, as is his habit. His interviewer, a sharply dressed, holonet handsome human layman, sits upright to hit all the best camera angles. The interviewer has the professional cadence of a broadcast journalist. His crisp, declarative style and pleasant expressions are in stark contrast to Tony's masked visage and artificially augmented speech. But that's the point really—the two men's roles in life are very different. Tony is playing his part as the remote, unseeable, barely knowable authoritarian Sith Lord. This isn't the Republic where leaders strive to appear relatable. Instead, the Lords of the Sith seek to appear imposing at all times, even if it's just a front. Meetra has been Lady Sion long enough to recognize her pretend husband's ever-present public posturing.
The interviewer begins by turning to the camera to address his audience:
"Today, we are pleased to speak with Darth Sion, a longtime Lord Administrator in the furthest Western Reaches. Lord Sion, as many viewers may know, is the Lord who recently killed Republic General Meetra Surik. Surik was the fugitive Jedi Exile who had been at-large in the Empire following banishment from the Republic for war crimes at the Battle of Malachor. Surik was personally responsible for the indiscriminate slaughter of hundreds of thousands of our naval crewmen in a heinous act our Emperor famously condemned as the second Republic genocide."
His intro complete, the interviewer now looks to Tony. "Welcome, my Lord Sion. Thank you for hosting us and for taking time from your busy schedule for a quick chat."
Tony nods. His body language is the formal noblesse oblige he does so convincingly. The man practically oozes aristocratic gravitas even with the mask covering his face. "It is my pleasure."
"Congratulations on the Surik kill."
"Thank you."
"I know I speak for the whole Empire when I say that I'm glad that Jedi's dead. It must have been quite a fight. The official statement from the Palace commends your bravery and battle prowess, my Lord. That's got to feel good."
Tony answers genially. "Indeed, it does."
"Lord Sion, Palace sources tell us told that no one was terribly surprised when you were the one to slay the Jedi Exile. You have been integral to the ongoing manhunt over the past several years."
"That is true. I pursued her zealously. We had many confirmed reports and alleged sightings of the Exile out here on the edge of the Empire where I live. Many Lords chased her to no avail. Unfortunately, she had a talent for slipping through our fingers at the last second."
"You yourself had crossed swords with her once before, correct?"
"Yes. She surprised me when I was on pilgrimage on Korriban. She escaped after she decimated my men."
"But finally, you were the one to defeat her."
Tony nods. "When I learned of her presence on my homeworld, I came by myself to confront her. This fight felt very personal for me. And by the grace of the Force, justice was served . . . Dark justice."
"Were you nervous she might best you this time?"
"I don't frighten easily," Tony replies and Meetra can picture his unseen smirk behind the mask.
"How did it feel to win?"
"Very gratifying. I can assure you that revenge is sweet."
"We have some footage of the fight. Can we watch it together a moment?" A hologram projection of the recording she and Tony made starts playing. It's a string of edited excepts from the fight showing mostly swordplay. After a moment, the footage ends and the interviewer remarks, "Lord Sion, you are very accomplished with a lightsaber."
Tony takes the compliment but warns, "The Exile was a formidable opponent. She fought in a strange, but effective manner, as you can see. Let that be a lesson to us. We must not underestimate the Jedi and the Republic. Their ways are very different from ours, but that does not make them lesser."
It's the first serious point in an otherwise feel-good, fluffy conversation full of softball questions and outright lies. It's also a subtle rebuke to Lords like General Lacerate who want to restart the war with the Republic.
The interviewer moves on. "Tell me more about why this fight felt so personal for you. You're a civilian Lord Administrator, not a military Lord. You didn't fight in the war."
"My military days are long behind me. My Naval career is best described as brief and unremarkable," Tony admits. "But I honor those who fought in service of the Empire. There were many men from my system lost at Malachor. I wished to honor their sacrifice by slaying the Exile. I hope her death brings closure to their survivors." Looking directly into the camera, Lord Sion's mask now intones, "It is time to turn the page on the war and move forward confidently into the future." Again, Lord Sion is signaling that he's not in the warmonger camp.
"What is your future, my Lord?" the interviewer presses. "Might you be persuaded to fight for the Empire? If hostilities resume, you would be a formidable warrior."
"I will serve at the Emperor's command in any capacity he desires," Tony mouths the obligatory deference to the Dark Lord, "but I hope to remain where I am. I am content where I am."
"Isn't that a bit of a waste for a warrior of your talents?"
"Rest assured, I will always light my sword to defend our way of life and to ensure that Darkness endures. Out here on the edge of the Empire, we are the first line of defense against a Republic invasion."
"Very well said, my Lord. Tell us, is the rumor true that you strangled the Jedi with your bare hands?"
"It is true. Like I said, this fight was very personal for me."
"You wear the mask today, like in the duel. Why is that?"
Tony replies with his usual explanation for his hurts. "I have a physical affliction that comes and goes in severity. I wear the mask to remove the issue from my public presentation. It is an unnecessary distraction."
"I see. Forgive me, my Lord, but you are said to be a bit of a—shall we say-zombie, for want of a better word. Is that true?"
Tony does not take offense at this curiosity. "I suppose that's one way of characterizing me. I have several wounds that do not heal."
"You have earned the sobriquet the 'Lord of Pain' among your peers for how you deal with that condition. Tell us about that."
It's Tony's cue to brag about torture. "It's simple, really. Darkness sustains me. The suffering of my vanquished enemies revives me. Be they ordinary criminals or the Jedi Exile, I use their pain to renew myself."
"You are one of a select group of Lords who remain in their prime long after the natural lifespan. You are almost two hundred and fifty years old, I believe."
"That is correct."
"So does that mask also hide a lot of white hair and wrinkles?" the interviewer makes an awkward attempt at levity.
Tony shrugs off the question. "Even at my best, I'm not a handsome guy. The mask is a good thing, trust me."
"You donated the bounty on Surik to the Daughters of the Empire. That was nearly two million credits. Such an extraordinary charitable gift."
"Our Dark Lord matched my gift credit for credit," Tony sucks up to his Emperor boss. "The widows and orphans of the Empire will live a little more comfortably now, I hope."
"You will be honored for your bravery by the Emperor at the Palace soon. Tell us about that."
"I'm going to put on a fancy suit of armor and kneel before our Dark Lord."
"Ever been in the throne room before?"
"Twice."
"What's it like?"
"Intimidating, like it should be."
Both men laugh and the interview wraps up. "Darth Sion, it's been a pleasure. You are a true hero of the Sith. Thank you on behalf of our grateful Empire."
Humble Tony objects. "The true heroes were the fighting men lost at Malachor and in the war. I'm just a local administrator who does my best to do my part."
Even the interviewer knows not to accept this self-deprecating 'awww shucks.' "We all know you are much more than that, Lord Sion. Thank you, my Lord, and may the Force be with you."
Tony inclines his mask regally. "Force be with us all."
The interview is done. Tony stands and starts to head back to his office. But first, he beckons to Meetra who has been hovering on the periphery. "Walk with me, my Lady."
"Well? What did you think?" nervous Tony wants to know as soon as they are out of earshot.
"Fishing for compliments?" she teases.
"I value your opinion."
"You made a point of distancing yourself from those who want to restart the war. Will that upset Lacerate?"
"He'll mostly be upset that I'm getting this attention and not him. What else? Tell me more."
"Honestly, I thought it was a little lurid at points. You're the zombie who choked me with your bare hands. That was kind of graphic imagery."
"The interviewer brought that up, I didn't. Besides, gloating is the point of that interview. It was a victory lap."
Not really. "You didn't gloat at all," she points out. "You were downright humble for a Sith Lord. Mr. Servant Leader of the Empire. What was that about?"
Tony shrugs. "You don't need to brag when everyone knows what you did and wishes they were the one to do it."
"Humility is a good thing." Meetra nods to his wisdom. "You know, you really did look like a leader. Like a Lord full of civic virtue who would leave his usual post to do something heroic to protect his people and then get right back to work. I know it's all a lie, but you really played it modestly. I mean, imagine what Lacerate would have done with a platform like that . . ."
"That's precisely why I played it low key. In this environment, I don't want to be perceived as ambitious. And, as a general rule, I don't like to call attention to myself."
"I know that. But attention seems to find you anyway." Tony might like to think he's unimportant, but neither Darth Azamin nor Darth Lacerate seem to think so. And that was before Tony publicly claimed to kill her. It's recognition she knows he doesn't want. That's both to avoid scrutiny which might uncover her true identity and also to protect Tony's long-standing strategy of downplaying his abilities.
"I like you humble . . . it's very Jedi . . ." Meetra approves.
"I'm not Jedi. And my humility is strategic deceit, which makes it very Sith," Tony begs to differ.
"Nah. It's Jedi," she corrects him.
Meetra is teasing again, but he's serious. Tony stops, she stops, and he turns to face her. "I am a Lord of the Sith. I live through Darkness. Just because I'm not torturing now—"
"Or ever, so long as I'm around."
"—doesn't make me any less Dark."
"It makes you way less Dark," she informs him pertly. No one's around, so she raises on tiptoe to plant an impulsive kiss on the 'cheek' of his mask. "Don't work too hard," she tells him. "We have training to do tonight." In less than three weeks' time, they'll be on Dromund Kaas trying to impress Tony's brother-in-law that they are ready to take on Vitiate.
Meetra promptly puts that verbal exchange out of her mind, but her words linger with Tony. He raises the issue that later night when they are alone in training. They are positioned back-to-back with sabers lit, defending against attacking remotes shooting stun bolts. She can't see Tony's face, but the bond lets her know what he's thinking.
"I am Dark. Maybe not the Darkest of my kind, but I'm plenty Dark. You still see that right?"
"Of course. But to be honest, lately I mostly see how Light you are." How Revan he seems at times.
"You're going to need to explain that remark," Tony answers dryly as he bats away another stun bolt aimed at his head.
"Well, maybe it's not Light exactly . . . I don't know," Meetra fumbles for words even as she expertly swings. "You just seem kind of Jedi a lot . . . at least with your motivations . . . "
"Coming from you, I'll take that for a compliment," Tony smiles over his shoulder at her.
She smiles back. "That's how I mean it. And maybe Jedi is the wrong word . . . it's just that you're not even remotely evil . . . " Darth Sion is not the man she expected him to be.
"Well, now I feel dissed," Tony jokes.
Meetra chuckles but complains, "This Light/Dark thing seems like it should be straightforward, except it's not. Not anymore . . ." And that's perhaps the most frustrating flaw in the Jedi teaching she was raised on: how simplistic—and how wrong—the Jedi are about the Dark Side. It's one half of the Force and one half of the galaxy, and that's a lot of power and a lot of people to wholesale write off as untouchable and dangerous. And is it really so wrong to channel emotions for power? Sure, the ends of the Sith are problematic, but are their means so very wrong?
Tony considers her point. "I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that the Jedi and the Sith might seem alike in some ways. After all, we are outgrowths of the same original tradition before the schism that exiled us. And, well, people are people . . ."
Meetra lunges to avoid an incoming shot even as she disagrees. "But that's just it—we're nothing alike." The Dark and the Light might bleed into a murky 'grey' at some points according to Tony, but the two Force traditions are diametrically opposed on almost everything.
"You don't see it?"
Wait—is he serious about comparing the Jedi and the Sith as equivalents? He is. "No! I do not see it! I mean, not really . . . "
"Ah, Meetra, you must look beyond the cultural issues," Tony chides as he dodges more incoming fire that she bats away without even looking. "Our cultures are very dissimilar. But the Force . . . the Force is universal. Think of the Force as a continuum that ranges from Light to Dark. Even at the extremes, there are commonalities."
"I don't see them. The Force is life—that's its purpose and its source. Life needs community, cooperation, and compassion to thrive, and those are the values of the Light. Life needs peace for happiness, Tony. It requires compromise. Darkness destroys all that. It seeks to divide."
"Not always."
"Oh, come on," she complains. "Not too long ago General Lacerate was sitting across the table telling you that if you're not with him, you're his enemy. Organizing life into friend and foe like that is very Dark."
"The Jedi do the very same thing—you're proving my point," Tony counters mildly. "Because if you're not with them and their strict Code, then you get exiled, right? It happened to us eons ago and it happened to you recently. The Light demands such purity. What a wretched life it must be to be Jedi."
"I loved it," Meetra declares as she swings viciously.
"You did not."
"I did! I might not have upheld every ideal, but I believed them . . . I still do . . . well, mostly . . . ". Just because the Jedi are wrong about the Dark Side doesn't mean they are wrong about everything. They need reform, not abolishment.
Tony sighs and shoots her a look of exasperation over his shoulder. "I wish you could see through the lies of the Jedi and appreciate that the Light exists independent of their teaching. The Light Side is not the same as the Jedi way, just like the Dark Side is larger than the Sith Empire."
"Is it?" She's skeptical.
"We're not all Lacerate or Vitiate."
Yes, she knows. Some are Darth Sion, who but for his bizarre need for pain to survive could pretty much qualify as an honorary Jedi Crusader.
"These issues are so fundamental to who we are that I feel like we should have better answers," Meetra grumbles. "I used to know exactly what was right and wrong, and I knew Light from Dark. But now, it's a confused jumble . . ."
"That's enlightenment."
"I don't feel enlightened," she pouts. "I feel lost."
"Uncertain is not lost," Tony points out. "Just because we have yet to discover what is next—just because we don't have a pithy ideology to advance and a newly drafted code to enforce it—doesn't mean we are lost. Maybe we're moving forward to something new. Maybe it's time for our understanding of the Force to evolve to a tradition that makes room for the best of both sides."
"I hope so." But she worries that's not the case. She's been down that road before and it didn't work out. "Revan thought he was moving forward to something new . . . that he could find acceptable ways to use and contain Darkness . . . and look what happened . . ."
"He saved the Republic with your help. And he took a shot at seizing control of the Empire to liberate us from the reign of a thousand-year-old tyrant."
"Maybe so, but Revan also led millions to their deaths and now he's a prisoner." How things ended is a sore subject for Meetra.
"Revan's story isn't over yet. Not while we're still around," Tony says with determination.
"I hope you're right," she mutters. Meetra is very uncomfortable with the vagaries of her current situation. Tony seems cool with all the Light Side healing he receives—he even experiments with it himself unsuccessfully. But Meetra is far from comfortable with her forays into Darkness. Those yellow eyes she saw in the mirror haunt her still.
"Just use my Darkness, will you? Get in my head and take it away." She feels a deep, shameful Dark pain that weighs her down and she doesn't know what to do about it. "I want to be good again," she whispers. "All good."
"You're good now," Tony firmly asserts. "I wish you could see that. The Darkness in you—the regret, the guilt, the sadness—"
"Don't talk about it!"
"It's largely self-hate. You know that, right? You don't hate the Sith. You don't hate the Mandalorians. Not really. Mostly, you hate yourself. But you wouldn't do anything differently, so you're stuck groping for how to atone."
"I said don't talk about it!" Meetra throws her sword now, and it slashes through both remotes she's been battling.
At this show of temper, Tony deactivates his own remotes, turns off his sword, and turns to face her. His yellow eyes are full of compassion. Yes, she thinks, this Sith Lord could easily fit in with the Jedi Crusaders.
"I understand, Meetra," he tells her. "I blamed myself too. Take some of that compassion you espouse for others and give it to yourself. Forgive yourself."
"I can't! I don't know how!" she moans, looking away in frustration and humiliating self-pity.
"You can start by loving yourself."
She rolls her eyes and snarls, "I don't know how to love. I'm a Jedi, remember?"
"You were a Jedi," he corrects her. Then Tony flashes a sheepish smile and suggests offhand, "Start by loving me."
Meetra shoots him a resentful look. "Don't go there."
"Oh, I will," Tony declares, "and you should too. Choose love, Meetra—"
"Now, you really sound like Revan! Like brainwashed, born-again Revan with his zany ideas about using positive emotions to commune with the Force. He was okay with using feelings to stoke his power so long as they were good feelings. It was Sith-lite, I guess," she harrumphs sourly.
"Maybe," Tony posits, "your friend Revan is right. Meetra, choose love," he urges again, undeterred by her heated rambling. "Perhaps it is more fleeting than power and dogma, but it is far more satisfying."
Meetra sniffs and looks away. "I wouldn't know."
Tony persists. "You can know love. But first, you must be open to knowing love."
Meetra crosses her arms and stares him down. "I don't think I can do that."
"Because I am a Sith?"
"No, because I am a Jedi!" Why can't he get this point through his head? This whole conversation is making her increasingly uncomfortable.
"You're not a Jedi. Stop pretending! Why do you cling to those who spurn you?"
"Because there are two ways for people like us to live—as Jedi or as Sith!" she snaps. "And given that choice, I would prefer to be Jedi."
"Can't you look beyond the labels?"
"Of course! That's why I'm here. You're a different kind of Sith."
"And you are a different kind of Jedi."
"Yeah," she snorts, "a bad one."
Tony takes a step forward. "No. Not a bad Jedi, but a new type of Jedi—"
"Look, can we stop talking about this? Let's just train, okay?" Meetra huffs. "None of this matters if we lose to Vitiate. So, let's stay focused," she urges gruffly. She is covering her fluster and Tony knows it.
He backs down. He nods and lights his sword. "As you wish, my Lady." Meetra knows she's being placated, but she doesn't care. Because when she thinks too hard about these issues, she starts to get a little panicky. It's a scary thing for a person like her not to know what she believes in.
They resume their exercises, but Meetra can't find her focus. She's too distracted.
Tony perceives it. "I think that's enough for tonight." He shuts off his blade.
She does the same for her own weapon. She wouldn't have asked to stop, but she'll take the opportunity. "Is any of this training going to matter?" Meetra worries aloud. "Tell me straight," she demands, "is this a suicide mission we're on?"
Tony hesitates before he answers.
"I mean, if it is, that could be fine," Meetra sighs. "I'm going to die sometime, I might as well go out trying to kill Vitiate. Revan thought that was worth dying for, and he's always right . . ." Meetra knows she would cheerfully follow Revan anywhere . . . except to the Dark Side. He went the one place she refused to go, but she somehow ended up there anyway. And now, she's stuck grappling with confusing identity issues. Is she Jedi? Is she Sith? Is she Light still? How Dark has she become?
Swallowing hard, Meetra drags her mind back to current issue. "Look, if this is some symbolic martyrdom most likely," she stammers, "I'd like to know upfront so I can be prepared."
Tony doesn't shy away from the issue. He meets it head on. "I don't know."
It's more uncertainty.
Meetra sighs and chews that answer over for a long moment. Then, she starts thinking aloud. "Martyrdom is kind of the Jedi way, so that's not a dealbreaker for me. It might feel right to die fighting Vitiate since he's the enemy the Republic refuses to acknowledge as a true threat. Because, you know, it would be the hero thing to do and all . . . to defend the Republic that doesn't want my help . . . not that I'm a Jedi hero anymore . . ."
"Meetra," Tony cuts her off mournful babbling, "I think the Force will decide who wins. That depends on what path the Force wants to take. Is the Force done with Vitiate and ready to move on? Are the Sith in ascendancy or decline? Does the Dark Side of the future look like the Emperor or like me?"
"What about the Republic?" Tony's making the Force all about the Dark Side, and giving her people short shrift.
"The Republic matters too. Will the Light Side look like you and Revan going forward, or like your High Council on Coruscant? If Revan is the Sith'ari and our rightful ruler, then what does that mean for the Empire's relationship with the Republic?"
"That's a lot of unknowable questions," she exhales glumly.
"Yes. That's why my answer to your question is that I don't know. All I know for sure is that this dyad is extremely special and the Force wants us together. Whatever happens, we must stay together. That's the only way we can be certain to align ourselves with the will of the Force."
There Tony goes again with his romantic rhapsodies about the dyad and the will of the Force. "You people are such fools for destiny," Meetra grumbles. "What happened to free will?"
"Free will matters. But if you ask me, the Force gives us too much free now and then."
"Right. I forget, you guys despise freedom . . ." she indulges in some snark.
Tony does not appreciate her attitude, and she instantly regrets it. "Sorry," she mutters as she feels her face flush. "Sarcasm is my love language, if you haven't figured out by now . . . "
"What?" He's lost in her Republic slang talk.
"I mean, I'm sorry. Look, I know you're not like the rest."
Tony nods slowly and repeats his point. "Sometimes I think people get too much free will. Never forget that free will gives us the ability to make bad decisions and to make huge mistakes. And when powerful Force users make mistakes, the collateral damage can be huge."
Meetra can't argue with that logic. Just look at the collateral damage Revan caused on both sides of the galaxy.
"I, for one, would rather the Force took a more hands-on approach for the betterment of all," Tony grumbles.
"Jedi teaching doesn't really cover this . . . mostly because Jedi are supposed to stay out of public leadership . . ."
"And yet you're military officers?" Tony raises an eyebrow at the inconsistency that Meetra can't explain beyond historical tradition.
"Here on the Dark Side, we are taught that for the Force's favorites, there is a sweet spot—a nexus of power, if you will—where their personal choices become the Force's choices, and vice versa."
"I've never heard of that." In fact, the Light Side might recoil from that notion, Meetra suspects. "So, those guys are like Dark gods, or something?" She squints at Tony.
"It's Sith lore that the most powerful among us become Force-driven change agents. These are the people who define eras and make fateful decisions. The arc of history is long, but it bends towards the will of the Force," Tony claims with conviction. "Because if through our exercise of free will we do not make the right choices, the Force will eventually empower its favorite to implement a course correction."
She thinks she understands. "This is your avenging Sith'ari figure?"
"Yes. And others in history. Vitiate himself is clearly a favorite of the Force."
"Well then, let's hope the Force is fickle and dumps him," Meetra jokes.
Tony isn't laughing. He meets her eyes and intones with utter seriousness, "Indeed." He reaches out to drape a comforting arm across her shoulders. "Come, let's get some sleep. More training might not help."
"Okay." As they walk back to his bedroom from the training room, Meetra stifles a yawn. An early night sounds good. "I'm first in the shower," she calls dibs.
Tony has another idea. "Let's shower together."
"Sounds good," she readily agrees. Maybe it won't be an early night after all. She might not be up for love, but she's down for a little sex. "You know, I'm fine to die for this," she suddenly reaffirms. "I'm totally fine to die trying to kill Vitiate . . ."
"Me too," Tony chimes in. "Win or lose, I'll be satisfied."
"I'm also fine to die with you," Meetra impulsively declares. She might not let herself love this man, but she respects him more and more each day.