Cin Vhetin

Chapter 1 / Cin Vhetin

The crowd cheered. The Republic Cross of Glory was warm and solid against the fabric of her robe, a just reward for all of Revan's efforts. Standing by her side, Bastila smiled with exuberance at the crowd's adulation. They'd done it. The Sith were shattered, the Star Forge destroyed. Revan glanced at Carth out of the corner of her eye and he flushed, ducking his head down and glancing back at her. There was a promise in his eyes, and she grinned back in happy agreement.

We did it, Flyboy.

The sun was warm. The sky of the Rakata homeworld was a piercingly pure blue. Even here on the temple steps, she could hear the roar of the ocean, not so very far away. Sun and sand. Surely, the Council would let them rest after this—after all that they'd been through.

Now we live happily ever after, Revan thought.

It was about damn time.

Master Vandar cleared his throat, hovering at the podium on his repulsor platform. Revan smiled at him too, only a little embarrassed that she'd let her mind wander past their moment of victory.

"Now, we have another tale to weave into the eternal fabric of our order," Master Vandar said. "The tale of Revan, the prodigal knight."

The crowd cheered again. So many shining faces smiling back at her—at all of them. Revan turned her head around to glance back at her companions. Even Canderous was grinning, sandwiched between Juhani and Jolee. Jolee caught her eye and winked. Juhani looked straight ahead, formal and reserved as she always was in public. The droids were polished and shining, and Zaalbar's normally tangled coat was brushed neatly for the occasion. He'd put a blue flower in his bandolier.

"I swore a life debt to you, Polla Revan," the Wookiee growled, his Shyriiwook edging almost to a whimper. "I had no choice."

Revan frowned. Zaalbar was usually more discreet. Why mention that now?

The crowd cheered again, and then Revan forgot. The rest of the day sailed by in a blur of accolades and festivities. They ate cake. There were toasts. Carth held her close and they danced through the white halls, spinning gracefully around the other—lesser—satellites. Words from the crowd around them were mere whispers, murmurs of polite conversation, echoing in the pale stone walls.

Glory be to the Republic. All hail to Lord Revan, savior of the galaxy.

XXX

Revan and Mission played a game of pazaak as they so often did in the storage room of the Ebon Hawk. Pazaak kept their minds off the hyperspace jump, which made them both sick every time.

"You're cheating," the young Twi'lek said, just like she always did.

"I am not!" Revan laughed and tucked the flipside back into her sleeve.

Mission giggled. "Polla, I taught you everything you know about pazaak, don't tell me you're not cheating!"

So good to hear Mission laugh again. Things at the end had been… a bit grim. Mission was wearing the Baragwin vest they'd bought off Suvam Tan on Yavin Station. Mission always wore that vest. Over the course of their journey, it had stopped everything: from vibroblades to blaster bolts. She'd said it was the first really nice thing she'd ever owned when she'd bought it with the credits they'd scavenged, on their stop at Suvam's Emporium between Tatooine and Kashyyyk.

"Don't call me Polla." Revan had to keep reminding herself she was Revan. Was it fair she had to remind everyone else too?

"Seems to me if you don't remember being Revan, there's no problem." The Twi'lek shrugged and scrubbed at the front of her vest. There was a ragged and torn place there, where a dual-matrix vibroblade had finally made its mark on the near-impenetrable surface. "You know I can't fix this, right? Armor's busted for good."

"You're lucky to be alive," Revan reminded her.

"Yeah..." the Twi'lek frowned, a little frown, and her lekku twitched, uneasy. Her eyes were wide and guileless—a child's eyes—for all her protestations that she was grown up. "Should've run. Then my vest wouldn't be ruined. You know, I totally just saw that card flip? I really wish you wouldn't cheat."

"I wish you wouldn't—" There was a lump in her throat. Why? Revan rubbed her eyes, setting the cards down on the table. "I'm sorry. I don't feel like playing pazaak now."

"That's ok, I'll just…." Mission fiddled with the front of her vest, unsnapping the carbonite buckles one-by-one, and slipping out of it. Underneath she wore a simple gray jumpsuit. The front of it was stained with blood and worse; darker, where the dual-matrix vibroblade had gone in.

"Does it hurt?" Revan asked. It looked like it hurt. "I'm not much of a healer but one of the others—"

"Not anymore." The Twi'lek cut the cards efficiently and shuffled them again. She looked up again, eyes a little too bright. "It did, though."

"I'm sorry, Mission," Revan said quietly. She put her cards down on the table and walked away.

XxX

Jolee was waiting for her in the navigator's quarters, like always. "Something on your mind?"

She tried not to stare at the charred place, deep in his side. If he could ignore it, so could she.

We'll be at Yavin soon and then we can heal you, she promised—but silently, so he couldn't disagree and go off on some story about how some things never healed, and that's why you just had to do your best—your best to die from the consequences of your defeat—instead of what was necessary—or, what you had been told to do because it had to be done—

"Well?" The old padawan looked at her, up and down. "Out with it. Some of us don't have all day."

Revan took a deep breath. "The Jedi say anyone can be redeemed, right? No matter what they've done?"

Jolee folded his arms, leaning back against the bulkhead. He snorted softly. "Jedi say a lot of things, kid."

"It's what Bastila always told me."

"Bastila might have had an ulterior motive with her redemption speechmaking." His eyebrows raised. "Needed what was locked in you to find the Star Maps, didn't she? To stop Darth Malak? You know that now."

"I know what she did worked."

Jolee exhaled slowly, with a wince as if the wound in his side still gave him some trouble. Those warm brown eyes scanned her face as if looking for a reaction, eyebrows wrinkling with a heavy sigh like he hadn't found it. "Sure did. Congratulations."

As far as praise went, his seemed tepid. "You said Jedi always had another chance," she reminded him. "When you told me about Nayama—you said she found her peace—"

Jolee shrugged. "Jedi say a lot things. I knew a Jedi once, swore to me that the sky was green. Turned out he was right—the sky was green. On Altair in springtime; but since we were on Kashyyyk that wasn't exactly helpful, knowing about Altair." He rubbed his chin. "Come to think of it, I'm not sure knowing that would have been that much help, even on Altair. Did it matter that the sky was green, or was the real interesting thing there why the sky was green? Hell, on Kashyyyk, I could barely see the sky. All the trees, you know. You know what's the good thing about trees?" He snapped his fingers. "No sky."

"Jolee, I think I made a mistake."

The old man snorted. "Just the one?"

His insolence grated. "I don't know! I don't remember most of my life."

"Oh, kid." Jolee shook his head like she'd disappointed him again. "Some of that Jedi mumbo's not wrong. We all make choices. It's history that figures out which ones went Hutt-shaped and which worked out." He shrugged. "Hell, maybe history will remember this pile of poodoo as somebody's victory." He chuckled, but the laughter didn't reach his eyes. "You want it to be yours? Congratulations, then, Revan. You won."

She tried not to stare at his wound. At least the robes covered the worst of the damage. Like hers, they were laced with cortosis, strong enough to repel a glancing blow—but not the assault fueled by the dark side that had nearly cut him in half. "I was tired, Jolee. I was sick being the Jedi's pawn. We had the chance to change everything. Why didn't you understand?"

"Ah." He snorted, mouth twisting into a wry smile that looked a little more real than what had come before. "Maybe I did. Maybe I made my choice, and you made yours."

"I'm… sorry." Words were a weak panacea, but they were all she had.

"It's not me you should apologize to, kiddo. Doesn't really matter to me one way or the other now."

"Juhani?" Of course. The Cathar had been terrified of the dark side after her experience of its strength. She'd run from it, sheltered herself with Jedi meditations and platitudes. "I'll find her next."

Jolee shrugged. "I think you should talk to the others. They're the ones who have to live with this."

"I'm not ready." Besides, surely, they knew. Zaalbar's life debt left him no choice. Canderous understood the virtue of sacrifice, and Carth—

Carth said he'd save me.

He'd said more than that, too; but he'd been the one in danger—he'd been the one who needed saving. He'd been the one who came back—

"Revan?" Jolee's hand was waving in her face. "Polla? Kid?" He snapped his fingers.

"Not Polla," she said automatically.

"Right." Jolee stroked his beard, frowning at her. "Don't go off on me again. You know how the dream ends."

Revan blinked. Dream? "What?"

The old man shrugged. "None of us here are getting any younger. It's the ones who'll get older you need to talk to."

XXX

Malak died, but she didn't want to think about that now.

Afterward, Revan ran through the long corridors of the Star Forge with Bastila at her side. One thing to win the war—quite another to survive it.

How had they survived? A few red-robed acolytes tried to bow to Bastila— rather laughably ignoring their former master—until Revan's barrages of lightning crisped their ranks and set them alight.

She held the Dark in her hand. Its fuel sang in her veins, made everything simple.

Exhilarating. Magnificent.

Bastila and Revan had slaughtered two entire packs of Sith acolytes, destroyed countless droids, and cut their way through three more squadrons of Malak's elite troopers to get back to the docks where the Ebon Hawk waited. No time for Bastila's battle meditation now—the Republic was throwing everything it had at the Star Forge.

The Republic forces were suicidal and desperate. And they were winning.

Alarms chimed warnings: "Hull breach on the Command Deck. Counting down until life support failure. Evacuate all levels. Evacuate all levels."

Bastila and Revan ran faster. The halls disappeared in a blur of black and gray duraplate—nothing familiar in them at all.

Canderous was waiting at the entrance to the docking bay, shouldering his assault cannon and surrounded by a pile of dead Sith. He'd looked at them.

Revan had nodded.

"It's done?" He didn't smile, but something in his eyes glinted. Acknowledgement of her victory, perhaps. Obeisance.

"Not quite," Bastila murmured. Malak's apprentice stepped forward. Her fingers moved, and the assault cannon flew out of Canderous's hands. As if pushed, his knees bent. His armor creaked as her Force made him kneel, forcing him to the ground like a capital ship, caught in a gravity well.

Revan laughed, knocking Bastila off balance with a twist of her hand. They were out of time.

I can always find another Star Forge, she remembered thinking. There'd been other thoughts too—tangled ones, mixed with rage and fueled by the Force—but she didn't want to remember those.

And then, there he was. Running up the deck to them.

And then, everything changed—everything and nothing at all.

All hail Lord Revan, savior of the galaxy.

XXX

"Juhani...?" Revan peered into the room off the mechanic's quarters. White walls and empty shelves—the Cathar's few possessions were tucked into a crate on the floor. Juhani lived as simply as she could—ever since Korriban, preferring to spend as much of her time in meditation and contemplation of the Force as possible. Revan had always been torn between a strange mixture of envy and pity for the woman. What was it like, to live a life distilled to its essence? To forsake all attachments? To focus entirely on the purity of being a true Jedi? The Cathar seemed happy enough, but Revan knew that such a life would have driven her insane.

A form moved underneath the thermal blankets on the thin spacer's cot. "Go away," Juhani said flatly, voice muffled by the covers.

"I want to talk." Revan sat down on the edge of the bed cautiously. "I think we should."

A lightly furred arm reached up and pulled the blankets down again as Juhani shifted away from her, as far as the narrow cot would allow. "There's nothing to say. I believed in you. I thought you were stronger than I was."

"They used me!" Revan felt her voice crack. When Juhani had put aside her anger, it had stayed buried deep. But since discovering her life was a lie, Revan struggled constantly to keep hers at bay. "They used me just like they used you on Dantooine with that stupid test! They made you suffer for a stupid test! Are those the actions of a wise Council?"

The Cathar sat up, pulling back the blankets, and Revan recoiled, seeing what the lightsaber had done to her friend's face. Juhani's calm eyes were gone, replaced by a blackened ruin that extended from the top of her head halfway to her nose. One ear dropped raggedly across blasted bone. Another deep cut began at her breastbone and slashed across the front of her chest. She smelled like scorched hair and blood.

"It was only a test, Revan." Her lips pulled back from her small, pointed teeth. "We Jedi Knights were tested to assure we would not fall. Not like those who came before us."

"What they did to me wasn't a test." I thought Polla Organa had a great destiny, and it turned out I'd just forgotten what a great murderer Darth Revan had been.

"I wish I'd killed you in that grove," the Cathar hissed. "You were weak then, and I could have so easily."

"Don't give into your emotions," Revan began. That was what Juhani always told her when she was afraid. What Bastila always said was important.

Don't give into your emotions. Even when your dearest friend turns and cuts you down before you can beg her to stop.

"That's a load of Gamorrean dung, coming from you." The ruined face twisted.

"I did the right thing. I was always going to do the right thing." Revan tried to explain. "I stopped Malak. I destroyed the Forge. You followed me for months, across five worlds. You never questioned anything we did before that. You never tried to stop me—before."

"Oh, I had questions," Juhani's laugh was garbled, as if something was stuck in her throat. "Just not for you."

"But you worshiped me." It was difficult to stare down your friend when the top of her head and her eyes were missing, but Revan did her best. "I was your hero—I could see it in your eyes—the way you watched me—even before either of us knew who I was. Why did you turn on me, when I needed you the most?"

Juhani growled, low in her throat. "It's always been about you, hasn't it? Are you still so blind?" The Jedi turned away, pulling the covers over her head again. "Leave me in peace. I've earned it."

Revan got up from the bed. "When we land on Yavin Station, we'll find a medical droid to heal your wounds. Things will be better, then."

Faint hissing laughter was the only response, muffled by the blankets. "Stop fooling yourself," the Cathar hissed.

XXX

The galaxy came back by degrees, slipping past the old ghosts whether she willed it or not.

First, just voices in her head. No. Outside her head. Shadows. Zaalbar's grunts and roars; the assassin droid's terse translations; Canderous' graveled responses.

"The wroshyr takes all beneath. Its shadow no longer a gift." Zaalbar barked the words like stones, reciting a poem for the dead.

"Translation." HK's transistors made an almost Human sigh. "Oh, woe is me. Were it not for my life debt I would gladly be crushed by a falling tree."

"She'll pull through. Revan's a warrior. Tough. Always was." The Mandalorian sounded calm. "Hey, Fur-sheb, get another crate of those tranks from the back. She's twitching again."

Zaalbar roared again, admitting his regret. Acknowledging his rage.

HK made a sighing noise with its circuits. "Translation: As long as she lives I must follow Lord Revan. Even if I am useless and no sentient meatbag has programmed me to do so."

Zaalbar's barking curse was untranslatable out of Kashyyyk context.

HK's gears whirred. "Implied Threat: The restraining bolt attached to my offensive capacitor does not restrict my ability to affect the ship's temperature and life support systems."

"Enough caterwauling. We're docking soon." the Mandalorian muttered. "Both of you'd better strap in."

Zaalbar groaned that he had an excellent sense of balance.

"Translation: Hairy Meatbag is more than capable of taking you in a fight, as his species possess superior strength and agility."

"That so?" Canderous sounded amused.

Zaalbar whined a protest.

"Translation—"

"Shut up, machine." A hand enfolded Revan's, warm and calloused as the world began to tilt. Something cool pressed into her shoulder, a faint sting, then release. "Get the rest of the tranks from the back, Fur-sheb. Republic better know what he's doing."

Zaalbar groaned his confidence in Carth.

"If you say so. Whatever it was that you said. I'm gonna give her another shot before we go shopping. Can't risk her waking up again."

Who?

Revan tried to open her eyes, but her head didn't seem to exist.

It felt like her entire body was frozen.

They're drugging me. The thought should have filled her with rage, but whatever was in the hypo just made Revan numb. The Force's dark wellspring was a faint trickle beneath her frozen hands. A whisper at the back of her skull.

Fools. Drugging me because they're frightened.

Canderous's voice continued, even as the press of another hypo stung Revan's arm. "Blast. If Onasi's right, shouldn't she look better by now?"

Zaalbar growled again, his voice low and in pain. "No matter what she is, I must follow. I wish the gods would deliver me from this task."

"Translation: the hairy meatbag swears fealty, but begs for death. Since the Master is incapacitated, perhaps you should assist with disintegration?"

"Shut up, machine."

The ship's hull vibrated. Whirr of repulsors settling as the Ebon Hawk's landing gear opened—

XXX

Yavin Station hung like a tiny pearl above the moon-world, Yavin IV.

Revan ran through the vacant, oddly echoing halls of Suvam Tan's orbital station looking for Mission. The girl loved coming to visit. Suvam was the best (by which Mission meant the richest) pazaak player she had ever known.

Where did she go?

XXX

"You're sure this will work?" the Human pilot asked Suvam Tan again. His furry eyes squinted at the metal collar suspiciously, as if Suvam Tan was trying to sell him a pile of bantha dung, instead of the ancient Sith artifact of great power the man claimed to so desperately need.

The Rodian rolled his eyes, exasperation warring with curiosity. He'd been astonished to see the Ebon Hawk's docking codes again. Apparently, the galaxy-wide report of its occupants' deaths had been false.

But Captain Onasi looked terrible. He had the expression on his face that Suvam Tan remembered all too well from first Sith war—the one against Exar Kun. Human eyes were difficult to read—so tiny under their heavy, furry brows; but Suvam thought that Captain Onasi's looked dead. His eyes were the eyes of a man who had lost everything but still kept going—an automaton on auto-pilot.

Because this automaton had once been hers, Suvam tried his best to be reassuring.

"The Sith made these restraining collars during the war to contain Jedi prisoners. You want something to block Force well, yes? Their engineers were very clever, back in their time."

"I hope so," the man muttered. He looked down at the collar in his hand and back up at the Rodian. "What about the rest?"

"The rest of your requests? Yes, I can give you false codes for your ship—and I have a friend in the Exchange who's quite clever with personal identities; but I must know. She's alive, too? Revan?"

The Human didn't answer with words, just looked down at him with those empty eyes again. The way his many-fingered hands tightened on that collar gave Suvam the answer he needed.

Trying not to look too astonished, he bowed his antennae. "I'm sure you're aware of the HoloNet broadcasts. They think she's dead—think all of you are dead. So happy the reports are wrong, but I am curious. Why are you here? Why not Coruscant? They had a memorial service there three standard days ago for the lost crew of the Ebon Hawk. But you're not lost at all! I'm sure your people would be happy to know that! Yes?"

"No. I mean, we have our reasons." The Human slipped the collar into his pocket, voice deepening with authoritative bravado, false as the idchips he'd asked for. "Never mind. Your friend in the Exchange—can they be trusted?"

"He's a personal colleague," Suvam told him, slightly offended. Lord Revan had been traveling under a smuggler's alias, and this man had been her personal pilot! Surely, he must know the rules of professional courtesy.

Carth snorted to himself before Suvam had a fair chance to answer. "So that means—no? Look, you can't tell the guy anything about us. Anything at all. Understand?"

Suvam laughed, swiveling his ear stalks as if that wasn't even more insulting. Humans! "I can throw him off the scent. But I should warn you: the Exchange's leaders were all very interested in the rebirth of Darth Revan and the... opportunities her reign might offer to citizens of free enterprise. Perhaps I could make some introductions?"

Captain Onasi's eyes narrowed. "How did your leaders know that she—she didn't—she's not… Darth. She's not Darth anything." He shook his head violently from side to side, looking quite addled. Perhaps Lord Revan had compelled him to lie.

Inwardly, Suvam cursed. He'd said too much, hit some kind of nerve. "I wouldn't know. I just make things and sell them," he offered weakly, shrugging like a naïf. "I have some of what you need now. My Exchange contact is on Korriban, but I can patch through your specifications for the identities…. It will take merely a few rotations of the moon. While we wait, perhaps the little Twi'lek and I could play cards? I have a nice Baragwin armband I've finished polishing. It will match her vest—if she'd like to see it. And there should be a matching pair of boots somewhere…." He let his voice trail off brightly.

Mission Vao was always fun, almost as much fun as Revan herself in either of her guises. Suvam Tan was looking forward to seeing the Vao child again. Last time she'd won more than her share. They were due a rematch, and he had some new cards for his deck: bought off an Iridin spacer… but the pilot's eyes were glassy and wet now, and his face was frozen in some kind of tragic mask.

"She—she's not—" Humans looked so clumsy when they were sad.

Again, Suvam cursed himself for saying the wrong thing.

"Oh," Suvam tried to sound comforting. War was terrible, even when it was profitable. "I'm so sorry for your loss. How many identities will you need?"

"Three citizens, from the same system—if you can. One Wookiee slave and two refit chips for the droids." Captain Onasi's professionalism seemed to falter, as his voice dipped in a grating cadence that made Suvam's ear stalks buzz. "It's me and Canderous and Zaalbar and… her. That's all. That's all that's left."

"Where is she? I'd like to see her again, Revan was kind to me." Suvam's voice trailed off. He wondered why one such as she would want a Force collar; but it seemed rude to ask.

"She's—Revan is hurt. Injured. You can't see her."

"I have some regenerative implants that might help? No charge. You were all a great help to me with those Mandalorians raiders. I haven't seen them since."

The pilot nodded slowly. "I appreciate that. Her… injuries aren't healing, not like they should." A muscle in his jaw ticced. "How did you know she—how do I know I can trust you?"

You have already. Humans are foolishly rhetorical. "She trusted me," Suvam pointed out, remembering her bright smile, the way she'd had about her—so like and yet so unlike that dark-furred Deralian. Strange, that the Dark Lady had assumed such a guise, but it had served her well—had it not? "The last time you came here Revan trusted me enough to tell me who she was. And you've trusted me already. Coming here like this."

The Human nodded, a savage jerk of his head. "We didn't have many options. If you can help her—" His expression was so nakedly torn between loss and hope it made Suvam wince to see it. Humans had such a twisted sense of affection. What a mess they made.

Suvam looked away, made himself busy; rummaging through a box of implants for the ones he needed. "With the kolto shortage, these Ithorian regenos have been quite popular," he said. "I'm sure it's a terrible tragedy for Manaan, but it's been very good for business."

"I'm sorry about that," the Human muttered inexplicably. "I was impatient. I needed to get to Korriban and look for my son. If I hadn't pushed her so hard… maybe… maybe things might have been different on Manaan." That muscle ticced in his jaw again. "Maybe a lot of things would have been different."

Suvam shrugged. It was a well-known fact on most known worlds that Humans were congenitally insane. If Captain Onasi wanted to take the blame for the kolto crises that had paralyzed half the galaxy, why would Suvam Tan argue the point?

XXX

Waking up was like clawing through a nest of eridu fiber into a world of gray shadows. The shadows were dim and strangely flat, as if the world had died when she'd been sleeping. It took Revan some time to make her eyes blink and let her vision to focus on what she finally recognized as the familiar durasteel Ebon Hawk's ceiling.

A new shadow fell across her face then, and Carth's head appeared out the darkness, looking worriedly down at her: familiar brown eyes, his strong, stubbled jawline, that hair falling in his eyes that she always pushed away.

"Hello, beautiful." His smile was soft with a gentleness she hadn't seen in quite some time.

"Carth," Revan breathed. Her voice rasped. Something cold and heavy pressed down on her neck.

"Polla." His hands pressed hers down when she tried to move them until she made a noise of protest and then he let her go. He bent down, and his lips brushed her forehead. "Polla," he repeated more firmly, as if daring her to be anyone else.

Revan moved her hands to the cold thing on her neck. Her head felt strangely heavy when she glanced down, automatically taking stock of her injuries. Wearing a bacta suit. Not as effective as the tank, but the only thing they had on the Hawk. They only had the one.

Were Mission and the Jedi already healed? Their injuries had been so much worse than hers.

"Where...?" Her voice trailed off, it was so hard to speak, and she wasn't sure where to begin. Where are we? Where are the others? What happened after the medal ceremony?

Too many questions. Overwhelming. She closed her eyes again.

"Polla." Carth's voice was gentle. "You need to get up now."

That name again. The fake one.

She kept her eyes shut. "There's no Polla, Carth. There never was." Polla Organa never existed. Deralia. My family… frack, my entire life. All a lie made up by Jedi to brainwash the Dark Lord of the Sith.

"Revan." Carth's voice hardened. "You can't sleep anymore. It's time to wake up."

"No." But she cracked one eye open to look up at him again. I'm glad you're not dead, she thought. She'd saved him from… dying.

"Polla." His hand touched her face, the only part of her exposed from the suit. "Revan." He took another breath. "Readings say you're good enough to walk again. Can't stay in a coma forever."

That stupid lock of hair was falling over his eyes, just like it always did. She reached up a hand to smooth it back with her bacta-suited hand. He looked like he hadn't shaved in weeks.

The Rakatan homeworld had been a tropical paradise. Carth's skin had been golden there, and he'd laughed as they ran through the sand looking for the hyperdrive. Things were so serious—things were a catastrophe—but even so, they'd found a chance to sit on the beach, just for a little time, the afternoon before she and the other Jedi had left for the Sith temple.

A little time.

"I love you," she reminded him. "Sun and sand, remember?"

Carth blinked. "I-I me too."

It wasn't his most fervent declaration. Maybe he was just beside himself with worry. Maybe he'd resigned himself to her death.

When did I get hurt? After the medal ceremony? During the dancing?

Revan did her best to smile, to remind him. "We said when this is all over, we'd leave it all behind. Remember? Find something else to live for. Something besides the fracked-up war."

"Yes. And it is over." Carth twisted his head away from hers, catching her hand that reached for him and pressing it back down. His grip was so strong that she could feel the pressure of it even underneath the webbed layer of the bacta suit. "Do you… what do you remember?"

"You… came and rescued us," Revan said, remembering his face on the Star Forge docking bay. "In the Hawk? No—I—we had the Hawk. You came… how did you get there?"

His eyes were a piercing brown, the color of good Derran wheat, (which probably didn't even exist), and his mouth was set in the pinched expression she didn't like—the one he'd had far too often ever since the Leviathan. "What do you remember before that?"

Revan closed her eyes. "I saved you—" There was a metal weight on her neck, lumpy underneath the suit. Her muscles ached, and something was wrong with her legs. Or her spine. Something was really wrong—not just with his reaction. Revan reached for the Force only to find a cold and empty place where it should have been.

"Carth? I can't feel my legs." She tried to sit up, but the effort left her gasping and her legs were numb, with only small twinges of pain letting her know that the nerves weren't entirely dead. "I think something's wrong with me. Really wrong. I can't feel the Force!"

Around them, the Hawk's engines purred. They were in hyperdrive, a part of her noted, even as her nerves jangled with useless adrenaline—a futile panic.

"Tell Bastila! Tell her I can't feel the Force! Jolee—Juhani—they have to help me!"

"Bastila," he repeated, drawing back. That frown on his face deepened. "Bastila's dead, Revan."

"But she—" and then the world came rushing back; the stuff that in dreams had seemed so easy to deny: Revan had rescued Bastila, killed Malak (no need for details, the dead were dead); and then she'd rescued Carth by—she'd rescued Carth from—

"Oh, Revan." A darkly familiar chuckle—the one that had haunted her dreams since Korriban. Her bondmate's eyes were luminescent with madness. "Why, that poor sad fool thinks he's in love with you—"

"You killed Bastila," her lover said bluntly. "And the others. Jolee. Juhani. And you made Zaalbar kill Mission."

"No." As if denial could make truth false.

Bastila's face, twisted with hate and fury. A bolt of lightning reaching out from her fingers toward Carth… fingers that had blackened with red fire as Revan's hand blasted her with the power of the Star Forge.

And then Bastila fell. Begged for mercy. Predictable mercy. Revan had none left.

There were lines in Carth's forehead she'd never noticed before, flecks of gray in the stubble along his jaw. He cleared his throat, staring at her. "You killed Bastila last, when she attacked me on the Star Forge. I thought you were going to kill me too, but you just—collapsed. I picked you up. The whole place was coming apart. The Fleet was hitting full out." His voice was hoarse as if he'd been ill. "You-you were so pale... I thought you were already dead."

"But I had already… I obliterated Malak. We won. I didn't need to kill anyone else." I didn't need to kill Bastila. The bond… that must be what knocked me out. Her death broke the bond.

But I was the master. I didn't need to kill her. It was a waste.

And now I'm free. Free of Bastila. Free of Malak. Funny, she'd dreamed of it already, being free from Bastila—but the woman's death was… it was unfortunate.

Carth sounded tired, defeated. "I told you I'd save you, Revan, I always told you I'd save you. Even from yourself."

"But I saved you." She smiled to try and get that worried look off his face. "Didn't I save you?"

It had been the wrong thing to say, she could tell that instantly. His jaw stiffened and the warmth in those brown eyes iced over. "Sure," he muttered, a little unsteadily. "You… you saved me."

"I—" Rational thoughts were threatening to intrude, bearing with them the weight of everything she'd done. For a moment Revan wondered if she should pretend to be as nuts as that fake Deralian personality had been, back on Taris and the Endar Spire. "So, if I killed… Malak," she mumbled. "So, the Republic—did they—"

"They won." Carth's mouth twitched and he let out a heavy sigh. "We won. Heavy losses, but we—the Republic won. The Sith Fleet—what was left of it—jumped out—those that didn't surrender. Not just around Lehon. All the fronts in Republic space. We beat them back. Their surrenders say the Sith Empire's in tatters now. Thanks to us. Without Malak commanding their fleet, they cracked. They're gone—hopefully, gone for good. It's on all the vids."

"We achieved the ends necessary, then." Someone had said that to Revan before. "That's… good. So, now, we—we're…." Her mind splintered on the possibilities. None of them seemed like they would include a medal ceremony. More like a court martial, possibly an execution. I could go crazy. That might be the kindest option—for me, at least—but the others—

Carth reached out his hand, unsnapping the seals of the bacta suit that surrounded her. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, you're getting out of this suit. Then, we're going to Kashyyyk. You remember that place? Lots of trees?" He tried for a comforting grin, but it came out like a rictus on his too-sensitive face.

When he tugged at the suit's legs, the entire thing unpeeled. Revan's skin prickled in shock at the cold air. Carth glanced down once, and then turned away—but not fast enough for her to miss his grimace of—was it fear? Disgust? Pity?

Revan peered down at herself. Selkath-belly white skin, slick from the healing bacta oil. She was so thin that she could count every rib. She pulled the rest of the suit off herself, trembling a little with the effort, and shivered as the air hit exposed skin. Her fingers caught on the piece of heavy cold metal around her neck. The edges were sunk into her skin as if it had grown there.

"What's this thing on my neck?"

"Something we picked up from Suvam Tan. Heavy-duty neural disruptor. It blocks the Force."

"Why—?" Revan shivered again, remembering how it felt: the whisper and the rush as lightning and red fire leapt from her hands. The thrill of bending a mind beneath hers and feeling it obey; the exultation at making her enemies cower, lost in their own torments.

The pure, clean simplicity of victory, when the Force made you free.

Free? A small voice in her mind mocked. Was that freedom you were giving Mission and Zaalbar when you bent his mind like a twig? When you gave him the order to—

Her thoughts froze, holding back the rest behind a dam of ice.

Carth got up and turned away, facing the door. "I think you know why."

"Yes," she nodded. "Good idea."

"You can't get the collar off," he added, even as her fingers were fumbling to find the catch in the metal. "No one can. Med-droid says you've recovered enough to move around. Get dressed now. We're all on the bridge when you're ready to talk." He seemed to hesitate. "Me, Canderous, and Zaalbar. You… you know the others aren't—you know they… they didn't—"

"Yes. They didn't make it. You told me before." She nodded again, numbly. Revan sat up, looking down at her skin and her arms. Dark veins ran under the surface like traces of patterns in some long-forgotten tongue.

Dark side corruption, a cold voice whispered. The price isn't so high—not when victory is assured by your strength—

"Didn't… make it," he echoed. "Yeah. I-I've had to tell you a few times. You kept… you kept waking up before. Screaming."

"I'm sorry," she offered. The Dark is madness. Maybe I don't have to pretend to be nuts. Maybe I am. Still. Her hand went to the collar on her neck again, tugging at it. She hated the way it felt, like the edges we're burning her skin.

"I love you, Revan," her pilot muttered, staring at the door lock. He palmed it and the door opened. "I don't know what happened out there. One minute you were… you were fine."

No, Flyboy. I hadn't been fine for a long time. "I'm sorry," she offered. "But we won. I stopped Malak."

"Yeah." He turned back toward her. "We won." Muscles in his jaw worked. "I love you, but I'll stop you, if I have to. You… you need to know that."

"I could stop you," she snapped back. You're a fool to tell me your plans.

"Maybe. But you won't." The door slid shut behind him, leaving her alone.

There were no mirrors in the room, but a ship is made of metal, and Revan found a surface polished enough to hold a reflection.

She sat there for a long time staring at hers in the watery glow of the medical sensor's container module. Skin so white it looked gray, and yellow eyes that burned sadly out of a face mottled with the ravages of the dark side. The face that drove armies, the face under the mask. Staring at her face was like something from a dream, a dream she'd had with everything around it scrubbed away—

Her old face, back again like a bad ghost.

Her eyes had been green when Carth first admired them on Taris, but they weren't now—they were yellow as suns. Someone had lopped off her topknot and her hair grew in, uneven and matted. Grew in red, not black.

I dyed it, every time the roots grew in I dyed it and I never thought about why.

Eventually, Revan toddled over to the neatly folded clothes in a pile on the examination bench and pulled them on. Her old clothes from when she'd been a smuggler named Polla Organa were stacked rather prominently on top: the white jumpsuit, one of the vests—the red one, with the pockets she'd kept filled with mines, grenades—

Nothing in the pockets now. They'd left a Jedi robe for her too—stacked beneath her smuggler's clothing like some kind of test—but she ignored that.

There were no weapons and no armor.

The door slid open under Revan's shaking fingers and she made her way to the bridge. A few times she fell down on legs that barely seemed like legs anymore at all, but no one came to help her.

Why would they? Dark Lords of the Sith should be able to handle themselves.

Revan gritted her teeth and stumbled slowly down the hall. The world was muted and wrong without the Force. Gray and slow.

"Hello," she said from the doorway of the cockpit. With all three of them—four—she noted, registering HK—and the Tee plugged into the comm board—the space was crowded, smelling like recycled air and Wookiee.

"Master?" HK's mechanical voice sounded almost concerned as he watched her from the weapons console on the side of the bridge. From the communications seat, Zaalbar grunted a terse acknowledgment and Canderous smiled at her, leaning against the wall. Revan thought she saw a true welcome in the mercenary's smile, but even he didn't meet her eyes for long.

Revan leaned against the doorframe, hating her weakness. "I—need to sit down."

Hyperspace splashed across the cockpit window, the dizzying twist of stars making her as nauseous as it always did.

Carth was piloting—and didn't even glance back at her approach.

"I need to sit down," she repeated.

"Did you want one of us to carry a chair to you, Lord Revan?" The smile on Canderous's face didn't shift, but the tone in his voice made her reconsider his welcome.

"No," she muttered, staggering over to them.

It was Zaalbar who got up from his bench and helped her sit, steadying her shoulders with his great furry paws. The strength of them was enough to crush bones and tear limbs, but he was gentle and helped her to the bench to sit beside him.

"You should have killed me," she whispered to him in Shyriiwook, throat aching with the effort. "Why didn't you?"

"Warning: the Master is talking about ending her own life, as the composite suggested." HK's triangular head swiveled towards her, red eyes glinting. They'd managed to get a restraining bolt on him, and he'd been disarmed, but his voice dripped with the same malice it always had. "Recommendation: Allow her to continue her conquest of the galaxy, for her own health."

"Shut the hell up," she snapped.

The red eyes flashed once, but her droid complied. Beside him, T3 beeped a welcome, even-toned and dispassionate.

"I could not kill you, Polla Organa. My life debt would not allow it." Zaalbar looked at the floor mournfully.

"I made you do it," she whispered in Basic. His eyes were all one shade of brown, darker than his fur. It was hard to meet them, but his fur was warm against her side. "Mission was like a daughter to you."

"Enough." The Mandalorian's voice was cold. "Your Republic won—that was the objective—and it's done. S'cuy gar."

"S'cuy," Revan echoed. We're still alive. "That doesn't explain why you let me live," she repeated, this time to all of them.

"We have our own reasons," Canderous said. "As of now, they coincide. I swore I'd follow you into battle. The Wookiee has a life debt. Droids are programmed. And you know Republic—he's just soft."

"Frack off, Ordo." Carth's words had the lightness of ones that had been repeated before.

"Why, Carth?" Revan's eyes blurred. "Why did you come back for me?"

His back was straight facing away from her, the perfect soldier. "I saved the galaxy," he said, still not looking up from his controls. "Bastila's battle meditation will never be used against the Republic, the Star Forge is destroyed, and you're not Darth Revan. I won't ever let you be Darth Revan again."

"Are we going to Coruscant then? After Kashyyyk? I should go before the Senate and atone for my crimes." Even as she said the words—the right words—she realized she didn't mean them.

Realized she'd rather die.

Or run.

"Objection: Once you are restored, the pilot will take us to the Outer Rim. The Mandalorian has assured us that there are several planets capable of supporting organic life, where even sentients of our repute can disappear quite effectively. The meatbags argue about many of the details, Master; but on a few points, they find accord. Preservation of your life and avoidance of the Republic are our primary objectives." The droid paused as if it was thinking. "Astonished Conclusion: For once, their assessments concur with my own. At least until your scrawny carapace restores itself."

"They think we're dead," Zaalbar growled. "We are heroes, but they also think we're dead. They must continue to think this."

Revan frowned. "Why?" Her temples hurt.

"I want them to remember you as a hero," Carth said quietly. "You deserve that… not—"

Revan could see the other options quite clearly in his expression: not being court-martialed, not spending the rest of your life in a stasis tank, or all of us lined up for some public fracking execution—

Did the Republic execute its prisoners? Would she be a Republic prisoner or a Jedi one?

The memories of a Deralian smuggler weren't much help. Polla Organa had never given the matter more thought than an imaginary boyfriend in a Corellian brig—just another fake memory that never happened.

Why would she? She's not real.

The ship was on autopilot now, she could tell by the hum of the turbines shifting with a precision that no pilot could match; but still Carth Onasi stared at those controls as if they were maneuvering through a nest of Sith fighters, Exchange booby traps, and asteroids all at once.

"Carth?" Revan cleared her throat.

"I'm flying the ship," he lied.

There was a silence, long enough to raise a sithspawned Rakata army, before Carth Onasi spoke again, still stubbornly refusing to glance in her direction.

"Damnit, the Republic owes you, Revan. And Bastila. You killed Malak, the disruptor shield went down, the Star Forge was destroyed." She couldn't see his face, but she recognized that hardness in his voice. My duracrete pilot. Nothing between you and the target. "We accomplished the objective. It… it doesn't matter if we're traitors."

"You're not a traitor, Captain Onasi." He never could be. His love for the Republic was as much a part of him as the hollow at the base of his spine. That stupid jacket he wore too often, the one with the sleeve stitched back on.

Carth laughed. "Trust me—I don't like what the Council did to you either. I just wish… the others… if I hadn't run I know I could've convinced Mission to stay quiet." His head dropped, and he pretended to do something to the hyperspace calibrators, even though Revan could hear them, ticking as evenly as time. "I could have saved Mission. I should have."

The dark inevitability Revan had felt that day—and the strength that had fueled her victory— were gone with the Force. Now, she only felt sick.

Mission. Juhani. Jolee. Bastila. So many others. All in my way. Necessary sacrifice. Necessary to achieve my goals, reclaim—reclaim my—

Her mind froze on the motive—again retreating back to that foolish dream. All hail Lord Revan, savior of the Republic.

Even the slant of Carth's shoulders was an accusation.

Revan stared at them and didn't blink. "I dreamed about them. I dreamed about them a lot."

"We got that," Canderous leaned back in his chair. "You talk in your sleep."

"You cried." Carth cleared his throat. "Y-you cried in your sleep. You were… it wasn't you who did this. It was the Force. The dark side. Something evil. Things… happen in war. I know." He still wouldn't turn around. "I know," he repeated.

"Carth—" Revan began again.

Chimes and a beeping noise sounded from the commlinks.

Zaalbar pushed her gently to the side, as his hands swept over the keys.

"Tee's picking up inquiries from the Doshan orbital," he growled. "The Republic patrol stationed there wants to know our destination. This sector has been closed to casual travel since my people threw out those murdering Czerka slavers."

As quickly as the Wookiee spoke, HK translated. Carth had picked up a remarkable amount of Shyriiwook, but Canderous only knew a few words.

"This is it," Carth leaned over the nav-board. "Let's hope Suvam wasn't lying about those codes."

"Codes?" Revan echoed. "What codes?" She felt so useless. "Turn me in. I'll tell them you captured me alive. There's a way out for you."

"No." Carth was tapping at the keyboard rapidly, but then he glanced back, frowning.

"They want visual confirmation. Damn… Zaalbar?"

"I'll do it," the Wookiee growled. He leaned forward, so his face encompassed the entire viewscreen. Almost immediately he began barking a story to someone on the other end. Elaborate—and half of it seemed to rhyme. Listening made Revan's head spin.

"He's posing as a former slave named Dreeewwooowr that we're returning to his homeworld," Carth explained, as the roaring subsided and the commlink blinked shut. "We already got permission from Freyyrr to land there, but the Republic is being stodgy about access to the system. Kashyyyk is a protected world now. Closed to outsiders."

"Protected thanks to you, Polla Revan," Zaalbar murmured, his chin brushing the top of her head. "Even with pain, I do not forget."

She squeezed his arm in response. Basic was inadequate. "If Zaal's a former slave, who are we supposed to be? Noble citizens of the galaxy?"

Carth finally looked at her, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Right. You're Numu Ran, an aristo lady from Alderaan, and I'm Jadro Hin, your loyal protector. Canderous is our hired muscle, a Mandalorian named Emilio Irod. He has quite a reputation in the Core, but since he's reformed he's been fighting the slavers."

"For the right price," Canderous interjected.

"Of course." Despite the gravity—despite everything—Revan snorted. "I'm exactly like a noble lady from Alderaan. Except for the hair. And the accent. And the infamy."

Carth shrugged. "It was the best Suvam Tan could do at short notice. HK needs to keep out of sight, and Tee's been hardwired into the Hawk's console to keep tabs on the false registration programs we're broadcasting. Tee's watching the net to see if anyone starts looking for our real selves. So far, everyone in the galaxy seems to think we're dead." He grimaced. "Hope it stays that way."

You trusted Suvam? You went to that Exchange rat? Something about that nagged at her, but now there was no time. "Some of the Jedi might know I'm not dead. From the Force. They did before, remember?"

Canderous snorted. "Blast your Force. There's a memorial statue being built of you and Bastila on the ruins of Dantooine. Master Vrook has been on broadcasts across the Core giving speeches about your case proving the purpose of the Jedi Order. Believe me, if they know you're alive—they'll never admit it. All those high and mighty Jedi, being wrong? You'd be an embarrassment."

"How long has it been?" Revan glanced down at the comm-link, but the date flashing there made no sense to her—it was written in CoruStan, and she'd lost track of time even before they crashed on the Rakatan planet.

"More than a month," Carth said. "Since we—since you killed Malak."

Malak. "And they made a… a statue of—us?" Revan's lips twisted. Then she frowned again, as the full translation of her new name hit home. "I'm called Numu? Bantha fodder, wasn't 'Polla Organa' bad enough?"

"Suvam Tan has a funny sense of humor. You'd know what Numu means on Alderaan wouldn't you?" Carth's mouth curved up a little.

"Numu means... Dark Lady. My parents took me to Alderaan once. I was—" her voice faltered. I was ten and we saw Uncle Boon and he gave me a doll and I-I was too old and Ma said not to be rude— "I still don't always know which memories are mine and which are the ones they implanted."

Carth shifted uncomfortably. "We've been trying to check on Revan's... your background. Most of the specifics from the wars are offline or classified, but we're trying to find out more."

"I just—I would like to know something about myself. Someday." Revan closed her eyes. "Turn me in and perhaps they'll tell us before they execute me or mindwipe me again. Isn't that safer for you?"

"We went through all of this when you slept," Canderous picked up a glass of something next to his console and took a swig. "I'm not gonna insult your intelligence. The three of us considered dumping you out of an airlock instead of waking you up."

Carth turned in his chair. From the sudden fury on his face, Revan suspected she wasn't supposed to hear about that.

"Of course you did." So why not? You still haven't explained why not—

"But we've earned our chance at a better life," the Mandalorian continued. "All of us—including you. We're taking it. Cin vhetin—clean like snow."

"Cin vhetin. A new day," Carth echoed the Mandalorian phrase. "For all of us, beautiful." He turned to look—finally meeting her gaze.

His eyes were still the color of Deralian wheat—even if it didn't exist.

Deralia did. Revan had checked on that after they escaped the Leviathan. Farming planet. Maybe the wheat was real too, even if her memories were fake.

My name is Polla Organa. I'm a registered smuggler from Deralia. I always knew I had a great destiny, and that I'd meet a handsome pilot somewhere along the way—

A pathetically simple story. Sketch of a fool's life, to net a Dark Lord of the Sith, trap a fallen Jedi by making her a common criminal—

Hey! Registered smuggling's not a crime! How many times had she said that to Carth? Lies upon lies. One of the Jedi who programmed me must've had a sick sense of humor. Smuggling's not a crime, but taking over the galaxy?

I'd say that counts.

"Don't be foolish, Polla Revan." Zaalbar's tone was the most sincere of the three. "We are deep-root grown, we four. Joy and pain."

"Helpful Suggestion: Master, I would assist in your quest for retribution if you could convince them to remove my restraining bolt."

Revan frowned. "How did they restrain you?"

"Response: They did not, could not do such a thing, Master. It was you who imposed these restrictions on me, shortly before docking on the Star Forge."

"Oh." The rest of the memory asserted itself in images—even through the cold rage that had fueled her was gone. "I-I was afraid you'd kill Zaalbar while we dealt with Malak."

Zaalbar was so close to breaking—breaking uselessly and I had already lost so many. Bastila said I was mawkishly sentimental.

She reached for Zaalbar's arm, and a moment later, almost hesitantly, the Wookiee put it around her shoulders.

Canderous drained his glass. "Whatever that shabuir Malak did to Bastila, he made her as dini'la as he was. Even you showed more sense! What kind of strategy did he have, wasting forces once we'd landed in his factory? Even Darth Revan couldn't have lived through a simple depressurization. And Bastila…" he shook his head. "When you were reprogramming HK, she asked me what she could do to make me follow her instead of you? Dark side made her stupid—and crazy. She'd have stabbed you in the back, first chance she got."

Revan winced, even if the words were true. "That… monster tortured her—he broke her. I-I should have stopped him on the Leviathan— I could have, if—"

"You tried." Carth stood up and came over to her. His hand brushed her shoulder cautiously, and Zaalbar took his leave, heading for the pilot's chair Carth had just vacated. "You and Bastila both did your best. The Jedi… they put you in an impossible situation."

Revan closed her eyes. "My best. I destroyed the kolto on Manaan. I caused a civil war on Kashyyyk. I killed our friends. I betrayed everyone."

I betrayed your Republic. How can you take my side, Carth?

"You saved my people from the Czerka," Zaalbar growled, glancing back. "Even if there was no life debt already between us, I would have sworn one to you again for that."

"Czerka." She tried to laugh. "Great. At least we got rid of them, right?"

"It wasn't you," Carth said stubbornly. "The dark side took over. Like… like you were possessed. Bastila warned us it could happen to both of you... and it did. It wasn't you." He stared down at her, expression as obstinate as a hessi in a mud-pond. "It wasn't you."

Revan met his gaze. "You think it was the Force that did this?" She tried to keep her voice even, to curb the rising anger that threatened to swamp a more appropriate response. "You think cutting me off from the Force will cure me?"

Carth's jaw set. Revan saw his fingers twitch, his eyes dart toward the transparisteel viewport, and she knew that Carth wanted more than anything to just get up and go land the ship—and that he had no answers at all.

"I think this gives us time," he muttered finally, staring at her. "Time to figure it out." His mouth twitched like he was trying to smile. "Flying on the seat of our collective asses. Remember, beautiful?"

"That got us through Taris and Tatooine," Revan said. "Kashyyyk. Didn't work so well after that."

"Well, we're back on Kashyyyk." His voice gentled. "Let's… let's try."

"We're cleared for landing." The Wookiee interrupted, still tapping at the keys of the console. "As Mission would have said, they bought our story. Hook, line and tractor beam."

Revan nodded, not trusting her voice.

Carth put a cautious hand around her back. He smelled like spice and space oil, as comforting and familiar as Zaal. In the background, HK was translating Zaalbar's words for Canderous.

Carth's other hand tightened on her arm and Revan lifted her chin, meeting his eyes.

"You saved my son and Yuthura Ban on Korriban," her lover said quietly, his eyes scanning her face. "And all those other kids. You did that even after you knew the truth about being Revan. You found Griff—worthless wretch that he is. You brought water to the Sand People on Tatooine and reconciled Bastila with her mother. On Taris, you gave that doc that rakghoul serum. And on Manaan, you saved those Selkath kids from the Sith. On Dantooine, you brought peace between two warring families." Lightly his finger traced her eyebrow. "You're still the woman I fell in love with."

Revan closed her eyes. Her hand went to the collar on her neck. Around it, her skin pulsed in protest and the weight of it burned.

XXX

Zaalbar was a fair pilot, skilled enough to navigate Kashyyyk's atmosphere and land them on his homeworld.

As the Hawk tilted groundside, Carth took Revan back to their cabin, setting her down gently on the bed, as if she was made of ferracrystal.

The small bunk looked strangely mundane—just the way she'd left it. Datapads lay scattered on the desk, a few scraps of plastifix still attached to the wall where a portrait of a woman's imaginary family had once hung, a cracked lightsaber crystal lay on the nightstand. Carth's faded orange jacket was slung over the only chair.

Their doubled reflection mocked her from the polished mirror by the sink: Carth's handsome face taut with strain, her own yellowed eyes set in bruised shadows, her skin marked everywhere with the corruption of the Dark.

"Why do I still look like this?" she asked him. "I look like a Sith."

"We don't know. It's a little better than it was. Your hair's coming in again. Coming in red. I ever tell you—I like redheads?" Carth's hand tightened on hers, as he stared steadily ahead, eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "I don't care what you look like, Polla."

Not Polla—Revan. But she didn't correct him.

"With the Force gone, I'm blind. I can't sense anything." Her gut lurched as they banked into the landing.

Carth's smile was a shadow of his careless pilot's grin—but it was steady and brave. "Welcome to the land of us mortals. Most of us get by just fine without the use of the Force. The Force didn't stop Calo Nord, did it? We used plasma grenades for that. Plasma and adhesive, nothing better in a tough fight." He nudged her, lightly. "Remember? I taught you that, soldier."

Revan forced herself to match his laugh. Soldier. He hadn't called her that since she'd cut her way past him on their stampede through the Vulkar base. "I used thermal detonators on Malak. And without the verpine shields, I'd have been dead a dozen times over."

"There's my Poll—there's my Freckles." His lips brushed her hair, and his arms wrapped around, still staring at her in that mirror, a smile on his face now—sad, but real. "You did it, you know. You brought that kriffing bastard down."

That kriffing bastard. Revan frowned. "Malak, you mean. I killed Malak. My old apprentice. Who was trying to kill me."

"I-I know… it's okay." Carth hesitated. The expression on his face was painfully like it had been after Saul's death and Bastila's abduction, but even as she watched, his eyes locked with hers. "Did you… do you remember more about Malak?"

Nothing, except what he said, there at the end.

"He was—important. He was my apprentice when we became Sith. We were Jedi together before. War heroes. Friends. Maybe more than friends. That's what the story says, isn't it?"

He asked me to save him.

"Shhh," Carth's hand traced the back of her palm, running a finger down the web of dark lines that ran just beneath the skin. "We all have our pasts." His voice changed, just a little. Uncertainty in it now. "Were you… did you want to take him back?'"

Revan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her body was so tired now, tired and weak as a two-day-old gizka. "I don't know," she said honestly. She owed Carth Onasi that much. "I knew if he lived, he'd try and kill me again." Inevitable. "Leaving both him and Bastila both alive would have been like… harboring a nest of kinrath. Master and apprentice—they could have ended me if they worked together. And… I needed her more." To win.

Win what?

I don't know. I just needed her to win. To make it all new. To stop monsters, to stop from becoming a monster. Maybe all of this banthacrap just sounds better than the truth: I wasn't thinking at all. I just had to kill him.

"You go away from me when you talk like that." Carth pulled his hand away.

"I don't know myself." Like a bad dream. "I wonder if the old Revan ever did."

"What were your plans for the Sith?"

Revan opened her eyes again and looked at him. "I didn't have plans. I just had to stop Malak." She frowned. "Jolee was smart, I always thought. He always said the Force was a… tool. A means to an end more than it was about good or evil."

Always said that up until the end. In the end, he picked a side, and I killed him for it.

"But why?" Carth repeated. He scanned her face as if he was desperate to find something familiar in it. "You're still you. I don't understand. How could—you were fine before you went into that temple. But when you came out—"

No. I wasn't fine, even before the temple. I wasn't fine for a long time, Carth. Maybe never. How could I be fine, if I'm not even real?

"I don't know." I just had to kill Malak. Revan took a deep breath. "I hated Malak. I-I hated the Jedi. What they did to me wasn't redemption. It was murder."

The murder of a murderer. But when you're murdering a murderer to save the galaxy, aren't you doing the right thing? Her thought felt like a question she'd asked before, like a place she'd been.

You saw what Darth Revan did. All those kids on Korriban, the suffering on Taris. Manaan. Those fools in the Rakatan temple—you saw what she did!

What I did.

The Jedi did what was necessary to stop me—

They did it badly, a cold voice whispered in her mind. Incompetent fools. Children playing with permacrete—

"I know." Carth sounded like he was trying. "Something I learned with Saul. You don't always get the chance to forgive your enemies; sometimes you need to just walk away. Call it a draw. Go live your life." His eyes searched hers. "I'd like us to have that chance."

But you killed Saul. You got what you wanted. Are you talking about not getting to kill me? Are you humoring me before the next betrayal?

Her muscles tensed, but because he expected it, Revan smiled back at him. "You want us to go live a life?"

"Would that be so bad?" He seemed serious.

"No." It would be wonderful. It was also impossible. That didn't stop Revan from wishing otherwise. "Thanks for the chance."

The soft mouth of his twitched, like she'd made him nervous again. "I said I'd save you, didn't I?"

But I saved you. I'm the one who saved you. Bastila was going to kill you. "Thank you," Revan said out loud. "Thank you for saving me, Carth."

He put his hand back on hers, squeezing her fingers. His eyes were direct, brows leveled like suddenly her face was the only thing in his targeting reticule. "Least I could do." Carth took a breath and let it out slowly, tension easing from his shoulders. "We have another shot. Let's make the most of it. Cin vhetin, like Canderous said. From here on out it's a new day."

Cin vhetin. White snow, the voice in her head whispered. Everything before Clan no longer exists. A key phrase used in the Mando'ade adoption ceremony. Nhi solus tome. Nhi cin vhetin. Then, the response. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad

"Revan?" Carth cleared his throat. His hands tightened on hers. "Polla? You okay?"

Can't quite see you as a Mandalorian, my love. But because Carth expected it, Revan nodded back at his Derra-wheat eyes and squeezed his hands back. "Elek. Cin vhetin, cyare." Yes. A new page, beloved.

"Shah-ray," he echoed her last word softly. "Right back at you."

A/N 12/18 Much as I love them for sentimental reasons, I'm taking down the original author's notes for the chapters. I think they might distract. Except this one. I've finally got this beast in four Word documents, so will attempt to do some major grammatical, spelling, and word tightening edits….

Yes, also another chapter is in the works. More than one…

A/N December 2016

Star Wars canon is a series of retcons and shaggy dog tales-and so is this sprawling, epic fanfiction.

I always avoided any kind of introduction to Memory because I liked giving the first chapter the chance to speak for itself. You're not supposed to know what kind of fiction it is: who is the OTP, whether anyone will die, or even who is still alive. If you've read this far, I will admit what you may or probably (depending on your level of Kotor fanaticism) have already realized: this fiction is based on the cut and unreleased female dark side ending to the game... with the obvious alternate universe twist that everyone does not explode with the Star Forge.

What if Carth saves Revan? What happens next? And what about those fake memories of hers? What about her real past? The tale began that simply: with the desire to answer those questions. When I started writing this ages ago, I was influenced by the game and other fictions; but Kotor2 wasn't released, there was no Wookieepedia, and information on Mandalorian culture was almost non-existent. Over the years, that changed considerably, but I have been happily surprised by how much of the new canon fits. As long as you're okay with female Revan. And if you're not, this is not the fiction you are looking for.

Because Star Wars itself is a world of retcons and shaggy dog stories, as time passed, it was fairly easy to incorporate the canon I wanted, explain the canon I had never quite bought into, and come up with a narrative and characters that I, at least, have become rather fond of.

However, if you've read this far, I encourage you to keep going. And I'd love to hear what you think, or even just that you're reading. This fiction would not exist without the early and recent encouragement of ether-fanfic; and several other Kotor writers and fans, most of which can be found in my favorites list. Thanks, all of you: friends, Sith Lords, and Wookiees alike. It has been a long decade-and-some, but I'm happy I found you, each and every one.