#I finally drew Theron Shan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ainyan · 1 year

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Flirting

“You know, before we head off of Coruscant, maybe you should go see a doctor.” Ciprys ignored Risha for a moment, flicking switches and toggling buttons as she ran through the pre-flight check. The smuggler girl crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently while she waited for the Captain to finish.

Finally, Ciprys sighed and leaned back in the captain’s chair. “Alright. I’ll bite. Why do I need to see a doctor?”

The smuggler stared at her boss. “Because that spacer was absolutely delicious, and you didn’t even bother to laugh him off. Make plans for later. Tell me you’d meet me back here. I’ve never seen you turn down a willing man before - not like that, not without even so much as a flirt.”

The Chiss looked annoyed as she gazed at the galaxy map, studying the systems as if trying to decide where they were headed next. “So I wasn’t down for a tumble, so what? I don’t sleep with every man I see, you know.”

“Damn near,” Risha muttered, and held up her hand as Ciprys swung around in her chair, scarlet eyes hot. “I’m not insulting you, I’m worried. You haven’t been yourself since everything went down on Yavin. I know there’s some big bad shit out there…”

Snarling softly, Ciprys sprang from her chair, fingers caressing her blaster as she paced across the cockpit. “Do you? Do you even understand what happened? The Sith Emperor is out there somewhere, trying to come back. And while I’m not inclined to take anything a Sith says at face value, Darth Marr’s running scared of his old boss, and that’s got me scared. The head of the Dark Council isn’t exactly a coward.”

Risha took a deep breath as her captain stalked in ragged circles. “I get that, but things weren’t exactly cloud nine before, and that didn’t stop you from taking your fun as you found it. I’m just saying, Cip,” she added cajolingly, “I’m worried for you. About you. You’re damn near the only family I got in this galaxy; I don’t wanna see anything happen to you.”

The fight drained from the Chiss, her eyes closing as she drew her hand from her blaster, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Damn it, Risha. I’m fine,” she sighed, lowering her hand and opening her eyes to gaze at the other smuggler. “I just - between this whole Revan and Emperor thing, and everything else on our plate, I’ve had little interest in bedsports.”

Risha shook her head. “And of course, it has nothing to do with what else happened on Yavin, right?”

Immediately, the shutters dropped, Ciprys’s expression closing to wooden blankness. “Nothing else of import happened on Yavin,” she replied blandly. “Still no word from Command on that next shipment we’re supposed to be taking for them; I’m going to my quarters. Message me when we get our manifest.”

Risha watched Ciprys go, sighing, and studied the galaxy map, wondering where their next adventure would lead them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door slid shut behind Ciprys and she engaged the locks, rubbing her forehead as she sighed. “Damn it, Risha,” she muttered as she shrugged out of her jacket, tossing the leather coat carelessly on her bed. She began to unbuckle her holster, then paused, eyes narrowing. “Oh for the love of - how the hell did you get onto my ship?”

“Will you really insult me by asking that?” Stretched out in her desk chair, Theron Shan raised one eyebrow at the Chiss. “I mean, you’ve got great security, but we’re talking me here. C’mon Ciprys,” he added in a wheedling tone, “don’t tell me you’re not happy to see me.”

She didn’t want to be. The spy who sat before her with that charming smile and those sly hazel eyes was a complication she neither needed nor wanted in her life. Risha might make light of her habits, but her lightskirt reputation had been quite calculated. “Yeah, sure, Shan, I’m always happy to see a handsome face.” Her smile was coy as she swept past him, ruffling a hand over his hair. “Just stop by for a reprise of our farewells on Yavin? I might have time to oblige.”

He reached up to snag her wrist, holding her fast, and felt her tension immediately ratchet up. “I didn’t say that,” he replied mildly, watching her as she stared at the far wall. “I saw you were on planet and thought we could talk.”

“I already told you once,” she replied shortly, “I’m not interested in being an SIS mole. I have a lot of good, valuable clients that might be put off by the idea. If you want to tangle up my sheets, Shan, let’s go. Otherwise, I’ve got stuff to do before the manifest comes in.”

He didn’t release her wrist, even though she tugged experimentally, testing his grip. “Almost perfect. I’d have bought it on Rishi - I did buy it on Rishi,” he corrected, feeling her stiffen. “But you slipped up on Yavin. You almost had me completely fooled.”

When she yanked her wrist again, he let her go and she jerked backwards, rubbing at her hand. “What you see is what you get, Shan. I’m about as deep as Corso.”

The spy steepled his fingers before him as he met her bland scarlet gaze. “Having looked into your white knight, I’m pretty sure that’s far more insulting to you than to him,” he replied, and she bit back a bark of laughter. “You are definitely more than you appear,” he added, more soberly, and her mirth fled. “I get why you pretend otherwise - but you can’t fool me again, Ciprys. No backwater bumpkin is going to manipulate the head of the Dark Council with such precision.”

She turned away from him, still rubbing her wrist. “Everyone has moments, Shan,” she muttered. “Mine are few and far between. I’m exactly as I appear. A hotshot smuggler from beyond the Outer Rim whose big goal is to get rich and retire young, preferably with a bevy of pretty young men. And if you’re looking to be one of those,” she shot over her shoulder, “alienating me ain’t gonna get you there.”

“Bullshit,” he countered pleasantly, and her eyes went hot. “I’ve seen your accounts - all of them,” he added before she could retort. “I know your contacts. You could retire today and never lift another finger for the rest of your life and never want for anything - even with the funds you sink into some schools out in the Outer Rim.” She could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

Ciprys grunted. “Kids gotta learn, and they don’t always have options out in the back of beyond. What does the SIS care what I do with my money?” He noticed, curiously, that she didn’t seem particularly upset by the intrusion into her privacy - or even surprised.

Theron closed his eyes, sighing. “For the SIS, they care because you’re Chiss,” he replied flatly. “Any Chiss in Republic space is suspect - don’t tell me you didn’t know that. For me, I just want to know you better.”

She made a disgruntled noise. “Look, Shan,” she snapped, whirling around and stabbing a finger towards his chest, “you and me, we’re from different galaxies, but we got a few things in common. One of those things is that we’re both players, not stayers. We had fun - and it was some great fun - but that’s all it was.”

His hazel eyes held a glint that she found disconcerting. “Then it shouldn’t be any problem for you to join me for a caf while you wait on your manifest,” he replied with a slow smile. “Just between friends. Nothing to worry about.”

“Theron Shan, I am absolutely certain that that phrase and you shouldn’t be within shouting distance of each other,” came the captain’s exasperated retort. His grin only increased her irritation - and her wariness. “Seriously? You want to have a cup of caf? You don’t have to seduce me, spyboy. You already did that,” she added dryly.

Theron watched her with infuriating patience. “Caf and conversation. That’s all I want.”

Ciprys was at a loss. She was no stranger to clingy males; the cost of playing around meant that occasionally one ran across a man who didn’t understand the concept of a one-night stand. But she knew she hadn’t misread the spy - he was as likely as she to have ‘one in every port’ as the old saw went.

So why the hell was he so insistent on dragging this out? Some SIS operation? Concern from up top about the carte blanche they’d given her after Yavin?

No, too heavy handed.

Did he really just want caf? “Fine,” she finally replied shortly, eyes narrowing at the triumphant glint in his gaze. “Some caf, some conversation. We can just nip into the kitchen…”

“Nope. Know a nice little place in the Galactic Market sector. Quiet, out of the way, most of the clientele are people like you and me.”

She blinked. “You want to go out?” she asked flatly, then, “and there is no you and me. There is no one like you and me, because you and me are antithetical to each other.”

Theron’s lips quirked. “Do you even know what it sounds like when you say words like ‘antithetical’ in that country bumpkin’s voice? Is it just me that breaks your cover, or does it crack every time you get frustrated?” Before she could reply, he shook his head. “No, I’ve seen you stay perfect under pressure. I’m flattered.”

The heat in her eyes would have seared a lesser man to cinders. “You’re about to be flattened,” she growled, and when he grinned, she snapped her teeth at him. “By the Flame, Theron Shan, what the hell is your malfunction? I know I’m good, but I’m not that damn good.” She paused. “Well, okay, I am that damn good.” She caught sight of the laughter in his eyes. “Disagree?”

Theron spread his hands. “How about that caf?” he deflected, levering himself up from the chair and coming to his feet. “Ciprys,” he added softly as she hesitated, “I really just want to talk. No grand conspiracies here. No convoluted plans. I’m not trying to recruit you, and I know you’re loyal to us. I just want to talk to you - as friends.”

Friends. What a strange concept. Ciprys sighed, rubbing her neck. “Fine,” she muttered. “Fine, you win, Shan. Let’s go get some caf.” She snagged her jacket from the bed. “Dunno what you expect me to tell you that you don’t already know.”

“Well,” he replied as he followed her out of her cabin, past the gaping Risha and spluttering Corso, “for one thing, what’s the story behind the akk dog?”

Ciprys glanced towards where the spiky crimson creature lay beneath the table, watching her with huge dark eyes. “What, Mongo? Some idiot Houk was teasing him as a puppy. Put a stop to it and he wouldn’t stop following me. I’ll be back,” she told Risha, biting back a grin at the smuggler’s dumbfounded expression. “Patch that manifest through as soon as you get it.”

Brown eyes blinked rapidly. “I - uh - yes… yes, captain,” she sputtered. “Captain, I…”

Ciprys lifted a hand, waving at her crew as the door cycled open and she led Theron from the freighter.

As the door slid shut behind her, Risha turned to stare at Corso and Akavi, who had come out at the commotion and was peering curiously after her boss. “Who the hell was that? What the hell was that?”

The Zabraki Mandalorian rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “That was Shan,” she pointed out. “The one she worked with on Rishi and Yavin. I did not know he was on board.”

“Neither did I,” Corso and Risha replied together, exchanging a bewildered glance. The Mantellian sighed and scrubbed at his jaw. “Knew she could smuggle damn near anything,” he muttered, then turned and walked away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was not, thankfully, the cantina where Ciprys had met Darmus Pollus at. Even now, a year later, the smuggler still felt the sting of embarrassment whenever she considered the traitor and how easily he’d played her.

No, Theron had chosen an actual caf shop, small and out of the way, occupied by men and women whose professions made them more frequent visitors to Coruscant rather than actual citizens. Some of them were legitimate. Some, Ciprys recognized from past business dealings.

I’ll be damned. There is a place for people like him and me. The captain didn’t know whether to be amused or disconcerted. The spy took a table along the wall, tugging out a chair for her before sliding into the one across. She slipped into the seat, stretching her legs out and leaning back as he spoke to the server. At his glance, she nodded, and he ordered for both of them, then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table as they were left alone. “Still think we’re antithetical?”

She gave him a cool red stare. “You’re a lawman,” she pointed out, and at his look of distaste, laughed. “Spyboy, agent, whatever you call it, you work for the government, and you find bad guys and deal with ‘em. Me? I’m one of those bad guys, Shan. Shouldn’t you be trying to lock me away?”

He spread his hands. “Wouldn’t do any good. Immune to prosecution, remember? Anywhere you could get into trouble, I’d have no jurisdiction. Anyway,” he added thoughtfully, gaze tracking up towards the ceiling, “you’re not really bad. Not like the kind of people I deal with. You’re a Republic loyalist.”

Ciprys frowned, tracing her fingertip over the table as she gazed at its smudged surface. “I’m not sure how I feel about not being bad,” she muttered. “Protestations aside,” and his grin echoed hers, light and mocking, “I’m not exactly an upstanding citizen and I like it that way.”

“Don’t worry,” Theron soothed, “you’ll always be my favorite criminal.” At her hot-eyed glare, he grinned unrepentantly, then straightened as the server returned with their orders. Closing his fingers around his mug, he canted his head to one side. “So, you rescued an akk dog from a Houk and named it Mongo. Any other pets?”

She lifted her mug, inhaling the rich scent of caf as she studied him, considering her answers. “Quite a few, actually, although Mongo’s my only big one, and the only one that’s really permanent.” She shrugged, and he was amused to see a faint flush turn her turquoise skin purple. “I, uh… rehabilitate small animals I… rescue… from abusive owners. Once they’re better, I send ‘em on to people who can get ‘em back where they belong.”

“Schools in the Outer Rim. Animal rehabilitation. Not exactly the hobbies of a master criminal,” the spy pointed out gently, and bit back his grin at her glare. “You know, I’ve heard you laugh. I’ve seen you smile. I know you have a wicked sense of humor - what is it about me that brings out so much anger?”

The question gave her pause, and she frowned, lifting her mug to sip as she bit back her instinctive retort and instead considered the question carefully. “I’m not angry,” she finally replied. “I’m… confused. I just can’t pin you down, Shan. You’re a Republic spy, son of some famous Jedi, some big shot now in the SIS. You probably had the best schools, lived the best life. Couldn’t follow in mom’s footsteps, but you made somethin’ of yourself. Why you slummin’ it with some alien from beyond the back of beyond with no past, no future, nothin’ to her but a ship and a rap sheet a kilometer long?”

His face closed up at the mention of his mother. “My childhood wasn’t what you’d expect,” he finally replied, his voice dropping low, below the general level of conversation. Leaning forward, he cupped his hands around his mug. “Let’s just say, it wasn’t typical, and it wasn’t grand. But I learned a lot, about myself and the galaxy and the people who live here, and that’s why I became a spy.” He tapped his fingers along the curving walls of the mug, then shrugged. “And I don’t see this as slumming it. I know nothing about your past - whatever you were before you appeared in Republic space eight years ago, you hid it damn well,” and he didn’t miss the flash of relief in her eyes, “but what you’ve been since then? You’re not a common criminal, Ciprys, and you’re not just ‘some alien from beyond’, either. You’ve done things other smugglers only dream of, and you barely broke a sweat.”

“Yeah, well, I am pretty great, but still.” She smirked at him, a brief flash before she sobered once more. “I dunno what game you’re playin’, Shan, but I gotta warn you - I seem the affable type, and I’m pretty easy goin’ most of the time - but you cross me,” and her eyes hardened, her expression sending a chill down Theron’s spine, “you’ll find I don’t shake easy. You wanna be friends? I ain’t gonna say no.” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Wouldn’t say no even if you were another nobody like me,” she finally admitted. “The connections don’t hurt, but…”

“But?” he asked, when she trailed off into silence.

She sighed again. “Sometimes I’m just a bit too contrary even for myself. I have a feelin’ I’d enjoy your company, if I’d stop bein’ a bitch about it.” She looked up into his smug grin and wrinkled her nose. “Still don’t get what you’re after. But I guess someone like me shouldn’t look a gift friend in the mouth.”

Theron traced the rim of his mug. “‘Someone like you’? You mean, a highly skilled pilot with copious contacts among both the elite of the underworld and the higher echelons of the Republic - and even some Imperial connections, with carte blanche to act in Republic space.” His hazel eyes rose to meet hers and she stilled, caught by the expression on his face. “‘Someone like you’? A beautiful woman, a passionate lover, exciting in bed and out? Yeah, I can’t imagine why I’d want to spend time with you, Ciprys. Can’t imagine it at all.”

She leaned back in her chair, a deliberately distancing move, and smirked. “Well, when you put it that way, I can’t blame you for stalkin’ me. I am pretty awesome in all regards.”

The spy leaned back as well, stretching long legs before him as he tapped lightly against the handle of his mug. “You jest, but I can’t disagree. You don’t like compliments, do you?”

Ciprys pursed her lips. “I don’t trust a compliment that doesn’t come with a string attached,” she corrected finally, shrugging. “I’m used to everyone wanting something from me. Just because I can’t see your angle yet doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re after something as well.”

The irritation that flashed across his face surprised her. So did the flash of shame she felt. “Are you sure of that?” he asked, his tone measured, and she felt the weight of a crossroads upon her shoulders.

Meeting his dark eyes, she was silent for a moment, then lowered her own gaze, her shoulders rounding. “It would make it easier if I was,” she muttered, and felt the tension between them lessen. “Then I’d understand a bit more what’s going on.”

He sighed. “Does it help if I tell you I’m just as confused as you?” When she glanced up, shocked, he gave her a twisted smile. “Right now, I’m cruising on instinct. I want to know you better, so that’s what I’m doing. I can’t tell you why, though.”

She let out a puff of breath. “Same goes,” she admitted, shrugging. “I… might have been thinking about you lately. A little bit,” she added, sneering at his grin. “Now and then, when I’m especially bored.”

Theron tapped his empty mug. “Then let’s just take it as it goes, Ciprys. See where it goes. Neither of us has ever been big on planning. Why start now?”

Huffing out another breath, Ciprys finally shrugged. “Fair enough.” She smirked at him. “If nothing else, history says it should be an exciting ride.”

Hazel eyes glinted as he stood, holding out a hand to her. “Oh, I can guarantee that,” he murmured, and she grinned as she slid her fingers into his, letting him help her to her feet. “In fact,” he added, tugging her forward until her toes brushed his, “we could head back to your ship…”

Her communicator sounded, and he cut off as she reached into her pocket with the hand not held in his, pulling it out and toggling it on. “Talk to me, Risha,” the captain replied, her eyes not on the holo of her friend, but on Theron’s eyes.

“Hey Captain, manifest just came in. We’re all loaded up and ready to go when you are. Is that a problem?”

Ciprys realized she was scowling and carefully smoothed her expression. “No, of course not. I’ll be back shortly; have the engines warmed up and prep the hyperdrive. We’ll take off as soon as I’m on board.” When Risha acknowledged her orders, she toggled the com off, pocketing it. “Theron, I -”

“Have a job to do.” His thumb slid over her knuckles, then he dropped her hand, shoving his own in his pockets. “I get it, believe me. There’ll be other times, other places. I can promise that.”

Ciprys hesitated, then went up on tiptoe to press a light kiss to his lips. She felt him stiffen against her for a split second before he leaned in, returning it. “I’ll hold you to it, spyboy.”

“Fly safe, flygirl,” the spy murmured, and clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching up to trace the smile that curved her lips. “See you around, Ciprys.”

“See ya, Shan.”

He watched her walk off, hands still shoved into his pockets. He still had no idea what the hell was going on - but he had a feeling he would enjoy finding out. Exhaling, he tossed the credits for their caf on the table and strode out after her.

She wasn’t the only one with a job to do.

#swtor #swtor fanfics #cip'rys #theron shan #f!smuggler x theron shan #risha drayen #corso riggs

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sullustangin · 1 year

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Fluffy February Day 22: Remember

Fandom: SWTOR

Time: between Chapters 15 and 16 of KotFE (3631/22 ATC)

Pairing: Theron Shan/Smuggler

Words: ~1030

For Eva, it was just another day. It wasn’t weird at all.

Theron had successfully extracted himself from her bed before dawn, but he did leave her a cup of caf on her bedside table. That was a little disappointing, but not entirely out of character yet; if he had the urge to work at some ungodly hour, he tried to go without waking her.

Eva flipped through her messages on her commlink in the galley as she scrounged up some leftover pastries from when Bowie was over and baking this past weekend.

It was when she almost deleted a message labeled “Ceremony of Remembrance” that suddenly, it got weird for Eva.

She read through the message twice.

Oh yeah.

She’d been iced for five years.

Everyone else that had engaged the Eternal Fleet that one night – a lot of them were dead. Their deaths had driven many people here, to Odessen, to serve one of the few survivors. Eva Corolastor, alias the Voidhound.

It wasn’t a shock that the Alliance was having a commemorative ceremony. And it wasn’t even a surprise that it hadn’t been mentioned to Eva: what could she do that wouldn’t be seen as manipulative or capitalizing upon the dead?

No, it was best if Eva wasn’t seen at the center of it all today, out of respect. Don’t rub her survival in the face of those still grieving – those who always would grieve for a life, a lifestyle, a life partner.

What was weird… what threw her off – was how close this was to Theron’s birthday.

That had been the last time she’d seen him. Then came Eternal Fleet.

Then she’d woken up, five years, two months and some change later.

They’d just celebrated his 35th birthday about three weeks ago, their first together and safe.

So his 29th birthday – the one where her romantic overture went flat … and then she was gone, for what he thought was forever.

That…actually went a long way in explaining how he was, now.

Eva got dressed for the day and headed out of the ship, across the catwalk to the military hangar, and then tried to blend in with the walls as she made her way to the war room.

Some of the enlisted noticed and saluted. Others just bowed their heads until she gave them the nod.

…they seemed to understand why she wasn’t demanding the attention that a leader of a splinter cell faction normally did.

The war room was empty today. Except for one man.

Everyone else was going to be upstairs at that ceremony – Theron had organized it, put it on the schedule, but… it seemed like Lana would be the one running the show. Theron, as ever, worked in the shadows, far from the sun or any touch of light this day had.

Eva took the time to watch him for long minutes. She’d loved watching Theron work, seeing his brain orchestrate everything, modeling efficiency…but adding those human scowls and smirks and raised eyebrows.

“You’re not going?” she finally asked, and he smoothly turned to look at her. It was as if he knew she’d find him here, inevitably.

“No,” he answered, voice quiet but echoing in the emptiness of the war room. “Attended five of them…that’s enough for me.”

“Do you think I should go?”

“I think you should be seen in a back row,” he advised her, turning back to his work. “But you already know…what you shouldn’t do.”

Eva tilted her head. “Sense of duty. Sense of obligation to the people who follow me.” Then she came closer to Theron. “Why aren’t you going?”

Same question, different phrasing, another response. “Someone has to keep watch. In case Arcann decides to use a day of mourning as a day to make a point.” His eyes darted to look at her, briefly. “Usually there was some sort of… repercussion for public ceremonies. We did them anyway.”

Eva drew closer to Theron yet, resting her hand on his work console and standing well within his personal space. “We got droids we can trust – T7, C2, 2V – forget SCORPIO and her kids or whatever. And you know C2 can throw down, even as a Hollis.” Then one more time: “Why aren’t you going?”

Theron gave a small sigh. He didn’t look up from his work right away. “The stubborn wasn’t tempered a bit in there.”

“Nope.”

Theron bowed his head slightly, the harsh light of the screen spilling over his features. He let his hands drift away from the controls and braced himself on the frame. “They… found the remains of Havoc Squad’s commander, Damasa Quo… a few weeks before the second Eternal Fleet Remembrance Day. So her funeral was a part of those public acts of defiance.” Then Theron look over at Eva, and his expression was devastatingly sad. “Today, I’d have to stand next to men like Aric Jorgan, who didn’t get their girl back.”

…

Of course, there was the flipside to Eva’s dilemma.

She came back, unlike everyone who died –

And Theron put voice to the rest of her thoughts. “I have to stand there as the one man whose life came back together again after the Eternal Fleet shattered it. I might have had a rough five years, but I can make the argument I got a hell of a promotion and my personal life got a big upgrade,” he finished, voice a little rough at the end. “And unlike everyone else up there, I get one more hour, one more day with you – more than they’ll ever have again.”

Her arms ached for him, and Eva had crossed the last little space between them before she could worry over being found out.

Given the ferocity of his embrace, Theron didn’t care right now either.

Right now, all that mattered was Theron and breaking every rule about public affection in the war room.

“…spend the day with me. Upstairs.”

There was a weighty pause.

Then he relented.

Theron and Eva sat in the back row, hands clasped tightly where no one could see them. They sat through the whole commemoration, unnoticed, as they should have been.

@fluffyfebruary @ayresis @starlightcleric @ermingarden @bluephoenix1347

#fluffy february #swtor #theron shan #theron shan x smuggler #oc: eva corolastor

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eve-the-egg-lover · 6 years

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I have no recollection of drawing this. But you know what? Rya and Theron are adorbs And a Theron who's all smitten and covered with lipstick left over from kisses is even more adorable

#Theron shan #rya verel #I really do not know when I drew this #but it is so cuuuuttteee #lol I'm finally getting dragon age and my inquisitor is gunna be their daughter #because I love Vera shan #and her super serious spy brother caeden

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escaping-thoughts-reviews · 3 years

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This is why you fail

First thing first: CALLED IT!!! Even Yoda isn’t safe.

Right out the gate, Disney’s story group demonstrates their lack of knowledge of the lore and history of the Star Wars universe.

The lack of attachments didn’t start with Yoda, it was well in place during Revan’s time period.

“The Jedi would not speak out against his marriage to Bastila. Officially, both would still be recognized as Jedi in good standing, with all corresponding rights and privileges. In exchange, Revan promised not to spread his heresy to other members of the Order.” - 3954 BBY [Revan, Drew Karyshyn]

The fact that the story group decided to make Yoda the sole responsible for the fall of the Order, and not thousands of years of evolution and detachment from the ways of the Force and their ever growing involvement with the Galactic Senate, is a statement of the group’s incapability to do basic research and their intent to destroy all that came before Disney. You know, before the dark times.

“Theron—you have to believe that I had no idea. When Satele broke off our relationship, I thought it was because of the Jedi Order’s ban against emotional attachments. I didn’t realize she was pregnant.” - Jace Malcom, talking about his relationship with Satele Shan, 3650 BBY [Annihilation, Drew Karpyshyn]

or:

“The Jedi still officially condemned the emotional attachments of marriage and children. If people found out Satele had a son, they’d think she was a hypocrite.” - Theron Shan, 3650 BBY [Annihilation, Drew Karpyshyn]

and to round up the whole family:

“The Jedi restriction against family attachments made more sense to her now than ever. She couldn’t even fathom how much harder it would have been to remain calm and focused if she had raised Theron herself.” - Satele Shan, 3650 BBY [Annihilation, Drew Karpyshyn]

They try to pass the High Republic, that takes place only 200 years before the Phantom Menace, for this glorious golden age when someone who actually researched the time period would know the Order started declining before that. Their fall started on Ruusan, when Bane survived (1000 BBY), and Yoda aknowledges it in the Revenge of the Sith novelization approved by George Lucas (so as canon as the Clone Wars):

“Finally, he saw the truth. This truth: that he, the avatar of light, Supreme Master of the Jedi Order, the fiercest, most implacable, most devastatingly powerful foe the darkness had ever known … just— didn’t— have it. He’d never had it. He had lost before he started. He had lost before he was born. The Sith had changed. The Sith had grown, had adapted, had invested a thousand years’ intensive study into every aspect of not only the Force but Jedi lore itself, in preparation for exactly this day. The Sith had remade themselves. They had become new. While the Jedi— The Jedi had spent that same millennium training to re-fight the last war.” - [Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover]

And again, while he blames himself for the fall of the Order, he’s not the reason it fell:

“Too old I was,” Yoda said. “Too rigid. Too arrogant to see that the old way is not the only way. These Jedi, I trained to become the Jedi who had trained me, long centuries ago—but those ancient Jedi, of a different time they were. Changed, has the galaxy. Changed, the Order did not—because let it change, I did not.” - [Revenge of the Sith, Matthew Stover]

The reason Yoda taught how he did wasn’t because he’s a douche, like the story group wants to paint him, but because he thought he was doing the right thing. Following what his teachers taught him. The story group doesn’t realise that the Order and Republic were already rotting. Their High Republic is nothing but a decaying corpse bathed in perfume.

Their claim that the Jedi were apolitical is also false. For 400 years before the Battle of Ruusan, Jedi Masters were elected as Chancellors of the Galactic Republic.

“It was these traits, along with his exemplary record of public service, that had led to Valorum being appointed the first non-Jedi Chancellor in over four centuries.” - [Darth Bane: Rule of Two, Drew Karpyshyn]

As for their “encouraging individuality”, it wasn’t prohibited in the Prequels either, quite the opposite. While the Jedi were expected to follow the Code, they could also nuture individual abilities/hobbies. For example, Mace Windu was an expert of Rodian Theatre and in his early years as a knight would perform for other members of the Order. While others performed dances (with lightsabers of course) and Anakin was allowed to build and tinker with his projects.

Also their dumb plot of “only now the Republic is exploring the Outer Rim” is completely obtuse. You are telling me, in 24 thousand years of Republic history no one explored the galaxy? It doesn’t make any sense. Especially when we take into consideration all that we know from the Canon 6 movies, Clone Wars, Rebels (that falls under Disney’s SW), ect...

In those movies and shows we see planets in the Outer Rim, even Wild Space, where ancient buildings and temples exist. Temples the Jedi had known about for thousands of years. And apart for that, take Tatooine, where the Hutts have ruled for millennia (3641 BBY).

Putting it simply, the story group doesn’t know or care about staying true to Star Wars and its lore. All they care about is destroying what came before to make “their Star Wars”. Too bad nobody wants their crap.

#the high republic #star wars #yoda #rants #escaping thoughts

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voidendron · 4 years

Photo

He was hurting, and so many horrible things had to have happened to him over the years he was gone, but she offered to him her strength. Offered someone for him to finally lean on—who he would lean on—someone to take the weight away. Even if just for a little while.

I, uh. drew Varrich being reunited with his sister as a sequel to Lose Count and Meteor (she didn’t yet exist when I wrote those, but then I decided to make him a sibling :P). and wrote a fic for it. oops.

fic under the cut

1: bruises are hard to draw - especially if they pass over a tattoo. even with tutorials it was a lot of trial-and-error :’) 2: I tried playing with having two light sources (not counting the glows on Varrich’s cybernetics). fun challenge, and I’m pretty happy with how the shading turned out!

--Do not copy, edit, or repost my works. Reblogs are appreciated!--

Safe

Words: 1′173 Warnings: None (ask to tag) Characters: Melina Tophrik (OC), Varrich Tophrik (OC) -Ar’eonis’terrinxx (OC), Theron Shan, & Aric Jorgan (brief appearances) POV: Melina Tophrik

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A slow breath. Eyes closed. She could sense the others in the room around. Those were of dark, and light, and that which rested somewhere between. Sith, and Jedi, and Voss.

She wasn’t sure if she could ever get used to it. Not fully. Not to clashing lightsabers with a Sith not in battle, but to train; not in walking past men in full Imperial uniform without having weapons drawn on her; not in hearing the Barsen’thor and a former Dark Councillor speak like old friends about ancient cultures and temples and artifacts; not with the Empire’s former Wrath (second former? hadn’t there been one before her?) chatting with Master Timmns like they’d known one another for a long time. And most certainly not with following the orders of a bounty hunter of all people. It was…strange.

Not that Melina would complain, of course. All the different people the Alliance drew in—the smugglers, the Force-sensitives, the troopers, the brilliant minds of science, everything and everyone between and beyond—was really something to behold. It wasn’t much, not at first, but it seemed to grow with every passing day. The Commander was a little rough around the edges, but the Jedi didn’t blame her, really. She had plenty of reason to be, after all—and that was without the whole bounty hunter and Mandalorian thing she had going on.

Another breath. In, out. Slow.

Clear mind. No distractions—

Her eyes snapped open with a gasp. She sensed—

“Master Melina—”

“I’ll be back,” she assured Sana-Rae. “Just…” Melina was on her feet before she could even find her next words. “I need to check on something.”

The Commander had gone back to Zakuul with Theron. Base had gotten word that they were returning a while ago. They weren’t alone. No, there was…someone else, with them. A familiar someone else. Surely her senses were messing with her. She’d given up hope a long time ago that he’d be found. She knew he wasn’t dead—she would have sensed it!—but…

The shuttle was expertly piloted into the military hangar and a group of troops consisting about half-and-half of Republic and Imperial uniforms moved out of its way.

When the door opened, the first to hop out was the Commander. There were still ashes in her hair and smeared across her face to make those bright red eyes all the more eerie. The ashes were probably from her own weapon, knowing her, and there were new blaster marks scored into the paint on her armor. She smelled of smoke and singed hair, too, and ignored those around her to instead cut straight for Lana; the Sith had been waiting near Admiral Aygo. They spoke too quietly for her to pick up on anything.

Theron followed shortly thereafter. “Someone find Yuun,” he ordered the group of troopers. “Have him bring a—” his eyes landed on Melina and he waved her down. “Uh, never mind—looks like we’ve got a healer here! Just get Yuun.” A woman in a Republic uniform trotted off while the Jedi approached. Theron turned away to lean back into the shuttle, spoke to whoever else was still onboard, “You got him? You sure? Yeah, yeah, okay,” before turning to join Lana and the Commander.

Feet carrying her closer to the shuttle, Melina’s brows raised in surprise at the sight of Aric Jorgan. She hadn’t seen him since…

…Since her brother’s funeral. That funeral without a body, and one of the only times in her adult life that Melina could remember ever crying.

Her brother, who she’d grown up with long before she was a Jedi and he was of Havoc. Her brother—her twin—who she wouldn’t let the Jedi Code keep her from loving dearly.

Her brother, whose arm was draped over the Cathar’s shoulder.

Her brother, who looked like he’d been starved and beaten and had dingy metal cybernetics in his face and completely replacing one arm and looked absolutely exhausted and defeated.

“…Vee?” Her own voice startled her.

He only had one eye, now. The other was a cheap, ugly replacement that looked like it would crack if it was so much as touched wrong. Still, when that one good eye met hers, a little bit of color seemed to spark back into it as his breath hitched. He’d have stumbled if not for Jorgan’s sturdy frame holding him steady.

He mouthed her name, silently. Swallowed.

Nothing had to be said for Jorgan to transfer Varrich to the Jedi’s care. He was hesitating, but to Melina’s reassuring nod, he turned away to join the Commander.

Her hands reached up to cup Varrich’s face, thumbing gingerly at dark bruises and familiar tattoos. Brushing the hair out of his eyes.

His knuckled went pale as he curled a fist into the loose fabric of her robes. “Lina..?” Hesitant, soft, like he was afraid saying her name would make her disappear. When he said it again, his voice cracked. Moisture welled up in his eye, but he rapidly blinked it away.

“Shh… I’m right here.”

She knew Varrich. She knew him better than anyone. He tried to be strong—for the people he saved, for his superiors, for his team. He’d never cry. Not when he knew they needed him to keep his head high and emotions in check. He would forever be the pillar for others to lean on and he’d die before he’d ever force someone else to take the weight from his shoulders.

But when it came to Melina? She could feel the tension melt from his back and shoulders as she wrapped her arms around him, as she tucked his head under her chin and hummed softly. Hummed an old lullaby. One their parents used to sing when the twins were little to take their minds off the horrible things on their planet for a few moments. To help them sleep, to soothe them when they cried or became frightened.

She ran her fingers through his hair. It was too long and too messy, hanging in his face even as she brushed it away again instead of the neat cut and ponytail he always used to wear it in. She could feel his ribs under his loose-fitting top, the jagged cybernetics in his spine, his tears on her neck and the way his body shook when he finally let himself cry.

She could only close her eyes and hum, hold him close, tell him he was safe. Now wasn’t the time to prod about what had happened. Now was the time to be the pillar he so badly needed but wouldn’t let himself look for.

She never thought seeing him again would break her heart.

#swtor #swtor ocs #republic trooper #mirialan #fanfic #fanart #jedi oc #lina's a consular in-game #but not my /main/ consular #so she doesn't go by that storyline for writing #voids ocs #tales from the void #void attempts art #oc: varrich tophrik #oc: lina tophrik

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nightprince · 4 years

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OCtober Day 2: Mercy

Day 2 of @oc-growth-and-development OCtober.

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“What is the meaning of this!” Varilia hissed.

The poor guard stood his ground, yet Varilia could still feel the fear radiating off of him. “Direct orders from Minister Lorman, until further notice no one leaves.”

Varilia snarled again and reached out with the Force, allowing her Dark Side energies to bear down upon the unfortunate guards. Behind her, Varilia could sense her Honor Guard shift behind her, ready to act if need be. “I am the Empire’s Wrath and answerable only to the Empress! You will stand aside.”

The guards were either very foolish or very brave, to remain steadfast in the face of her rage. “We have our orders. There are no exceptions, even for you, Lord Wrath.”

Varilia called on more of the Dark Side power, bearing it all down on the guards, her hands inching towards the lightsabers on her belt. Her patience was fast wearing thin, it had already been hours since both the Commander of the Alliance and Empress Acina had left to discuss a possible alliance. On top of that, it’s been a couple of hours since they lost contact with the Empress’ Shuttle and Minister Lorman declared that they were both dead. Varilia refused to believe him, she would have felt their deaths through the Force. She was sure there was some type of deception going on, and she would show those responsible just how unmerciful she could be.

“Lord Wrath,” Koliliara, the captain of her Honor Guard, spoke up. “The other representatives from the Alliance are requesting to speak to you.”

Varilia growled at the guards one last time before turning on her heel and stormed away. She let her anger radiate around her, the poor fools unlucky enough to cross her path stumbling away to avoid her and her Honor Guard. She breezed past the guards stationed at the entrance to where the other members of the Alliance were staying.

“Finally,” Theron Shan said from where he was leaning against the wall. “Been trying to get someone to update us about the Commander’s whereabouts.”

Varilia nearly snarled again, she had no patience for these games. “Do not play games with me, Theron. I know you’ve already hacked your way into our systems.”

“You take out all of the fun,” the spy muttered more to himself. “Still, the only thing I was able to find out was that both Acina and the Commander were declared dead.”

“Which is ridiculous,” Lana spoke up from the other side of the room, not even removing her gaze from the terminal she was working out. “I would have felt their deaths.”

Varilia merely nodded her agreement, not at all surprised the other Sith woman felt the same way. Clearly all of this had been planned, but by who? Her first thought was that the Alliance was responsible. Yet why would they also put their own commander in harm's way as well. Varilia preferred the straight forward approach, always hated the shadowy machinations of other Sith. She’d much rather look someone in their eyes when she killed them, instead of stabbing them in the back.

There was a shift in the Force, and Varilia sensed - rather than saw - her Honor Guard spread out in front of the entrance to the room.The doors hissed open and a full complement of Imperial soldiers entered, their weapons raised and at the ready. “By order of Minister Lorman,” the head guard spoke, “Theron Shan and Lana Beniko, as well as any one with them, are under arrest for the assassination of Empress Acina.”

Varilia snarled again, her twin lightsabers flying into her hands and igniting with a snap-hiss. So that was the play, was it? It was a smart move, but her patience had run out long ago. She ignored both Lana’s and Theron’s shouts of denying their involvement, she already knew they weren’t the one behind the disappearance of the Alliance Commander and Empress Acina. She leapt over her Honor Guard and brought all her power to bear down upon the traitorous soldiers.

Her lightsabers pierced the chests of two of the soldiers, their bodies crumbling to the ground. She spun even as she reached out with the Force, slashing her clawed hand in front of one of the guards. A vicious smile spread across her face as the soldier screamed as his internal organs ruptured and bleed. She continued her momentum, her lightsabers searing through limbs of two other guards. With less than a thought, she drew on the Force again, lifting the last guard off their feet and squeezing their throat. It was only a matter of seconds before the final guard lay dead at her feet.

Varilia’s rage continued to radiate off her, the pitiful wimpers of the dying guards did nothing to quench it. At least now they knew who was responsible, all they had to do was find the weasel of a man. Lorman better pray that either the Alliance Commander or Empress Acina find him first, otherwise she’d remind him how little mercy the Empire’s Wrath held.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #star wars #the old republic #oc-growth-and-development #fanfiction #OCtober #lana beniko #theron shan #female sith pureblood #sith warrior #empire's wrath #writing prompt

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greyias · 4 years

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FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 11

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | Crossposted to AO3

All-in-all, Darok was not gone at all that long. Just a few minutes if that.

Maybe he went to the refresher, Theron thought to himself sarcastically. Just couldn’t hold it another minute.

By the time the colonel returned, Theron had busied himself back at the terminal. He caught the movement in the reflection of the monitor and made a mental note of the time. It hadn’t been enough to make more than a quick call, although the question of to who remained. Most of the comm traffic going in and out of Carrick Station was either monitored or secured. If it had been on official channels, there would be a log of it somewhere. Another item for Theron’s ever expanding to-do list once he had the freedom to begin his investigation.

That would be soon.

Not long after Darok had made his reappearance, they’d gotten word from the team on the ground that the battle had been won. Tython was theirs again, but it had come at a high cost. There was cleanup work to be done — major cleanup work. It would take months to repair or rebuild what the bombings had destroyed. To say nothing of the fatalities they were currently tallying.

That uncomfortable feeling in Theron’s chest was trying to settle back in, and he still didn’t have the time nor energy to spend on it. Part of Theron wished he had an unobstructed view of the temple from the armorcams of Darok’s men, but he still wanted to keep a low profile. From his position, he could only catch glimpses of what was mostly wreckage. Unless he went and joined Darok at the holotable, there was no chance he could look at any of the faces of the dead. Perhaps that was for the best. Outside of Hashimuut, Theron hadn’t spent much time among large groups of Jedi. It had mostly just Master Zho and him. Easier to focus on the larger picture if he didn’t try to individual faces. Or maybe just one face in particular. But he wasn’t thinking about that right now.

Instead he busied himself with sorting through the data that Teeseven fed him. The rest of Highwind’s team had been put to work with the rescue crews, and the little faithful astromech had begun the long arduous process of sifting through the wreckage to try and salvage what was left of the temple’s security footage and data.

If there was anything to salvage at all. Theron pursed his lips, seeing the fragments of code he would have to sort through later. Piecing together exactly what had happened was going to be a massive undertaking.

That left one last wildcard in this situation: Highwind herself.

Apparently she had ordered Bickell and his men to keep all of the prisoners secured until a team of SIS agents could begin questioning them. Theron found it interesting that she was attempting to direct the investigation work over to his branch rather than leave any interrogation to SpecOps. Perhaps that meant she trusted Theron more than Darok with this. The colonel himself had only grunted with just the barest amount of disgruntlement at the announcement, as if the fate of the prisoners on the ground didn’t matter to him at all. Like he’d already gotten what he wanted.

Theron was still musing on that, and the other little mysteries surrounding his asset when she strode in with all of the force (and Force) of a Jedi to be reckoned with. Her strides were measured and deliberate, setting a quick pace that made her cape billow behind her as she once again commanded the attention of the entire room. Perhaps it was in the stern set of her jaw, or the way her attention zeroed in on Darok. Maybe it was just something in her eyes, a dangerous glint that a less observant person might pick up on. Whatever it was, Theron was almost glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of her attention at the moment. Maybe that was the look that Doc had kept mentioning.

“Master Jedi, good to see you,” Darok said smoothly, standing up to his full height. “Our forces are sweeping the rest of the muck off of Tython as we speak.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, as her brows drew down into an unhappy expression. Yeah, no. Theron wasn’t saving Darok from whatever storm was brewing in the Jedi’s intense gaze. In fact, he would’ve broken out the bangcorn if he’d had any on hand.

“Tell me, Colonel, this muck you speak of. Are you referring to the devastation wrought upon my temple? Or perhaps the people we’ve taken prisoner?”

Darok’s lips pressed into a thin line as his wide shoulders raised up in indignation. He apparently did not like being called out on his behavior. Not that it was the first time that Theron had heard that sort of comment from the military. He was pretty sure that not even the Jedi were so perfect as to keep that sort of sentiment tamped down completely.

For all his bluster, the colonel seemed smart enough to not fall into the trap of clarifying his comment, and instead just snorted out a breath before forcing a grim smile onto his face. “You will be glad to hear that reconstruction crews are already being prepped.”

“That is good news,” she said evenly. “It sounds like you have been busy over here.”

“The Jedi homeworld coming under attack tends to garner a lot of attention from Republic command,” he agreed. “The Imps caught us by surprise, but it could have been a lot worse. Thanks in no small part to your leadership.”

The flattery seemed to fall on deaf ears as Highwind just crossed her arms, fixing the larger man with that same intense stare. “I have been meditating as you suggested, Colonel.”

Confusion stole across Darok’s face, as he tried to recall whenever he’d made that sort of suggestion. “I don’t—”

“You said that after we recovered Tython that I should meditate on the coincidences of today. I spent my time on the journey here doing just that.”

“Have you now?”

“Yes, on the timing of our attack and the Empire’s. They must have happened almost simultaneously. That is a remarkable coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Darok rumbled. “For them to launch an assault of this magnitude speaks of a robust intelligence network. Perhaps Imperial Intelligence isn’t quite as devastated as we have been led to believe. I am sure the SIS will determine how we managed to miss so many red flags.”

It was a comment designed to rile Theron. Another mark of a con. Keep the targets off balance. Keep them emotional. Nice try, but he wasn’t falling for it. That said, it didn’t take much to lace a good amount of anger and indignation into his tone. “Yes. We’ll get right on that.”

Highwind’s gaze briefly flicked away from Darok to study Theron, but the action was too quick for him to decipher it.

“All the same,” Darok continued on, “your work has been exemplary — gaining us two back-to-back victories. You are a hero and that deserves recognition.”

“A Jedi does not need to seek recognition. The act of doing what is right is enough.” Stars, she sounded like a recruitment pamphlet. Well. If the Jedi had recruitment pamphlets.

The colonel didn’t seem to hear her, as he pulled out a box that had been delivered during her return flight and held it out as if for inspection. She eyed the box with the same amount of skepticism that Theron had on its arrival, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t make an impact on the show that Darok was putting on. Without another word, he opened it up to reveal a glinting, ornate medal.

The medal was just shiny and distracting enough that neither of them were paying close enough attention to see Theron’s startled reaction at its appearance. Had that been what Darok had disappeared off to take care of? No. It couldn’t have been. That had happened before Tython had been successfully recovered. That would have meant Darok would have had to arrange for the medal before there was a victory to award it for. Or… or perhaps that was Darok’s cover story. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any mention of the teams that had remained behind on Korriban. Had they made it out safely? And if they hadn’t, why hadn’t Darok brought it up? Why was he so focused on branding today as a day of victory?

If Theron voiced his thoughts aloud they would sound utterly paranoid. This whole thing would sound paranoid. But no… there was something here. Theron would need to comb through whatever communication logs he could get his hands on to verify.

“This is the medal of valor. One of the Republic’s most prestigious commendations.” Perfect. She could hang it up next her Cross of Glory and whatever other trinkets she’d collected over the course of her overly heroic career. “The Chancellor herself wanted me to present this to you. She was truly impressed with your heroic actions today, just as I am. Congratulations.”

One dark blonde brow arched high as she glanced between Darok and his offering. The colonel continued to hold out the medal and its rather ornate box, and as the moment began to stretch out, the more awkwardness and tension built. Finally, she blew out a breath and accepted the box, shutting the lid without giving its contents a second look.

“My crew, Bickell, and the rest of your men deserve just as much recognition for their work on Tython,” she said, managing to sound almost diplomatic. “Perhaps more.”

“They do,” Darok agreed, “but your name is the one that lights up the HoloNet. Especially considering this particular commendation has never been awarded as quick before.”

A flicker of that shadow appeared in her eyes again, before she successfully smoothed her expression back into that Jedi placidity. “I am more interested in speaking of what happened today than the headline that will lead on RNN tonight.”

“It’s hard to leave an operation,” he rumbled, “we’ve all been there. But your part in this is done now. You should focus on your victory and all the rewards that come with it.”

“I do not need a medal,” she said firmly, “what I need are answers. We need to find the person responsible for what happened today and bring them to justice.”

“We have all of the information you gathered,” Darok’s smooth, complimentary tone began to harden. “I’m sure we’ll be able to identify them soon enough.”

“There’s also the matter of a Sith lord that I spoke to on the holo in the Council’s chambers. I told Bickell about it,” she continued on, as if she hadn’t heard the shift in tone. “Before the Sith realized I was not his compatriot he was talking about a package that had been secured.”

“Maybe they just took the opportunity to grab a few things,” the colonel, his words coming out in a tight clip.

“We need to identify who this Sith is and what he wants. He said something about—”

Now that she was on a roll, Highwind kept going as if she needed to be heard. As she did so, Darok’s frown settled in deeper and deeper. The large man’s shoulders bunched up, big meaty fists settling on his hips while his lips pressed together in a line.

For all of her keen observations and quick thinking in the field, right now Highwind was like a Sibian hound that had caught a scent. So fixated on her goal, the Jedi wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings and appeared to be almost oblivious to the danger practically tingling in the air. Nor did she seem to notice that with each protest she uttered the more predatory the colonel’s expression became. He didn’t seem to like questions.

Theron took several steps back so that he was out of Darok’s line of sight, before he keyed his subvocal mic. “Stop.”

That seemed to take her off guard, and for a moment she looked like she was about to bring attention to the subterfuge. Her protest ended in a lurch as he gaze strayed over Darok’s shoulder to Theron. He didn’t say anything else, just caught her eye and shook his head ever so slowly. They couldn’t talk here.

She pursed her lips together, that Jedi calm driven away as her temper flared in a way that Theron had not expected at all. Then again, she kept finding new ways to surprise him. This was just one more to the tally. Thankfully, though, she relented in pressing on in her line of questioning. Frustration evident, she let out an annoyed sigh before turning her attention back to Darok. He was still eyeing her with a sharp intensity that made Theron’s skin crawl.

“I apologize, Colonel, perhaps you are right,” she said tersely, as if it cost her something to say it. “I suppose that there might be some good to be found in today. I should meditate on that further.”

“That is most wise, Master Highwind,” Darok rumbled, continuing to eye her for several long moments. “I have my own work to do. I’ve been tasked with organizing the Tython cleanup.”

She tipped her head to him in acknowledgement. “I see, that is quite the task. I should not keep you from it.”

“I need to let the Jedi Council know the Republic is behind them. Let them know this is not like Coruscant. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned back to the holotable, completely dismissing the remaining two people in the room as if they weren’t even there.

The tension that had filled the room seemed to dissipate with the action, and Theron quietly let out a breath. He would definitely be adding “stubborn and bullheaded” as a note to Highwind’s file, just as a warning to any future handler. Maybe put in a warning or two about her propensity to take dangerous risks. She was still glaring at the colonel’s back with undisguised suspicion at this point.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, managing to pulling her attention away, “but I need that drink.”

He was eager to leave this damn room and put some distance between them and Darok, so Theron didn’t even wait to see if she followed. He just made a beeline for the bar. If she was as quick on the uptake as she seemed, she’d get the hint.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #smoke and mirrors #SoR Fic O Doom #swtor #fanfic #greyfic

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riajade01 · 4 years

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Rishi Peace Talks

So I am extraordinarily slow. Real life has been busy recently, sapping my creative spoons. But @captainderyn and @tishinada both sent in prompt asks. “Everyone wants to be somebody” and, “I would like to see you try”, respectively. I wound them both into one longish prompt. In a plot twist, we’re getting a POV from my Knight, Czessara, from a bit later in the main Maraverse.

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"Anyone else?" the Sith woman demanded.

Silence.

Czessara held her breath, the humidity of Rishi gathering along her hairline. The Wrath's sense had drawn tight enough to vibrate. She wanted to believe this woman, despite her title and her actions against the Republic, would prove less unstable than other Sith Czessara crossed path with. More a Lord Praven than a Darth Angral.

But Darth Marr had to pull the Wrath off of Scourge once already during this meeting, and that was before the revelation of Vitiate's plan to eat the galaxy. What was it like, to know the being you deified and had anointed you as his chosen was exactly what the enemy said he was?

"No?” the Sith sneered. “Well I have a gift for you both." She picked up the two droid chassis she'd dragged, sparking and smoking, into the Rishi safehouse. With a grunt, she hurled one at each faction leader. Czessara tensed, ready to jump to Master Shan's defense, but the thing thudded to the floor at her feet.

"The Emperor had these shadowing me. I killed three others. Maybe there are clues here."

"This is an unexpected sharing of intelligence, Wrath, that we accept," Master Shan said carefully. "But we know where the Emperor is. My agent has gathered intel that points to Yavin IV."

Czessara felt Theron stiffen. They both stood behind Satele, Czess on her right, Theron on her left. Czess caught Theron's eye and tried giving him an encouraging smile. He grimaced and looked away.

She supposed she deserved that. She had left him, after all. She was so sure at the time it was the right thing. Now, after months of fearing he was dead, that the last words he had from her were dispassionate Jedi logic, she wasn't nearly as sure.

The meeting broke up. Czessara blinked - she had missed the entire end of the conversation in her musings.

Across the room, Satele, Marr and Beniko were already disappearing up the corridor that led to the exit. Only the Wrath remained, staring at Scourge. The former Wrath met his predecessor's gaze calmly.

"I will not apologize for doing what was necessary to stay in Vitiate's good graces," Scourge said.

"Captain, your knife." The Wrath held out her hand without looking at the officer behind her.

The officer hesitated. Blue eyes shifted to his superior. His sense was surprisingly still - she supposed serving Sith required a certain amount of defensive control - but Czessara knew that look. It was the way Theron looked at her. Interesting.

Finally, he drew a vibroknife from his belt and laid the handle in her waiting hand. If there was any doubt of his affections, the way his gloved fingers lingered on the Sith's hand put them to rest. The Sith's face softened ever so slightly at the touch, before her fingers wrapped around the metal.

There was nothing inappropriate about it, and honestly Czess herself wouldn't have noticed if she weren't so full of her own pining, but an unexpected jealousy stabbed through her. She'd left Theron to return to her work, but this Sith brought her... lover? husband? openly to a peace talk with her. It wasn't fair. She forced the thoughts aside and focused on the weapon.

"Your leaders have brokered a peace, Sith," Czess warned, stepping to Scourge's side.

"I'm not an imbecile, Jedi."

The Sith removed her glove and drew the blade over her palm. The bloodied knife hit the duracrete, spattering Scourge's boots.

"Are you sure you know what that means, young one?" Scourge asked, his voice soft. "I could kill you where you stand and custom would be on my side."

"I'd like to see you try," the Wrath retorted. Czess found herself agreeing. The thirty seconds between when the woman launched herself at Scourge and when Marr and that officer dragged her away showed her to be more than Scourge's equal. "When this is over, I expect you to honor my challenge."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her officer following in her wake.

Then they were alone. Well, alone with Scourge. But of her crew, he was, oddly, the person who judged her the least, for this connection at any rate.

"Did you hear that?" Theron grumbled. "I'm her agent. I don't know what I expected. She barely acknowledges me in privet, it's not like she'd do it in front of the entire damned Empire."

Czess put a hand on Theron's arm. "I know. In this instance, at least, she's probably trying to protect you."

"Mara already knows who I am. Satele knows that thanks to my debriefing. She just..." He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. "It's like my name has too much meaning and no meaning. We all want to be somebody, you know?"

He sounded so lost. It made the bruises on his face stand out even more. Bruises he got from his own ancestor. Maybe it was a blessing Jedi were taken from their blood families. It left room for them to create a family of their choosing. Which probably wasn't the point, but after everything she'd been through, Czess found herself caring less and less.

"You're somebody to me, Theron," she said, fingertips ghosting over his cheek. She had a little bit of healing ability - negligible, really, but enough to calm the swelling in his face a little.

"Am I really?" He didn't pull away, but he'd gone still under her hand. "Don't yank me around, Czess."

"If you weren't, you wouldn't have left a gaping hole in me when you disappeared."

His face lit up, sending warmth radiating through her senses. "I did what I had to, but I'm sorry that it hurt you."

"I know. I-" Czessara...

She froze. That was Orgus Din's voice. A vision of a small Rishi hovel flashed through her mind.

"I have to go," she said, stepping back.

"Right."

"Theron," she began.

"No, it's fine."

"Come with me."

His mouth fell open. "What?"

"I'm feeling a pull in the Force. Come with me to investigate."

Orgus Din might not approve. She still felt a lot of affection for her old master, but he could stuff his approval.

"You- really?"

She laughed. He looked so perplexed. He had access to the entire holonet and most of the Republic's information nets in his head, but she could still stump him. "Yes, really. I missed you."

"Czess, I- this-"

"Accompany your Jedi or do not," Scourge interrupted, "but she is right, we must go."

"Who am I to argue with a Sith?" Theron joked, taking her hand.

"From what I just witnessed, you argue with plenty of Sith," Scourge said. "I'm pleased for Czessara's sake you showed unusual wisdom in this instance."

"Is he like your older brother or your wingman?" Theron stage whispered.

"People can be two things," she replied, grinning at Scourge. "Come on."

#swtor #sith warrior #jedi knight #theron shan #malavai quinn #lord scourge #they will be friends eventually #but not quite yet

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katyakiryu · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Wrath, Part 10

"I can't help but notice that someone's quarters are suspiciously far away from Vette's."

Quinn turned to find Asha'lie leaning against the doorframe to his quarters, giving him a teasing smile.

"Are you settling in alright?" She asked.

"Yes, my lord. I did send you a holomessage," Quinn pointed out.

She shook her head, though the smile remained.

"I'd really prefer it if you called me Asha'lie," the Sith murmured. She tilted her head, allowing her long caramel hair to spill over her shoulders. "If you insist on being formal, it's Commander."

"Oh? I thought it was Empress," Quinn found himself teasing her. Asha blushed and glanced away. "You've accomplished much, Asha'lie. You should be proud."

"I wish I could be," Asha admitted. "But I feel like I constantly have to look over my shoulder."

Quinn pressed his lips together. They'd filled him in that she was investigating everyone. Someone had betrayed her. No wonder she was so paranoid that day. The former major watched as she brought her thumb to her lips and began to chew nervously.

"You and Vette are the only ones I trust," Asha'lie admitted. "I hate that I can't even have faith in my own people."

"What about Shan?" Quinn dared to ask. Asha shakily brought her trembling hand back to her side. "You love him, surely he would never hurt you-"

"Just because he loves me doesn't mean he's exempt," she snapped. He watched in concern as her shoulders suddenly slumped forwards. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped. I need to go."

"Of course," he murmured. Asha slipped away, looking just as lost as she had the day that Ziost was consumed. Quinn frowned and settled down at his desk, sorting through the papers that Aygo had sent him. He could find this traitor. He knew how they had to think. He wanted her to trust her people again. She couldn't keep looking over her shoulder. She'd break.

It was night by the time Quinn finally allowed himself a break. He leaned back in the chair and glared at the documents. There was nothing! No trace, no footprint. Whoever had betrayed her had covered their tracks well. They would have some connection to intelligence, that was for certain.

He needed a drink.

Quinn stood and let his door slide open with a hiss. To his surprise, Asha'lie stood there. Slowly she lifted her gaze to his.

Ice ran through his veins at the sight of the furious, haunted look that made her eyes turn to stone. She stepped towards him, causing him to take a step back. Something had happened. There was nothing of the woman that Quinn still held feelings for in her eyes.

Asha'lie peeled her blood-soaked gloves from her hands as she slowly, step by step, backed him up until he was bracing himself against his desk. She held his gaze with haunted, animalistic blue eyes. Slowly, her hands came up to cup his face. Quinn gulped, fearing that she'd decided no traitor could be kept alive. Asha'lie's fingertips slid down his jaw to his neck.

"Asha'lie," he whispered. He forced trembling hands to catch her arms.

Her eyes suddenly widened and the rage left them. She brought her frantic gaze to meet his before shaking her head and burying her face into his chest.

Quinn looked around in confusion. What should he do? What was he supposed to do? She'd looked like she wanted to strangle him not a minute ago, and now she was crying into his chest.

"I didn't know where else to go," Asha whimpered.

Quinn shook his head and wrapped his arms around her, leaning back against his desk for support. Unconsciously, his fingers brushed through her hair.

"Tell me everything," he whispered.

Theron Shan had betrayed her. He'd called her a tyrant. He'd tried to kill her and nearly succeeded. Hearing Asha's voice break several times made Quinn furious. That damned spy. How could he do this to her? She was the might of the galaxy. She was kind and warm and good. What reason would he have to betray her?

Quinn wondered if he had a right to be angry. After all, he'd been in the same situation not so long ago.

"I'm sorry," Asha whispered.

He'd taken a seat at his desk while she huddled on top of his bed.

"There's nothing to apologize for," Quinn reassured her.

"It's cruel to come to you with this," she pointed out. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I just... I don't know."

"What will you do with him?" He questioned.

"In the moment, I wanted to kill him. I was so angry, Quinn," Asha admitted. "I don't know what I'll do. I don't know what I want to do."

He watched as she buried her face in her hands and let out a muffled sob.

"He sounded so sad," she cried. "I don't know why he did it. I thought he loved me, I thought you loved me... I..."

"I do love you, Asha'lie," Quinn murmured. He stood and crossed the room to her, sitting by her side. She lifted her face from her hands and let out a shaky breath. The last thing he expected her to do was to lean against him and sigh. "I have always loved you. I imagine he does as well."

"I don't want him to die, I just want to know why," she whispered. "I wonder if it's because his father died because of me. I saw the grief in his eyes. I knew he blamed me somewhere in his heart."

"He's made his choice," he whispered. "You must make yours."

Asha'lie nodded quietly. Quinn found himself resting his head against the top of hers. To his surprise, her fingers laced through his own.

"I missed you," she told him quietly. Quinn glanced down at their entwined fingers and cautiously ran his thumb over her skin.

"There was a void within me when you vanished. Nothing in the galaxy could fill it," he admitted.

"I owe Acina for pardoning you. I don't think I'd ever think to look for you in Imperial prison."

"I imagine Vette would have let you know."

"I'd have come for you."

"I wanted that to be true."

Asha gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Quinn sighed and stared at the door. It was late. After the day she'd had, she needed to rest.

"I love you," Asha'lie whispered. "I've always loved you."

"I love you too," he murmured. "However, it feels wrong to admit it when you've just been through a despicable betrayal. You should rest and think on what it is you truly want."

"I knew when I saw you again on Iokath," she murmured. She sat up to meet his gaze. "Theron and I were never going to last, Quinn. I always knew that, deep down."

"You still need to rest, my lord. For your health," he chided, though her confession did fill him with warmth.

"You're ridiculous," Asha sighed. She smiled and cupped his cheek. "Is it alright if I rest here?"

"Surely you'd be more comfortable in your own chambers-"

"I don't want to be alone. I'll sleep in Vette's room if you want your privacy."

Quinn sighed and smiled a small, exasperated smile. He'd forgotten just how stubborn she could be when she wanted to.

He'd offered to sleep at the desk, but she insisted on sharing the bed with him. It seemed that she truly had been in love with him all this time. Quinn glanced over at her darkened form. She'd removed her armor, leaving her in an undershirt and her undergarments. His arm was beneath her head, their fingers still entwined. He ran his thumb over her skin once again and sighed. This was all he ever wanted, but at what cost?

She rolled over and cupped his cheek.

"You worry too much," Asha whispered. His eyebrows flew up as she softly pressed her lips against his. Quinn cupped the back of her neck and allowed the warmth she offered to envelop him once again.

That was how they spent the next few days. She'd come back tired and drained, he would work to keep her alliance running smoothly, and they'd lie in the darkness together, savoring the warmth.

Quinn found himself in the military section of the Alliance base, watching as she conversed with Lana.

Shan's betrayal had been a ruse. Most of the Alliance was pleased to hear it, even if he'd been gravely injured in the battle against the superpowered resistance that had annihilated the Gravestone and the fleet. Asha had come back from her fight cold and tired, but without the haunted look that he feared so much.

Quinn found himself worrying that she'd go back to Shan, especially now that it turned out that he hadn't betrayed her at all. That was more than he could say for himself after all.

He couldn't stand to watch as Shan crossed the room to his friends.

Quinn strode back to his quarters and sunk into his desk chair, gripping his forehead. He wanted to trust what she'd told him-- that she loved him all this time.

The door hissed open and Asha walked in, placing a hand on his shoulder. One exchanged glance was all it took for her to gather why he'd left so abruptly.

"I told you that you worried too much," Asha'lie teased. Her hand rubbed his back in reassurance. Quinn stood and pulled her into a passionate kiss, wrapping his arms around her. She reacted in mild surprise before relaxing into the embrace. "I love you, Quinn. Please don't doubt that."

"I love you too, Asha," he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I'm yours. You're mine," she murmured. Her hands came to rest on his chest. "I won't let anyone change that. I'll keep you safe."

"Asha'lie," Quinn began to reply, searching for the words he needed. There was no way to express what he felt in words, so he settled for kissing her again, and again, and again.

Quinn cupped her cheek in the darkness, her bare form under his own. Her warmth enveloped him as she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and drew him closer.

No one, nothing would take her from him again. The Wrath was his, and he was hers.

It would stay that way until they were both gone from the galaxy, and even then that love would remain for some time longer.

#malavai quinn #stworupdate #starwarstheoldrepublic #stwor #star wars #oc: asha"lie #an unexpected wrath

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swtorpadawan · 5 years

Text

Tales from the Eternal Alliance: Growing Up

Author’s Notes: Inspired by @swtor-prompts for 22 March 2019 – One-word prompt – “Us”. The following story involves my main OC, Corellan Halcyon, and takes place sometime between the conclusion of the Knights of the Eternal Throne expansion and my own Interventions and Awakenings series.

“Master Ranos and our survey teams have reported in from Tython. They confirm that there are no Jedi residing in the ruins of the old Temple. Likewise, there wasn’t anything of significant value left behind. Whatever survived when the Eternal Empire attacked was probably carried off when the Jedi evacuated. Most notably, the Archives are completely gone.” Theron Shan paused, letting that last point sink in. “There are indications that there have been scavengers in the past, but it seems unlikely they came away anything of real value based on the evidence.”

Another lingering pause. “Likewise, there’s nothing to indicate where the surviving Jedi may have withdrawn to. We know that many of them are serving openly alongside the Republic military, and I have reports that my mother was on Coruscant when the war ended, but there’s no indication of any larger organization, and no efforts to reform the Council.”

Lana Beniko watched as Theron finished his summary report. It had been more than five years since the Eternal Empire had struck the Jedi at their home world of Tython and finding anything of great importance now had seemed a longshot at best. Still, it was bitterly disappointing to her about the Archives. At her heart, beneath the face of the cool, ruthlessly pragmatic advisor that she showed the rest of the galaxy, Lana Beniko possessed the soul of a scholar. Though the Jedi’s approach to the Force was nominally incompatible with her own Sith philosophy, the loss of all that knowledge still stung. And the irony that she had once coordinated an earlier attack on the Jedi Temple by the forces of the Sith Empire years ago was not lost on her. She could only hope that the surviving Jedi had managed to save most of it when they fled.

She then turned towards Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander. Surely if Theron’s report was disappointing to her, it must weigh heavily on the former Jedi, the man who was once known the galaxy over as the Hero of Tython.

“Mmm.” Came the rather non-committal sigh from the Outlander.

The Commander, Theron and Lana herself were gathered around the main holo-display in the War Room in the Alliance base on Odessen. They were joined by T7-O1, the small but highly capable Astromech droid who had been the Commander’s companion for years. Lana had the greatest appreciation for the droid, as Tee-Seven had spent several years helping her find Corellan when he’d been captured by the Eternal Empire. However, the droid’s constant presence at the Commander’s side since the Alliance had toppled the Eternal throne sometimes made her wonder.

What horrors had he experienced in that final battle with Valkorian? Lana wondered.

He hadn’t spoken about it with anyone, as far as she could tell. Even Senya and Arcann, who’d been in the Commander’s mind and fighting at his side, had little insight.

Afterwards, the Commander had been restless. He had put on a charismatic face for the celebrations on Zakuul and later back with the Alliance on Odessen. He could still be noble, brave, compassionate, diplomatic and even charming in brief moments, but they felt fleeting. He seemed more himself on missions and in battle, where his finely-honed warrior instincts took over. His daily sparring sessions, particularly against Arcann, seemed to do him much good, but clearly whatever satisfaction he drew from them was unsustainable in the long run. He was, as always, attentive enough during briefings but seemed listless if a clear course of direction was not readily apparent. It was as if his overall sense of direction – the path ahead for himself and the Eternal Alliance – was unclear. Something was clearly bothering him. Theron and others had seen him looking out onto the horizon from the main observation deck outside the Cantina. He was clearly reaching out into the galaxy for something he couldn’t quite grasp.

In every other matter, the Commander had placed his complete trust in Lana and Theron, as his senior advisors. But in this single personal affair, he was silent, only saying that he was fine.

Lana had the greatest admiration and respect for the Commander. She just wished he had trusted her fully with the truth of this.

And at this very moment, Corellan seemed focused on the datapad with the details of the survey team’s findings, his expression rather grimly detached.

Taking his prolonged silence as a sign that he should continue, Theron pushed on with his report.

“Even though our survey of the temple didn’t produce much in the way of results, we were a bit luckier with the rest of Tython. The Twi’lek Pilgrims at Kalikori village were very welcoming to Master Ranos when she visited them. Their Matriarch has even contacted us directly and is waiting to talk by holo. I can take care of it if you like - ”

Suddenly, the Commander seemed to break out of whatever lethargic fugue he had been trapped in, putting the down the datapad and looking pointedly at Theron.

“You have Ranna Tao'Ven waiting on hold?”

Theron was startled. Lana’s eyes likewise narrowed in surprise. This was the most animated the Commander had been in nearly a week. He hadn’t mentioned having connections to the Pilgrims up until now.

Tee-Seven likewise seemed to come to life, as his top started spinning and the droid emitted a series of beeps and whistles.

“Ranna Tao'Ven = Old friend!” he beeped, happily.

“Uhm, right.” The former SIS agent answered dumbly, looking back and forth between the Commander and the droid. “I’m told she wants to exchange pleasantries and discuss possible trade and assistance…”

The Commander waved his hand towards the display terminal.

“Put her through.” He ordered. Corellan’s voice was measured, but the rest of his body language was suddenly animated.

Theron quickly pressed a button at his terminal, and the holo-projector came to life.

The woman who appeared in the projection appeared to be about thirty-two years of age by Lana’s estimation, though Twi’leks did tend to age more gracefully than other species. Young to be in a position of leadership. Lana initially thought, but then recalled that both the Commander (and Lana herself) were roughly about that age, with Theron just a few years older. Indeed, now observing her at length, this Matriarch carried herself well, as Lana could feel a certain wisdom and a deep-rooted strength even through the projection. Regardless of her age, this was a woman who had seen her people through difficult times and had been left stronger for it.

The Commander smiled, then bowed, using the same form he had back when he had been a member of the Jedi order.

“Matriarch. Thank you for calling.” He paused. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Commander. Thank you for taking my call.” Ranna Tao'Ven returned the Commander’s smile. Her eyes grew softer in relief. It seemed to make her look much younger. “I was worried you wouldn’t want to speak to me.”

The Commander shook his head. “I never blamed you for what happened, Matriarch. And please – you can still call me Corellan.”

The Matriarch’s eyes took on a shine and she practically beamed. “I… thank you, Corellan. And please call me Ranna. I was so relieved to hear that you were still alive. I’ve missed calling you a friend.”

“Thank you, Ranna.” Corellan answered. Lana gave him a sideways glance. The Commander suddenly looked … younger, somehow, just as Ranna did. That haunted look that had been in his eyes since he destroyed Valkorian had eased somewhat. It was as if the weight of leadership had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. “I like to think we’ll always be able to call each other friends.”

“How are things there?” he continued. “Have the Flesh Raiders been a problem?”

“No, they are contained.” Ranna spoke with a touch of pride in her voice. “Our defenses are much better organized these days, and the Flesh Raiders remain scattered and give us a wide berth. We keep our young people from exploring the Ridge, but there have been no strikes against the village or our farmlands. We aren’t overconfident; we will always have to be wary of them. But a generation of my people are being raised who will know the Flesh Raiders only as tales to frighten children around a fire.”

“That sounds wonderful, Ranna. I wish I could see it.” His expression turned somber. “I’ve always regretted not visiting.”

“You have always been welcome.” she smiled. “Both of us have changed a great deal since we last spoke.”

The Commander’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion or doubt, but with a scrutinizing eye. Lana had seen that look in battle, usually just before he found a solution to a problem or the key to defeating an enemy.

And just like that, his eyes widened. “That new band on your headdress… Ranna, you’ve married!”

Ranna’s cheek bones reddened in a pretty blush against her green skin. Her head tilted downward in mild embarrassment.

“You remember Viyo? You rescued him from that Flesh Raider who wanted to become a Jedi.”

“I remember.” The Commander nodded in remembrance. “He seemed very bright and kind.”

“He is, and he’s grown into a fine man. He’s been a wonderful husband and he is very supportive to me.” Her eyes glistened faintly. “I have two children, now. A three-year old daughter who we named Sumari, after my mother. She’s such a handful! She keeps both Viyo and I busy to keep her out of trouble.” She paused, giving a nervous swallow. “And a son born just this past autumn, during the harvest. We named him… Corellan.”

The Commander’s pale blue-grey eyes blinked hard. He leaned forward, his hands reaching out and taking hold of the display terminal for support.

To her side, Lana heard Theron smothering a laugh at the Outlander’s reaction, covering his mouth with his hand. The Sith shot him a withering look, and Shan raised both hands in surrender, not bothering to repress a smirk.

The Commander, fortunately, appeared oblivious to this exchange.

“Ranna, I don’t know what to say.”

“Viyo agreed with my choice whole-heartedly.” She grinned a bit at his reaction. “My people still remember what you did for us. And we always will. Our children grow up learning the stories, and they will pass those tales down to their children when our time has passed.”

The Commander let out a sigh, rising from the terminal. “You honor me more than I deserve, Ranna.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. You not only saved my people, you also gave me the chance to make up for the mistakes I made.”

The Matriarch collected herself, once again taking on the demeanor of a wise and experienced leader. “I know you’re looking for any surviving Jedi. I want you to know that we sheltered several of them when the Temple fell to the Eternal Empire. We knew there was a risk involved, but we could do no less. They stayed with us a few days, thanked us for offering them sanctuary, then found transport off-planet when it was safe. For our protection, they declined to say where they were headed. The Skytroopers never came our way – the Jedi reasoned that our lack of technology made them discount us as a threat.”

She paused. “It was the least we could do after all you did for us, and for… what happened.”

Whatever memory Ranna had invoked for the Commander was a powerful one. Lana could feel his emotions bubbling up just beneath the surface. How unlike him. Lana observed. He is normally so collected and reserved, keeping his emotions in check.

“Ranna, that was a long time ago.” Corellan replied, his voice quiet. “I’m very grateful that you helped those Jedi. But since we last spoke, I’ve taken on something of a mantle of leadership myself. To be honest with you, looking back, I understand why you made those hard choices. I’ve only come as far as I have because of the people around me. What you went through in those dark days… considering the losses you had suffered and the pressures you were under, I know you felt scared, alone and overwhelmed.” He exhaled. “Please know that if I was ever at all unkind or… self-righteous towards you, then I’m very sorry.”

Ranna gave the Commander a patient smile.

She looks very much like a mother. Lana thought. Her village’s title of leader – Matriarch – is well suited in her case.

“You’re wrong, Corellan.” She spoke gently. “You showed me nothing but kindness. When you spared Moorint and the others, when you helped us… that showed true character. I learned from my mistakes, and I became a better leader for it. When the chance came to atone for what I had done, I had to take it. Not just out of my memories of you, but because it was the right thing to do.” Ranna’s smile brightened again. “The principles we lead by are what matter most. You taught me that.”

“Today, my people are safe. Our village is thriving, even with a lack of off-planet trade. My children will grow up healthy and free. You made this all possible. Not just with your courage or skill, but your compassion, most of all.”

The Commander, for the second time that day, blinked then exhaled, reflecting on her words. When he finally smiled, it was the warmest expression Lana had seen on his face in months.

“Then maybe both of us needed to grow up.”

Ranna let out a giggle at that, smiling happily. Once again, a younger woman shined through her years. “Maybe we did. But it doesn’t hurt to remember the people we once were, for they made you and I possible.”

“Thank you, Ranna.” Corellan spoke gratefully. “I’ll have Theron contact you about any aid assistance you need and help you re-open trade if you like. And if your people are ever in danger again, please remember you can always call on me.”

“I will.” Ranna spoke confidently as the wise leader again. “Thank you, Corellan. For everything.”

“Thank you again, Ranna. Until we meet again.”

The call ended and the holo-terminal went dark.

The Commander of the Eternal Alliance stepped back, then turned to his advisers with renewed energy.

Theron was slightly amused, giving him a questioning look. Lana herself looked at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an explanation that she honestly doubted would be forthcoming. Neither senior advisor spoke aloud.

Tee-Seven finally broke up the awkwardness with another series of beeps. “Seeing friend Ranna again = Good?”

The Commander chuckled at his old friend. “Yes, it was, Tee. Yes, it was.”

“So!” he turned back to Lana and Theron, rubbing his hands together like an eager child.

“What’s next on the agenda?”

Author’s Notes: I always liked the character of Ranna. In a way, she foreshadows so many other NPCs we encounter throughout the Jedi Knight story. So often, we see otherwise respectable characters taking morally questionable or short-sighted actions because they are scared for themselves or for their people. I like to think – assuming we did choose the light-side / Paragon route – that we’ve helped some of those folks to become better versions of themselves.

The state of mind Corellan finds himself in at this point in his story reminds me a lot of the place Ranna was in during the Prologue. Fortunately, he has Lana, Theron, Tee-Seven and others to help see him through.

Finally – No, Corellan did not hook up with Ranna. (He was too dense to comprehend that there were ‘Flirt’ options. Also, Kira is the only woman he’s ever thought about in that way.)

Thank you, and may the Force be with you.

(Image courtesy of Wookiepedia)

#ranna tao'ven #lana beniko #male jedi knight #outlander #tales from the eternal alliance #corellan halcyon #swtor fanfiction #swtor fanfic #swtor #my swtor

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ainyan · 1 year

Note

a touch when there is no time left.

for my favorite smuggler XD, please?

Ziost was ashes below them, and behind her stoic mask her heart ached. Pressing her hand against the plasteel window, she gazed down at the dull grey hulk that had once been a vibrant, thriving world. "I can't believe he did it," she mumbled.

"We should go," the woman behind her said, brow furrowed as she gazed at those around them. The entire station was pressed against the windows, staring in shock at the ruin below. "Quickly, before anyone thinks to blame us."

"We done nothin' wrong, Akavi," Cip'rys told her companion dully. "Fact is, we did everythin' we was asked to do."

The Zabraki Mandalorian shook her head. "That may be true, Captain, but I do not think many of these will see it that way once the total cost is reckoned. It's time for ba'slan shev'la."

The Chiss frowned, tearing her eyes from the dead world to glance questioningly at Akavi. "What's that?"

The Mandalorian's smile was brief and humorless. "In common, a strategic disappearance. The kind you are best at. Come, Captain. Let us board ship and make for the fleet. Your friend asked that you meet him there."

Friend. That was a funny word for an SIS agent - but Cip'rys supposed it was true - or true enough. "Yeah. Can't imagine that's gonna be a fun talk." Finally giving into Akavi's prodding, the smuggler slipped through the still-gawking crowd and together the pair made their way for the hanger where her freighter was docked, engines already on-line and warmed up.

There was no one at the com to give them permission to depart, but the blast shield was down and there was nothing to stop them from exiting the bay. They slipped through the shield and broke away from the station. Once they were clear and the hyperdrive computer had spit out the last coordinate, Cip'rys set their heading and they slipped into hyperspace, riding between the dimensions towards the Republic Fleet and their last meeting with Theron Shan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She watched him muster his strength, and once more her heart ached - and she showed it no more now than she had at Ziost. It was a damn shame that that madwoman Saresh cared more for her bloodthirst than the people she was supposed to lead. Sidelining one of your best people just 'cause they didn't let you micromanage them was foolishness.

Bring him to heel, sure; but don't let him slip through your fingers. Still, perhaps she could make the most of it. "Forget about the SIS. I could use someone like you at my side," she coaxed, though she knew his answer before even gave her that exasperated look.

"Uh-huh," he replied dryly, and she grinned. "I'm sure." They stared at each other across the centimeters between them. "Growing up, I had an idea of who and what I would be. In a lot of ways," he mused, "that didn't happen. But in the ways that matter..."

Cip'rys closed her eyes briefly, memories of the past assailing her briefly. "Yeah," she said, just a bit hoarsely.

He eyed her curiously, but thankfully chose not to press. "What I'm saying is, I belong with the SIS. I'm not throwing in the towel."

She couldn't help but sigh, then gave him a sour look at the sly grin that briefly crossed his face. "Good, save me from my temporary insanity," she muttered. His grin only widened. "Look, it's for the best. Why don't we pay a visit t' the station cantina - for old times' sake."

His eyes lit up and his smile softened as he stepped towards her. "I'll have to take a rain check, but..." As he took her arms in his hands, she reached out and grabbed his jacket, drawing him close. It was a sweet kiss, but there was bitter too; a last kiss, the kind given when there's no more time left, and the end has drawn nigh.

It was a novel experience for Cip'rys, to taste the salt beneath the sweet and realize that she genuinely regretted this parting. As he drew away, she plucked at the lapels of his jacket, then stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. He gazed down at her, and she could see his own internal battle. Finally, he touched her cheek, a brush of fingers on skin, then backed away. "I might be persuaded, another time."

They knew better. There would not be another time.

He strode past her, and she turned to watch him go. As he neared the doorway, he paused, then glanced over his shoulder. "I should have reached out to you sooner." When she said nothing, he offered a rueful smile. "Whatever's next, whatever insanity comes our way... I won't make that mistake again."

"Right," she said, and he closed his eyes briefly.

"Take care of yourself," he said, and then he was gone.

She lingered long after he'd left, staring at the place where he'd been. Then she shook her head, sighed, and strode out after.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Touching Tenderly Prompts

Thank you for the ask!

#asked and answered #cip'rys #swtor #theron shan #f!smuggler x theron shan

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sullustangin · 2 years

Text

Day 28: One More Birthday

Rating: G

a/n: The Fluffy February free space and the last entry to my month celebrating Eva Corolastor’s second birthday on 2/2/22. Thanks for reading!

42 ATC

“I’m now older than my mother ever was,” Eva said suddenly. She knew she’d caught Theron off-guard with that statement, but he didn’t say anything in response, initially. He silently peered over at her, keeping an ear out for the children.

“You alright with that?” Theron asked.

Eva’s shoulders rose and fell slightly as she leaned back in the chair on the porch. “I remember when we used to joke about making it to 40.”

Theron was 55 now, the silver from his temples conquering most of his head. The natural brown curls that he had fought for decades with styling products were nearly gone, the silver straightening them.

And today was Eva’s 47th birthday, one more birthday than her mother had ever seen.

“Smugglers and spies aren’t known for their longevity.” Theron repeated the oft-said wisdom. “But we have changed.”

She nodded slightly. “Yeah. Not having to pick up the pieces of a broken galaxy... Not hiding as much in the shadows.”

Theron tapped the bottom of her boot with the stylus of his datapad. “Speak for yourself.”

Eva gave him a look. “I still have Voidfleet.”

“Which which is still a cartel, but with a nicer image.”

"Thanks to my master of spies.” She gave him that grin, and he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

They’d come to the Riggs’ family farm on Dantooine. Corso’s children were so much younger than theirs, but tag was a universal game. Eva and Theron understood the need for a break; they’d had the support of an entire base on Odessen, friends on Coruscant, plus Jace Malcom (who was an army of affection by himself), but they had still taken the task of being parents seriously, particularly when Virtue’s Thief was in flight.

Eva watched the Riggs’ youngest attempt to keep up with his older siblings, who were trying to keep up with Argo and Dyo Shan. “When my mother was my age, I was already 16. Almost grown. And ultimately, self-sufficient.” A deep frown crossed her face at the memories, and all of her wrinkles and creases appeared. She felt very 47. “Dyo is only ten, and – I just wonder –”

Theron replaced the stylus in his datapad and reached for her ankle now, nudging it off the railing of the porch so that he could move his chair closer to hers. “Not the same. They wouldn’t be alone like we were.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “And even I managed to make it from being alone at 13. Not much older than Argo.” A thought struck him, and it made him shudder slightly. “Now that’s over 40 years ago, and that makes me feel old.”

Eva’s fingers joined his in the streaks of silver. “You took to being a father so easily. You’d worried –”

Theron stretched like a loth cat in response to her hands’ motions in his hair. “It… I had to try to remember life before the end. And it was an active ‘try’ – not just something to easily block out.”

“Yeah.”

“But…” Theron drew in a breath, then shifted contemplatively. “You yourself said you had a happy childhood until the last hour of it. My ‘last hour’ happened to be three years between Haashimut and SIS.” He fixed his olive-gold gaze on the children a few yards away from them, playing in the twilight. “I had an older father. He took good care of me. He … couldn’t do some things. Some of the things I’ve had to give up lately.”

“Piggyback rides, finally,” Eva murmured into his shoulder as she leaned her head upon him.

“Yeah… but I know I can still do a lot. We do a lot.” Then he grew solemn. “We did a lot to make sure the galaxy was a lot quieter for them than it was for us.”

They watched the sun of Dantooine finish its descent. “When we first started, I didn’t understand why you battled for the greater good of the galaxy for so long. When you weren’t going to live to see it anyway. When nobody would know about you as a spy.” She took his hand in hers. “You win the argument.”

Theron gave her hand a squeeze. “…but you were right that unless the people – the individuals, the ones below others – unless they mattered, there would be no point. Great powers would roll right over them and their dreams... and all of the nice things we thought we were fighting for. Some of that would always get lost, unless someone stood up. You win.”

They heard their children’s laughter, mixing with that of Squad Riggs, on a peaceful little farm on Dantooine that they visited a few times a year.

“We won.”

@fluffyfebruary

#swtor #swtor fan fiction #fluffy february #theron shan #theron shan x smuggler #corso riggs #children of characters #oc: eva corolastor

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inyri · 5 years

Text

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 36- The Best Policy

Equivalent Exchange by inyri Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M)

Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire/Knights of the Eternal Throne.)

Comments are always appreciated! Visit me at:

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***

The Best Policy

Theron exhales.

“Probably too much to hope it’d stay a secret for long,” he mutters, straightening up. He doesn’t let go of her, though, fingers working along her neck- after this long in kolto she ought to be a limp mess but it’d probably take years to get all the tension out of her muscles. Her shoulder’s better for the time spent soaking, at least. “I just- Force, I’m never going to hear the end of it. You’re sure Lana doesn’t already know? My dossier-”

Nine does shake her head then, immediately regrets it, and makes a muffled mmph noise instead that’s half-negation and half trying not to throw up on the War Room table. “She doesn’t. And that was never in your dossier- say what you like about the state of the Republic now, whoever knew that secret kept their cards close. None of us knew.”

“But my mother was, wasn’t she? After Rishi-”

“No. We kept that out deliberately, even after we knew.”

(It hadn’t even been her idea; Lana had been the one to suggest the omission. “It will make him far too much of a target. Anyone trying to lure out the Grand Master-”

Guilty conscience or not, Lana had been right. That was a method she’d used herself when there was no other way to a target: take a friend or lover or spouse instead, living collateral to be dangled as bait. (Never children. She drew the line at children. Ruthlessness was all well and good, but that kind of sociopathy was a one way ticket to a padded cell- or Shadow Town, which was just a padded cell with better locks.) With his parentage on his dossier Theron would have had every Sith with access to the mainframe- which was nearly all of them back then, puppet to the Council that Sith Intelligence was in its resurrected form- hunting him within a week. He’d have been dead, or worse, within two. And for what? By the rules of negotiation he’d have been doomed, a marginally valuable hostage that the Republic would never in a hundred years have bartered for one of its most celebrated heroes. Satele might have come for him herself, of course. But would she have?

Lana had looked to her, questioning, and she heard Theron in her head: my agent, the words bitter on his tongue. Like it’s a coincidence we share a name.

“It wouldn’t be fair, would it?” She’d nodded, locking down the file. There was very little fair about their line of work and nothing given for free, but this seemed somehow right after the awfulness of Rishi. It wasn’t a question of judgment. Her judgment was fine. It was- “I agree. We leave it out.” )

He has to clear his throat before he continues, whatever he meant to say first catching on his tongue. “I didn’t... I didn’t know that. Thank you.”

“Thank Lana,” she says. Theron’s hands go still. “She approved the addendum.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. Did she think you’d go too easy on me?”

She turns her head just enough that he can see her wink. “Or put too much in. Theron Shan, Republic SIS. Caf addict. Terrible taste in music-”

“You used to let me pick the music, if I remember correctly.” Hands slipping beneath the knot of her hair, he cups the base of her skull, leans down to kiss the top of her head and then her forehead and then further still, curling over her to nip at the tip of her nose. “I must have missed the complaints trying to block out your off-key singing.”

“I like you-” she closes her eyes, a slow blink; he’s not wrong. She was never any good at singing- “so I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Let’s see. Easily identified due to prominent cybernetics and appears to own exactly one jacket, or possibly twelve copies of the same jacket. Marginal slicer. Does this absolutely delightful thing with his tongue-”

When Theron grins she can feel it, his breath huffing against her face. He’s trying not to laugh but can’t quite hold it back and he has to let go of her to brace himself against the table. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“Of course I’m not.” Oh, it sounds good to hear him laugh. He’s so good at distracting her from the stress of everything and she’s been so bad at reciprocating; she brings him caf and the best of what she can sneak from the mess hall, pulls him into bed to work the day’s tension off in pleasanter ways, but it’s not nearly enough. He deserves so much better than her fumbling attempts at comfort. “Someone else might have gotten ideas-” she rests her hand on his, clumsy in its heavy brace- “and I wouldn’t want them trying to edge in on my territory.”

“Your?”

A loaded question for all of its brevity.

She shrugs in reply, forcing a smile in place of words she doesn’t know how to say, and Theron overlaps her little finger with his thumb. She can’t quite feel it properly- what ought to be the friction of his skin on hers just registers as pressure- but it’s better than nothing. Better than it should be. A gift. (Or not, but the idea of the alternative is far less pleasant.)

“It wouldn’t have been much,” she says softly, “in the long run. But if the war had kept going it might have kept you out of the crosshairs for a little while. We just- I just-”

The corners of his mouth quirk upward. “Not ‘compromised objectivity’?”

“Certainly not. I’m a professional, after all.” He’s still standing just beside her chair; she leans on him, rests her aching head against his side. “And we did say no strings.”

“We did. No strings, no sides, intact judgment et cetera.” Theron glances down at her and then turns, just enough that she can rest against his stomach instead. When he exhales she moves along with him, gently to-and-fro with the in and out of his breath. “So I probably shouldn’t mention that I put a DNE on your file after Ziost, then.”

She blinks. Lies by omission were one thing, the usual selective recordkeeping that let one spare allies and target enemies as the situation required, but- “Trant let you? Forgive me when I say that seems unlikely.”

“Let is a strong word. He asked me how to put together a team that’d survive you and I gave him my honest opinion: we couldn’t. Do Not Engage.” He scrawls the words in the air with his finger. “You were taking us apart- no, no, I know you didn’t have a choice-” she’d gone tense against his body, not wanting to argue; they were all following their orders and they both know that but she must have killed a dozen or more of his friends in those last few months of war before the Zakuulans came. But he strokes her hair until she calms. “We all did what we had to back then and despite what my… what Jace said, my loyalty to the Republic was never a question. But when it came to you-”

“I told you I was bad for you.”

“Stop that. I told you-” his voice is gentle and he almost taps her forehead before he mercifully thinks better of it- that would have hurt, today- and just presses his fingertip against it instead- “that you weren’t. Aren’t. You saved me. I had to- I had to return the favor.”

Stars, she doesn’t deserve him. “He didn’t listen, you know.”

“I know. But I tried.” Theron sighs. “Anyway, you’re sure Lana doesn’t-?”

Three knocks.

Lana’s silhouetted in the doorway when it slides open, caf pot in one hand and three mugs dangling from the other. “I take you’ve finished your calls? You mentioned before that we three needed to talk.”

“Yes. Hold on.” She presses the intercom, opening a line to the bridge. “Kaliyo, we’ll be in the War Room. Ring through if we’re needed.”

“Got it.” The speaker crackles as the reply comes through. “Ears off?”

Nine sighs. “What do you think?”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” Kaliyo drawls. “Locking you down. Have fun.”

She straightens in her seat, beckoning Lana into the room; Theron takes a step back and then settles into the chair beside hers. “Two quick things before we start- I’ve got Ioana Rist working on a countermeasure to the Exarchs’ new little trick.”

“How much is that going to cost us? Their work doesn’t come cheaply.” Setting the caf and cups down on the table between them, Lana slips around to the far side.

“Only a case or two of brandy. I’ll talk to Hylo about sourcing it, but that’ll be strictly out of my pocket. We’re on fragile enough ground with our Jedi as it is without word getting around that I’m using a Force-breaker.”

Lana wrinkles her nose. “Not just the Jedi. The Council banned them for a reason.”

“The Council banned Force-breaker toxins-” she rolls her eyes and even that small motion makes the world spin- “because they’re afraid of what people like me would do if we had them. But that’s beside the point. Second, I’ve finally got a lead on the Alderaan staging site we discussed last week. It won’t be actionable for a month, though, and I need to-” she pauses. She needs to figure out what the fuck she’s going to do. Research first, she supposes: she thought Galen had retired after that business with Malgus but his new rank certainly suggests otherwise- had he gone back voluntarily? That might be something she could use. “I can’t delegate that, either. So if we hear anything more from Voss before-”

“I was going to save that news until we got back to Odessen, but I did hear from our Gormak friends. Apparently their visions have coalesced.” Lana says the last word like she wants to spit it out- for all her Sithness she always was a skeptic, with little faith in the prophecies and mysticism that drove some of her peers, and she seemed to find the Voss- and Gormak, by proxy- particularly maddening. “We have a timeline.”

Theron’s already poured himself a mug of caf and pauses mid-sip with it still raised to his mouth. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s... not an ideal timeline.”

“Nine needs to rest, Lana. How not ideal?” He frowns.

She reaches out for her own mug; Theron fills it unprompted and she curls her fingers around it. The warmth, at least, she can feel.

Lana slumps into her seat. “Twelve days. I tried to argue it, but the-”

“She has a broken wrist. There’s no way she’s going to-”

The headache hits her like an icepick to the temple- ah, concussions- and she winces, closing her eyes as they bicker back and forth. “Would both of you,” she snaps, “please shut up and let me speak?”

They actually do.

“Twelve days. We’re- what, four days from Odessen now?”

“Three and a half,” Lana says quietly. “And I’ve mapped a route back to Voss that uses some of the Imperial hyperspace lanes. We could get there in six days, I think. Possibly faster, with Theron piloting.”

Theron hums idly under his breath, the way he always did when he was doing calculations in his head. “Giving us two days’ turnaround- maybe three. Not enough.”

“I’ll manage.” The moment the words leave her mouth she hears them both sigh; she makes a face at them, tongue sticking out. “Hush. I’ll spend the rest of the trip home in the tank, and I’ll check in with Doctor Lokin once we’re there. I’ve gone back into the field sooner after worse.”

“We can still refuse. Visions notwithstanding, if you aren’t ready-”

“I’ll be ready, Lana.” Does she really have a choice? “Tell the Gormak to expect us.”

(There are many ways to hasten the healing process. She sees his outline on the backs of her eyelids, brilliant white against the darkness. Good as new in hours, rather than days or weeks- better than new. Stronger. Quicker. I could-

Pass. Go away.

Valkorion chuckles and something’s hiding beneath the laughter, dark and creeping and ugly for all his sleekness and his gleaming armor. Look at you. Broken by a mere exarch. My children are going to kill you, little Cipher. And I may very well let them.)

“Nine?” When she blinks back to herself Lana’s biting her lip, eyes narrowed. “Was that-”

“It’s nothing- more color commentary as per usual. I’m fine.”

They look at each other across the table, Lana and Theron with matching expressions- she’s not fine, of course she isn’t fine and they all know that but no one wants to be the first to say it. Saying it out loud makes it real. Instead, they turn to each other.

“Send me the route.” Theron finishes off his cup and pours himself another. “I’ll look at it tonight and see if I can shave a little more time off.”

“Of course.” Lana’s datapad rings metallic against the tabletop as she pulls it from its pocket in her tunic. “Transmitting now. But- oh, Force, never mind. The rest of it can wait until later. What was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“I- um.” Clearing his throat, Theron fidgets in his chair until the seat creaks beneath his restless weight.

Poor Theron.

“Several days ago,” she begins so he doesn’t have to, “Theron became aware of a complication of his recent trip to Coruscant that we- and by we I mean I- are going to have to deal with.”

Lana nods. “I assume you’re referring to Agent Balkar?”

“Only indirectly. That he was there at all was a particularly bizarre coincidence, true, but that wasn’t the complication.” If only it were that simple. “To be frank, we probably owe him a favor. He was the one who told Theron about the death mark.”

“The what.” It isn’t a question. Hands folded, Lana’s holding on to herself so tightly that her knuckles blanch. “How did we get from a failed recruiting trip to a- and who in the Void placed the mark? With whom?”

Theron glances at her out of the corner of his eye; she rests her hand on his. “Do you want me to-?”

“No. I was the one who fucked it up,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to make excuses for me. We lied to you, Lana, but Nine did it because I asked her to. It wasn’t a recruiting trip. I went to Coruscant to ask my father for a favor.”

Lana’s expression barely changes, just the faintest hint of hurt in the set of her mouth and the line of her shoulders. “You told me you didn’t know who Theron’s father was, Nine. Or was that a lie as well?” Oh, hells. They should have told her sooner. If they can’t trust each other-

Theron shakes his head vehemently. “She didn’t. I promise she didn’t. Not until it went bad.”

“An understatement, I think,” Lana snaps. “But even so, why would your own father-”

“Jace Malcom is my father.”

(Is this the first time he’s said those words out loud? She wonders. She thinks so.)

Theron slouches lower into his chair, staring at the tabletop and carefully avoiding returning either of their gazes- her own cast sideways in quasi-apology, Lana’s an open-mouthed stare- until she taps one of his fingers with hers; his focus shifts toward the motion and she traces out a clumsy message. It’s okay. He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t move, but the frown lines across his forehead soften.

Clearing her throat, Lana finally breaks the silence hanging over the room. “Somehow I feel as though I ought to say I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” He sighs. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”

***

The caf pot’s empty by the time he finishes, an uneven split: three cups to Lana instead of her usual tea, more than enough that a fine tremor settles into her hands by the middle of the second, and two for Theron plus half of her own. (She managed a few scant sips before her stomach started to turn; she’d pushed it away with a grimace and Theron paused in his storytelling long enough to fetch her a glass of water instead. She always knew when she was really hurting, she’d used to say, when she couldn’t keep her caf down.)

“So.” Lana licks her lips. “Jace Malcom, your father, believes you’re a traitor to the Republic, Marcus Trant wants you dead, and both of them think Nine somehow brainwashed you into defecting.”

“That’s it in a nutshell, yeah. I probably should have expected it, but… y’know. Family, right?” Rubbing his eyes and then pushing his hair back from his face- it’s a mess, flopping across his forehead; then again her own’s a mess of knots from floating and Lana’s got circles beneath her eyes so dark they look like bruises- Theron smiles wryly.

“I can’t say I do. It would figure, though- all those years spent making sure my work couldn’t be traced back to me, and I end up taking the blame for something I didn’t even do.”

That gets a laugh out of both of them, at least, if only a small one, before Lana opens a new window on her datapad. “We’ll need to put new security measures in place, of course. I have a few suggestions, I think, if you haven’t already-”

“Not so many. Theron knows how to watch himself, though we’ll need a hard lockdown,” she says, “the day after our retun- no one outbound without proof of orders. If any of Trant’s people have made it to Odessen he’s going to need to call them back, and they’ll do one of three things.” She counts off each one on her fingers. “Least likely, they’ll stay undercover. That’s a long game and the SIS is spread thin enough that he can’t afford to keep too many eyes on us. Marginally more probably someone will make an attempt against orders. Suicidal, but if they hate us that much… but they’re probably going to try to slip the net, and we’ll need to be ready.”

Eyebrow raised, Lana stops taking notes. “Why would he call them back? He doesn’t know that we know, correct?”

“No. But he’s going to.”

“And you think that’s enough to make him cancel the mark? When I was Minister I had the misfortune of having to negotiate with that man more than once, Nine, and I’ll tell you from from experience: he isn’t going to back down because you ask him nicely.”

She bares her teeth in a slow smile. “You ought to know me better than that by now. I’m not planning on asking nicely.”

“Then what-”

“I’m going to blackmail him.”

Lana blinks. Pushing back out of her chair, she walks wordlessly around the table and taps the access panel beside the door and when it slides open she simply leaves the room.

Theron raises one hand, opening his mouth to speak. She shushes him and listens instead to Lana’s quiet footsteps in the corridor, a cabinet opening- the middle one in the shared mess by the way it squeaks- and the clink of glass and then more footsteps, louder, returning. When Lana enters the room once more she’s got a half-full bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand and a particularly disgruntled expression on her face; she retakes her seat, pulls the stopper free of the bottle, and pours a generous portion into her coffee cup before draining the whole thing at a go.

“All right.” Lana coughs. “Now I’m ready. Say that one more time.”

***

It’s not a good plan. She knows that. It’s probably a terrible plan.

It’s all they’ve got.

She wobbles when she tries to get up. They’ve sat talking too long and her head hurts and her wrist hurts and she could probably sleep for a month and it wouldn’t be enough (even if she just spent five years in stasis- but she wasn’t sleeping then, she was dying.) When she has to stop to brace herself against the wall for the third time in a dozen steps, Theron lifts her up, her arm around his neck.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you back to medbay.”

She wrinkles her nose. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. “Are you sure you two don’t need me to-?”

“Believe it or not, we can occasionally plan things on our own.” Lana- slightly more relaxed now thanks to the whiskey- points toward the door. “Theron and I will start work on this in the morning. For now, you need to recover and the rest of us need to rest.”

Theron nods, steadying his grip on her. “I’ll put a few things together once I’ve got Nine set up the tank. We can talk after-”

“You will not.” She rests her head on his shoulder. “Lana, make sure he sleeps. If he doesn’t, shock him and throw his jacket out the airlock.”

“She wouldn’t dare.”

Lana wiggles her fingers in Theron’s direction. “Don’t be so certain. Now go.”

Careful not to jostle her, he carries her down the hall and around the corner to the medbay, sets her down on the examining table while he gets the kolto tank set up for her next round. For better or for worse he’s an expert at running it now and after a few keystrokes it chimes softly, soft blue light illuminating the base.

“Tank’s ready if you are.” He turns back toward her but she’s only half-listening, attention drifting over to the scanner and the readout still scrolling across its screen.

“I’m not. But I know that doesn’t matter.“ Pulling off the wrist splint, she sets it down beside her. “Will you download a copy of that scan to my datapad? I want to show it to Lokin.”

He nods. “He’s already got it. We needed to make sure we hadn’t made things worse while we were trying to set your wrist- Force knows I’m a lousy medic when it comes to anything beyond medpacks and suturing. But if you want a hard copy I can-”

“No,” she yawns. “Never mind.” She slips her shirt off next, one-handed. There’s no rule against clothing in a kolto tank but no point in dirtying what she’s wearing, either, and she’s used to it this way; in the infirmary at school and in Intelligence training and even in the clinic at headquarters it was always the same with any major injuries. Kit off, my girl. Let’s get a look at you.

It wasn’t a bad thing in retrospect, not for her. It was only a body, after all, not something shameful to be covered up, and by her teens she could have- and did, once, thanks to a senior class prank that left the whole lower sixth with nothing but their identification badges and a single hand towel each with twenty minutes before the midyear examination began- walked naked through the Academy halls with her head held high. (She’d brought the towel, but only because she drew the line at sitting bare-assed in a hard plastic chair for the entire exam. Two-thirds of the class refused to leave the dormitories; the maestra failed them all.

She had the top mark.)

Theron helps her down. “Pants off too?”

“You know me too well.” His fingers hook into her waistband and she wriggles just a bit to help ease the fabric down over her hipbones. Ungraceful, still off-balance, she lifts one foot and then the other clear. “Though I’m afraid it’s all tease and no payoff tonight.”

His hands rest carefully on her waist as he straightens up, a kiss pressed feather-light to her forehead. “I don’t mind a rain check,” he murmurs. “The best things are worth waiting for.”

“Flatterer.”

“Not flattery when it’s true.” And then he helps her up into the tank, up over the lip of the base until she’s standing securely within it, and keys in the final sequence. The glass surround slides shut, closing her in as the seals engage; the kolto starts to bubble up through the ports, covering her feet, her ankles, up to her knees and then her waist and then her chest-

She hates this part.

In and out. In and out. She slows her breathing. The kolto reaches her chin.

Theron presses his hand to the glass. Just breathe- she can’t hear him but she can read the words on his mouth- I’ll be here when you wake up.

She nods, lifting her hand to match his. I know. Now go to sleep-

The last syllable cuts off when she inhales and the kolto fills her mouth, covers her head and she can’t breathe, oh Void (every single time she should be used to it by now but she’s choking and she’s going to die in here and-)

It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. He pauses a moment. The kolto’s kicking in; her vision goes hazy. I l-

Her eyes close as the sedatives take her.

***

Another three days gone.

By some miracle- Theron could be impressively persuasive when he set his mind to it- Lana seems almost convinced of the plan by the time they land. More than that, between the two of them they’ve drafted a security protocol that might actually work and that they probably ought to have had in place all along: while their ragtag rebellion needs all the help it can get, they all admit they haven’t been screening newcomers with any particular scrutiny.

They can’t afford to scare recruits away. For so many of them Odessen is hope despite the war, despite the threat of Arcann and his fleet arriving any day, hope that maybe they can win this after all and the galaxy can go back to being what it was or maybe something even better. They need that hope.

But she’s not a general, not a Lord or a chancellor or a queen. She’s a spy.

If they’re going to make her be the former, she can keep them all safe as the latter, too.

***

Doctor Lokin’s sitting at his workbench when she reaches his little room at the back of the lab.

Though he was officially assigned to Military Strategy (much as Aygo would prefer it they can’t stay entirely aboveboard all the time, and Eckard was as sly as they came, half of his record a black box of redacted text even to her) he spent much of his time in the science wing; he’d only partially recovered from his near-permanent transformation, his cancers stabilized but still more than enough to keep him out of the field for good. In between strategy sessions it was one experiment after another, one more chance at a cure.

She owes him that, after everything he did for her.

He looks her over quickly, glancing at the splint still on her wrist and the almost-faded bruises beneath her eyes that had been such a shock when she finally made it to a mirror. “Cipher. How are you feeling?”

“Like I had a console dropped on me a week ago? I’ve had worse.” A timer on the benchtop beeps. “I need you to check a few things, but if now isn’t convenient-“

“The wheel of research turns ever over,” he says, and smacks the timer until it quiets. “One moment.” Raising an autopipette over a row of racked test tubes, he adds a single drop of liquid to each one and they start to glow a violent shade of neon green. “There we are. You have my attention.”

Is the rack vibrating? Oh, dear. “You saw my initial scan, yes? I need you to look at my wrist again.”

Lokin nods, rolling back from the bench. “Not healing as expected? Remember, the neuropathy might take weeks-“

“That’s the problem. It’s healed- bone and nerve. I could use another day or two to knit the fracture a little more before I starting training on it, but it feels perfectly normal.” He raises an eyebrow as she hands him a datacard. “This is from this morning. 144 tank-hours since injury.”

The casters of his chair rattle across the floor tiles as he moves to a console tucked into one corner. The card slots into an empty port with a click, the first images of the scan loading one by one until a cross-section of her left hand and wrist fill the screen.

“Good callus formation,” Lokin murmurs. “Appropriate to tank-hours. The compression on the neurovascular bundle’s been reduced, of course, so I would expect to- hm. Let me cross-reference.” He opens another file- her previous scan, the one they’d sent from Nightshrike - and lays the sections atop each other. He squints.

He squints again.

“Stay here.”

She does. It never did do well to ignore doctor’s orders. A few minutes later he wheels a small cart into the lab, a screen mounted on its top and a tangle of wires dangling beneath. Lokin gestures to her wrist, to the splint hidden beneath her shirtsleeve.

“Brace off, sleeve up, and bring that extra chair with you.” He taps a clean corner of the workbench. “Hand here, please. Don’t move.”

Staying still for the cleansing swab’s easy. Staying still for the needles is slightly harder but she exhales (her tattoo was far worse- this is just a few little pokes, sharp stings before the pain eases) as he connects the leads to the taped-down electrodes, testing, testing, testing and then looking to the screen and testing again.

“It’s normal,” she says, “isn’t it?”

“Very nearly. Ninety-five percent of your baseline-” he unclips the wires- “which is remarkable in and of itself given what I would have expected from your scans, and even more remarkable given that your best measurement since the incident on Corellia was eighty-eight percent. Pre- and post-carbonite.”

Pulling the needles out one by one, beads of blood well up in their places as she sets them on the countertop. Odd that the sight of her own blood is reassuring, that’s there’s still something of herself in her own body to go with the ghost in her brain and the spirit- AI, projection, whatever the fuck he is- in her spine-

She looks up. “Eckard, I need to ask you something and it’s very important that you’re honest with me. My spinal implant, the one that Watcher X installed- you told me a long time ago that it was inactive. Are you absolutely certain?”

He sighs.

Oh, Void.

“I suppose that would depend,” he begins carefully, “on one’s definition of inactive."

***

He only meant to keep her safe.

If she’d known it, at her lowest when she was afraid of losing control again more than she was afraid of anything else, she might have done something foolish. She would have done something foolish. She would have-

(My job was- is- to keep you alive, Cipher. Alive and fighting. And if I had to lie to accomplish that then so be it.)

She knows. She-

***

She locks herself inside the sub-basement storage room and screams herself hoarse.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK-

***

If they hear it in her voice at dinner that night neither Lana nor Theron say anything at all.

But Theron brings her honey-sweetened tea instead of her usual caf that night and the tea is one of Lana’s blends; she knows it by its scent. Curling up on the couch, she holds the cup between her hands and sips at it slowly. The splint has to stay another few days- she promised Lokin at least four hours in the tank tomorrow and the day after, before they leave again- but the heat’s pleasant on her fingertips and the tea’s heavily spiced, pleasantly tingly on her tongue.

“Everything’s ready for tomorrow.” Theron sits down on the bed, his duffel at his feet. They’ve only been back on Odessen for twelve hours and it feels like years with all the work already done; they’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone see to mundanities like unpacking or laundry or operational reports. “Hylo had a lot of questions I couldn’t answer but she’s on board. We’re going to need a half-dozen barrels of Alderaanian ale, though.”

“Do what you need to, and forward me the invoice. I’ll take care of it.”

He flops back, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t even want to move. Wake me up next year?”

She doesn’t want him to move, either. His quarters might not be safe despite the extra hallway cameras, for one thing. They wouldn’t have stopped her, once upon a time, and she knows he thinks she’s being paranoid but she can’t shake the feeling that something’s moving around them in a pattern she can’t quite see yet. “Go to sleep, then. I don’t mind.”

“I know, but I’ll probably go straight through until morning at the rate I’m fading here. Plus, I still need to haul this thing back downstairs.” His foot connects with the bag as he kicks at it blindly. “Gotta hang up that fancy jacket you bought me before it gets wrinkly.”

“Just hang it up here, Theron,” she rasps- ugh. Another sip; she clears her throat. “There’s more than enough room. And it’s leather. It doesn’t wrinkle.”

“Semant-” Theron rolls onto his side, angling his body so he can look down the stairs to see her. “Wait. Now I have a toothbrush and closet space?”

She makes a face at him. “You know what I mean. If you don’t want to stay-”

“Of course I want to stay. I just-” He sits up. “Is this just for now, until we get this thing with the mark worked out, or-?”

A very good question.

She wants him to stay. Stars, she wants him to stay. Her dreams are better with him close, still restless but somehow bearable, and that alone might be enough to keep her sanity in all this mess. But if what they are- another good question she only knows how to answer as she did a week ago, a ferocious mine through gritted teeth- still needs to be kept secret-

Curling in tight, she tucks her knees up to her chest. “That’s up to you. I don’t want to make things more difficult for you than they already are.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

(She doesn’t know how to do this, not when it’s true. But it can’t be that hard, can it?) “Yes,” she says. “I do.”

Theron gets up, a yawn barely hidden behind his smile, and comes back down to her; he settles in beside her on the couch, arm around her shoulders, until she’s nestled in against him. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

*** Author’s Note: this wasn’t where this chapter was supposed to end. But seeing how that part’s still fighting me six weeks on (and three 50+ hour workweeks in there didn’t help), we’ll wrap up here and deal with a certain SIS director next time…

#equivalent exchange #inyri writes #swtor fanfiction #imperial agent/theron shan #theron shan #nine #lana beniko #doctor lokin #i've had lots of medical tests done in the last few weeks #can you tell?#the awkwardest people alive #they can talk circles around people on ops #and yet

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keldae · 5 years

Text

Drastic Measures (Chapter Twenty-Six)

Even with Corellia effectively under siege, the Coronet spaceport was remained busy: The sight of civilians, pilots, and CorSec personnel hurrying about on their business was not uncommon. Since the attack on the Green Jedi Enclave, the comings and goings of the Green Jedi were a slightly more unusual sight, considering how few members of the Order survived. Few left the Enclave now, and even fewer left Corellia, but departure wasn’t unheard of.

It didn’t stop Annya Emrys, twin lightsabers swaying against green-clad hips, from feeling as though she rather stood out as she hurried to a private hangar in the spaceport. Owned by her father, Hamilton, it had served to funnel numerous members of the resistance to and from Corellia. One might never guess that the hangar itself was technically owned by CorLion, LTD., the Emrys family logistics firm. Two ships currently waited within the hangar — it a tight fit, but hardly the first time they had made efficient use of the space.

She finally emerged from the lift to see Balance of Justice emblazoned on the hull of the Defender-class corvette, all but towering over a small, two-person shuttle. A small gathering of personnel stood between the ships. She made her way toward them as the tallest among them saw her first and raised a hand in greeting. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it.”

“Uncle Connall wanted to talk at me for the last hour and express his displeasure with this entire idea.” Annya rolled her eyes as she finally came to a halt beside Jonas.

“He’s really against you leaving Corellia, is he?” Jonas asked with a slight smirk.

“Half that, and half something about Imperial-spawned bastards not being worth time and effort, even if the other half of them is Corellian.” The redhead sighed and shook her head. “I’m making it back after this, if only to prove that Green Jedi who leave the system don’t always wind up dead or defected like dear cousin Airna.”

“Oh, I don’t count?” Jakar Forseti snorted. “If I didn’t know the old man, I would be offended. Essi isn’t overly enthused about this idea either, but she’s worried about Xaja too. She’d be coming along if the girls didn’t need care.”

“The struggles of half-Tythonian Jedi,” Jonas deadpanned. “You’re the last one we’re waiting for. Cole’s staying to keep a haven open for us and to keep CorSec running. Risha’s had to run back to Dubrillion for some sort of a gong show there. The rest of us are heading to Alderaan.”

“And no word yet about your cousin or Agent Shan, from official channels or otherwise,” Bey’wan Aygo finished. “I can’t get hold of Corso on the comms systems, and according to Balkar, the SIS has no news.”

Annya frowned, turning her focus to the Force. She had trained with Xaja Taerich on Tython, years before the two discovered they were second cousins. She considered herself reasonably familiar with the petite Jedi’s Force-signature, but when she reached out, she felt nothing. Of course, if she was still alive, Xaja was likely in the Dantooine system, far distant from Corellia. “If she’s still alive,” she finally said, “I can’t feel her.”

“Neither can I, and I’ve known her for over a decade,” Jakar murmured. “She’d better still be alive when we find her, or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“As in hunting down the Zaks who may or may not have done them in, or dragging her spirit back to the realm of the living for an ass-kicking?” Jonas asked with a grin.

“Pick one.” Jakar shook his head as he started walking to his ship. “Or both. Are you sure you don’t just want to ride along in my ship, Agent Balkar? I have plenty of space available.”

“Thanks, but I’ll need my shuttle. The Director’s promising to send me all over the damned galaxy in the next few weeks.” Jonas flicked a lazy salute at the Barsen’thor. “My next stop is Alderaan, same as you, so I’ll just follow you there.”

“I’ll send you the rendezvous coordinates when you arrive in the system,” Jakar nodded. “May there be good news waiting for us there.”

“Preferably tangible good news -- like Master Taerich or Agent Shan themselves being there,” Bey’wan muttered as he turned to follow Jakar to the Balance. Annya could hear the engines already powering up as the Jedi and the Admiral walked up the ramp into the ship. Looking up with a squint, she could just see Jakar’s Trandoshan companion in the cockpit of the ship.

Annya started to take a step toward Jakar’s ship before she felt a hand cradle her elbow. “Y’know,” Jonas drawled, a smirk pulling at his lips, “there’s more than enough space on my shuttle if you didn’t want to share breathing space with one of the Council.”

Despite her worry for her cousin, the redhead grinned and slipped an arm around Jonas’ waist as they walked toward his shuttle. His came to rest over her shoulders. “You’re just saying that so you don’t get lonely in transit.”

“Me? Ulterior motives? Never. I’m rather offended, Master Emrys.” The SIS operative couldn’t help the grin that curled across his lips.

The Green Jedi shook her head, her grin a suitable echo of his. “Shut up, Balkar.”

Aside from Thunder’s leadership, the Resistance had learned that mobility was arguably their most valuable asset: sitting down and getting comfortable was never going to be an option for them while the war waged on and Zakuul’s banner flew over the galaxy. Still, Sorand was impressed with how quickly the Tatooine cell had managed to pack up what they could, and wipe or destroy what they couldn’t. He supposed it helped that a solid three-quarters of the cell was comprised of Mandalorians, who were more accustomed to bas’lan shev’la than others. Add Lana Beniko, former head of Sith Intelligence herself, as the taskmaster overseeing the evacuation, and things happened quickly.

He drew to a halt beside the aforementioned Sith as she looked up from a datapad. “We’re proceeding on schedule,” she informed him. “The first shuttles are departing now, and the last of us should be gone within two hours.”

“Good. The sooner we’re gone, the better.” Sorand looked up at the cave roof, as though he could see the Star Fortress construction and the two freighters flying around it. “Any updates from Corey and Korin?”

“Rudimentary shields are in place — the Star Fortresses rely heavily on the ground bunkers for stronger deflection. The station’s not equipped for life support systems yet, but it seems to be habitable for droids. Weapons systems are online, so they’re attempting to keep the Skytroopers and droids distracted enough so our evacuation can proceed.” Lana frowned down at the datapad. “Tee-Seven transmitted back something about a star in the centre of the fortress as well.”

The dark-haired Sith frowned in confusion. “A star? Inside the fortress? That can’t be right.”

“He’s insistent. And with your brother and Corey too busy trying to keep themselves from getting shot, they can’t exactly clarify what he means.”

“Hmm. We’ll debrief them when we’re all away from here.” Sorand looked back down at Lana, feeling nervous worry clench around his heart. “Any word from Dantooine?”

“Nothing.” The look Lana exchanged with Sorand reflected her own fear of what the end result of that attack had been. “No further word from Riggs, and no reports of survivors from other cells or independent assets.”

“It’s still early,” Sorand murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the mostly-empty cave in front of him. “They could have escaped and still be running.”

“It’s possible.” Lana reached over, placing her hand on his forearm. She offered a comforting squeeze. “There is one glimmer of hope, however: Zakuul has made no statement regarding elimination of a resistance cell, nor capture or demise of either your sister or Theron. Arcann would be gloating to the entire galaxy, had he apprehended them.”

Sorand slowly nodded. Lana did have a point — Arcann was enough of an egomaniac that he wouldn’t have been able to stay quiet about his triumph over the ‘assassin’ and ‘terrorist.’ Unless they’re in transit to Zakuul, or the Empire or the Republic got there first. Wait, the Republic wouldn’t have attacked them like that, not with so many Jedi there… would they? “I still need confirmation, one way or another,” he said.

“You’re not planning on going there yourself, are you?” Lana’s eyes widened. “You’re as valuable a target as they are!”

“I’m aware.” Sorand sighed and uncrossed his arms, running his hand over the scruffy beard he’d let grow in. It would help disguise his identity a little bit, he thought. Besides, the look was rather growing on him, and Shara seemed to like it. “If we’ve heard nothing by the time we’re on Alderaan, I’m sending someone out to investigate. Right now I need all hands to get this cell moved out quickly.”

Lana nodded, then glanced down at her datapad as a small ping came through. “The second set of shuttles is away. We had best get to the Shereshoy and be ready to leave, my lord.”

“Lana…”

“Apologies. Changing four years’ worth of ingrained habit is difficult, Sorand.” Lana shot the taller Sith a small, tight smile. “Come.”

Nar Shaddaa never slept, and neither did the security systems of the Zakuulan bunker. Fully staffed, Knights and Skytroopers took shifts to guard the site and the control panels for the shields of the orbiting Star Fortress. They believed each potential vulnerability had been secured. But, in their arrogance, there was one significant blind spot that they hadn’t thought to guard against.

Reanden grunted as he slowly made his way through the narrow maintenance tunnels snaking through the sector, a blueprint of the area displaying itself through one of his retinal implants. It was an area usually left to rodents, droids, and the occasional vagrant. Needless to say, it had seen better -- and cleaner -- days. He tried not to think too hard about the puddle he planted his elbow into, crawling to the next intersection. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” he grumbled into his comm.

“This was your idea, Legate,” Kothe retorted, voice crackling in the earpiece Reanden carried. “Vette could have gotten in there easier.”

“Vette’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to do my job.” Reanden muttered a curse as his head bumped against a pipe that had no business being in his way like that. Gingerly rubbing the sore spot through his greying hair, he blinked at the blueprint he was following. “I’m under the bunker.”

“Good work. Standby.” The former Jedi went quiet for a moment; Reanden knew the other spy was tracing his position on sector maps. “The comms centre should be about six more metres north, then two metres west. Be careful; that’ll put you right under the shield generator.”

“I’d still like to know how they managed to get their own power station in here to run the damn thing,” Reanden mused as he resumed crawling forward. He scowled as his implants started to quietly hum, picking up the energy of the Zakuulans’ shield generator.

“Heh. You should see some of the intel your son sent back about the Tatooine fortress they got a look at. Miniature suns inside the damned things.”

“Wait, what?” That report was concerning, but Reanden couldn’t spare the time to think about the apparent interior structures of the Star Fortresses. That was something to concern himself with at another time. He had another job to do. “On second thought -- fill me in on that later.”

The old spy reached the corner in the tunnels and turned to the west, grumbling about the stupid things he did for his job and the sake of the galaxy at large. “Remind me again why I didn’t retire, Kothe?” he muttered into the comm.

“You tried once, if Marcus tells the story correctly, and lasted perhaps half a day before getting bored enough to take apart the Shadow’s comms systems and put them back together.”

“That bastard knows far too much,” Reanden groused as he pulled himself forward the last few feet, ignoring Kothe’s snort of laughter. Yes, that was a peculiar pipe running through the middle of the maintenance tunnels, only a few metres from the bottom part of the power generator. “I’m here.” He blinked to take a snapshot of the area; another series of blinks sent the image to Kothe.

“That looks about right. You find an access point?”

“Not yet — oh, there we go, you look promising.” Reanden grunted as he pulled himself around the side of the pipe and started removing an access panel. From how difficult it was to remove, he suspected it hadn’t been touched since the bunker was under construction. With a few more muttered expletives, he managed to pull the panel off, exposing a series of wires and transmitters to his cybernetically-enhanced eyes. “Jackpot.”

He smirked tightly to himself as he reached into his belt pouch and retrieved some small, barely-noticeable parts. With almost forty-odd years of experience behind him, installing his own transmitters into enemy feeds was a task he could practically do in his sleep -- even on the advanced Zakuulan tech. It still operated on the same basic premise as Republic, Empire, and Huttese technology. Thus, slipping a transmitter onto the main conduit remained a simple task. “Test.”

“Standby…” Kothe went quiet for a moment. “Receiving. Force, I’m seeing everything: comms, transmissions records, security logs, personnel records…”

“Excellent. Hang tight while I set up part two.” Installing a systems override without being detected was a fair sight more difficult, and Reanden spent several long minutes sweating in the stifling tunnels as he delicately wired in the tiny device. He swiped at his forehead with the crook of his arm. “Give that a try.”

“Let’s see…” Kothe gave a low whistle. “Looks like that took. I’m not gonna try pulling anything with Zaks awake in the bunker, but I should be able to override their system controls from here.”

“Still got it.” Reanden smirked, then gingerly extricated himself from the tangle of wires, carefully replacing the panel cover. “Can you open the surveillance feed enough for Thunder to observe? Or Marcus?”

“Marcus for sure. We’ll have to wait to get Thunder’s latest encryption key. They’ve got some people hiding them who’re damn good at their jobs.”

Damn straight, Reanden thought. He’d been the one to make Sorand’s ‘Thunder’ signal nigh untraceable, and had taught his son how to maintain the scrambling. “Works for me. I’m heading out before I melt down here.”

“Salt doesn’t melt that quickly,” the spymaster remarked.

The double agent gave a snort of laughter. “That’s another drink you owe me.”

Kothe chuckled. “Then get your sorry shebs back here. You can collect on the way out of the system.” He paused a beat. “In case I didn’t mention it, good work, Legate.”

Trying to find somewhere quiet on a Republic warship was like looking for dry land on Manaan. The small briefing room that Xaja had eventually found still wasn’t what could be called a ‘relaxing environment’, but at least it muffled most of the noises of Commander Malcom’s troops and the Jedi refugees.

“I don’t get it,” Theron quietly murmured to her as they sat on the floor of the briefing room, legs crossed and knees just touching each other's. “I wasn’t imagining it — my mother saw it too. It…”

“After all this time…” Xaja took one of Theron’s hands in both of her own, fingers slowly tracing the calluses earned over the years. “Shouldn’t this have shown up with Master Zho’s training?”

“I dunno.” Theron frowned, twisting his hand in hers to run his thumb over her knuckles. “I’m kinda wondering if it’s not the bond that’s doing this. I mean, I couldn’t feel anything before the Voss ritual.”

“But even then, you could only feel what I was channeling.” Xaja bit on her lower lip in thought. “There isn’t really any records of this ever happening before, with a Force-user bonding to a Force-blind person and making them Force-sensitive.”

“How many records are there of people walking around with Sith ghosts in their heads?”

“You might be surprised. Sorand had some stories.” Xaja shook her head at Theron’s rising eyebrows and turned her focus back to the perplexing question at hand. “You don’t think another Jedi could have pushed your blaster back to you?”

Theron shook his head. “It didn’t feel like that at all. It… I could feel it, Xaja. It was… kriff, how do I explain it…” He sighed. “… It was like I could feel the blaster, and feel something connecting me to it. I could feel it being pulled back to me.”

“And it wouldn’t have been me you sensed,” Xaja murmured. “I was trying to not die.” She hummed in thought, an idea glimmering in her mind. “Do you think you could do it again?”

“Maybe?” Theron shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “I don't know. I guess it’s worth a try?”

Xaja nodded in agreement as she looked around the briefing room. Someone had left a datapad behind on the table; she reached out a hand and, using the Force, drew it toward them, setting it down a couple of metres away. “See if you can pull that over?”

Theron frowned at the datapad, then stretched his arm out. “Kriff, how the hell did I do this last time?” he muttered. Xaja watched his forehead wrinkle as he stared down the length of his arm. She could just feel the Force shifting around him faintly, erratic ripples pressing against her senses. It was like she was watching a new Jedi Youngling trying to touch the Force for the first time— which, she supposed, wasn’t inaccurate. This particular ‘Youngling’ just happened to be thirty-three years old.

The bond prickled. “Youngling?” Theron mumbled, raising one eyebrow incredulously at Xaja.

“Sorry.” Xaja offered him a cheeky grin. “Would ‘Padawan’ feel better?”

Theron broke his focus long enough to very maturely stick his tongue out at Xaja, earning a giggle from the Jedi. “Brat,” he muttered.

“And you keep me around anyway,” Xaja retorted with a smile as she reached to take his other hand.

“Yeah, for some reason. The things I do for cute Jedi girls.” Theron grinned and shook his head before turning his focus back to his task. Xaja watched as his smirk fell away, replaced by a frown. Amber eyes narrowed as the spy honed in on the datapad, a muscle in his jaw twitching. The ripples in the Force grew more pronounced, but not quite strongly enough for any visible motions.

Xaja’s gaze darted between Theron’s frown and the datapad, anxiously watching for any movement. When Theron had told her about the blaster returning to his hand, she almost hadn’t believed it. She desperately wanted to know if it was possible for Theron to touch the Force, even if his odds were astronomically low. And he wanted it just as badly as she wanted it for him, likely even more. For all his offhanded comments about not needing the Force, she knew he was always bitter he hadn’t shared his mother’s aptitude for it.

She squeezed his hand as she turned back to look at him. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead with the effort he was putting into his attempt to move the datapad, every muscle in his neck and jaw rigid. “Breathe, Theron,” she said quietly.

Theron wordlessly nodded, not taking his gaze from the datapad. Xaja felt a burst of growing frustration mingled with desperation along the bond. “Come on…” he whispered. She could feel the strain building within him. The hand not stretched out to the datapad squeezed Xaja’s fingers in his lap tightly.

Maybe thirty seconds later, Theron slumped in frustrated disappointment. “Must’ve been a fluke,” he muttered. “I can’t do it again.”

Xaja sighed and reached up to caress Theron’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry, Theron,” she murmured, reaching out with the Force in an attempt to soothe his frustration. “Maybe the Force answered you in a high-stress situation? We’ll figure something out.”

Theron rested his forehead against Xaja’s, jaw clenching with his disappointment. He had so desperately hoped that he could repeat it, she knew — that he would be able to live up to the Jedi lineage that weighed on him. “Might have been another Jedi flying it back to me in the fight, or my mother might have unconsciously done something. It doesn’t matter.” He sighed heavily and waved his hand in a frustrated motion in the datapad’s direction. “It’s not going to happen for me—”

The datapad didn’t move much, but it did noticeably wiggle in the direction of Theron’s push.

Xaja felt her jaw drop as she felt Theron freeze. Shock flared in the Force, and it was impossible to tell who radiated it more. Slowly, she turned her stare from the datapad up to Theron’s face, as his shock mingled with the strongest sense of joy and relief that she had felt since the moment he’d broken her out of carbonite. “So, what were you saying about that being a fluke?” A grin pulled at her lips.

“That… it actually…” Theron stared down at his hand, then at the datapad in disbelief. “I…” When he looked back at Xaja, his eyes were wide, a smile starting to appear. Elation radiated from him strongly enough that Xaja could almost physically see it. “You saw that, right?!”

“Yes, I saw it!” Xaja beamed as she lifted her hands to caress Theron’s face. “Force, Theron, you—” Her words were lost as Theron abruptly pulled her in to kiss her hard, too much at a loss for words to try to verbalize his joy. She tangled her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back, pulling him closer to her in turn—

They both heard the sounds of the sublight engines kick in as Malcom’s warship dropped out of hyperspace. Xaja reluctantly pulled back from the kiss and looked upward. “Is this another one of the false-trail jumps your father’s doing to keep the Zakuulans off our necks?”

Theron blinked in the odd way that told Xaja he was interacting with his implants. “Yes,” he finally said. “We’re approaching the Rhen Var system, next detour looking like it’s going to be past Onderon.” He sighed as he loosened his grip on her. “Want to go find somewhere more comfortable to crash?”

“Consider my rubber arm twisted,” Xaja said as she got to her feet, Theron a second behind her. She watched as his gaze still went back to the datapad and a smile pulled at his mouth again. “We’ll make a Jedi out of you yet,” she said with a grin.

Theron just shook his head as though disbelieving what had just happened, even if his elation hadn’t subsided much. “I still can’t believe it,” he whispered as he reached down to take Xaja’s hand. “After all this time…”

“The Order just gave up on you too early,” Xaja laughed as they started walking out of the briefing room. “It—”

A stabbing pain lanced through her head, badly enough to make her wince and stop walking. She could sense Theron’s sudden worry, but couldn’t hear him speaking to her as another voice filled her mind, a cold, malevolent whisper. So your pet can now do parlour tricks. So very impressive. Certainly the apex of Revan’s line. Vitiate was still as cruelly sarcastic as Xaja remembered from her carbonite nightmares.

Shut up! Get out of my head! Xaja ground her teeth as she tried to wedge a mental wall between her and Vitiate, even more than what the Voss had done. The Emperor chuckled coldly before the icy, painful pressure lessened on her shields, and the waking world came back into focus.

“--ja? Xaja!” Theron was lightly shaking her shoulders, eyes wide with fear this time. “Look at me, sweetheart, please…” His hand came up to caress her cheek; Xaja could feel moisture on her skin when his thumb traced her cheekbone, and realized she had shed a tear. “The hell was that?”

Xaja had buried her face in Theron’s chest almost before she realized she was moving. Fear raced through her veins, fear of the monster inside her head and what she knew he was capable of, fear mingled with hatred. “It was him,” she whispered, and felt Theron tightly wrap his arms around her, his earlier joy dissolving into mingled anger and dread. “He’s watching, Theron. He’s… he’s trying to get in.”

A cruel laugh echoed in the depths of her mind. .

With a whoosh, ships of the Eternal Fleet dropped out of hyperspace in Tatooine’s orbit. At first glance, all seemed normal and deceptively peaceful... until one of the GEMINIs registered the two light freighters being chased around the Star Fortress skeleton by the station’s rudimentary fire. But those pilots had seen the Fleet’s arrival, and were already diving away from the warships. The Paladin overseeing the battle group scoffed derisively as the ships, likely owned by the miscreant smuggler types that ran rampant in the Core Worlds, fled from the Fleet. He watched as the ships opened fire on the freighters, then raised an eyebrow, begrudgingly impressed, as the pair vanished into hyperspace. The Core Worlds did produce some decent pilots, it seemed.

But two spacers playing chicken with the Star Fortress weren’t his concern. He sharply barked out an order to deploy ground troops to Tatooine’s surface. He would get his answers for the blatant attack on the bunker there.

He turned to march away from the bridge, but glanced back just in time to see another ship leave Tatooine’s orbit and jump to hyperspace before they had quite broken out of the atmosphere.

The bunker was destroyed. As far as the Paladin could tell from the reports of his droids sent in to analyze the ruins, the rebels had managed to overload the generator under the desert’s sandy floor. The scattered remains of demolished Skytroopers still littered the ground around the bunker, but little remained of the human inhabitants. It was likely that the barbaric rebels had left their bodies for Tatooine’s wildlife.

The Paladin snarled in rage at the disrespect of the rebels, stalking back toward his transport. “Tear the planet apart if you have to. I will have their heads!”

Two hours later, he stepped into the hidden cave labyrinth, seeing everything tinged with red. The rebels had been here — they hadn’t vacated the caves fast enough to take everything with them, and there were empty crates, blaster parts, and ration wrappers left laying about. But the few computers still around had been destroyed with a barrage of blaster shots. There were no datapads or scraps of flimsi left behind. And there was no information to be gleaned about the recent inhabitants of the caves.

He stalked through the caves, noting the different alcoves filled with abandoned items from the resistance. Some caves, and even whole open parts of the canyon floor, bore the signs of recently being occupied by starships. When he held his bare hand against the sand, he could still feel lingering warmth, despite the cooler interior of the cave. The last rebels must have fled within the hour, barely a step ahead of the Zakuulans. He glowered at the stone walls of the cave before whirling on one of his subordinates. “Get me every departure log from Anchorhead and Mos Eisley!”

“We’ve been trying, sir,” the corporal stammered. “But this part of Tatooine is considered no-man’s land. Neither the Republic base nor the Imperial has any control over who takes off from here. And if the rebels are this good, they will have been able to dodge any identification attempts —”

“I did not ask for excuses. Get me answers!” The Paladin stormed through the caves, seeking to return to his shuttle. Which resistance leaders had been here? Had Thunder themselves been present to oversee the attack? Either way, he needed answers. Emperor Arcann would accept nothing less.

#drastic measures #the plot thickens #Spydad pulls a Theron #he and Kothe are terrifyingly buddy-buddy-like #featuring the entry of Clan Emrys!#friend's OCs #Annya Emrys #Ginger and I figured out that Annya/Adela and Xaja/Korin/Sorand are second cousins #the Corellian gene pool is strong with these ones #Force-Sensitive!Theron #as he apparently has just discovered #we can't go too long without Valkemort poking his nose in where it's not wanted #grumpy Zakuulans are grumpy

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