#kreia... *deep sigh*

[dairine-bonnet]

Onderon playthrough seems endless... even though there are interesting plot twists, this part of the story is still too looong. If it had been shorter, Onderon could've become my favourite planet. I'm also a bit fed up with Kreia's intrigues and manipulations...

#some thoughts about kotor 2 playthrough #while kotor 1 plot is gripping almost all thetime for me #kotor 2 has a pattern like: gripping boring gripping boring gripping boring... #nothing happens then many stressful situations in a row and nothing interesting happens again afterwards... #like the narrative is unbalanced... #idk how to explain it... yet... #still like kotor 1 and its characters best but it's fun to find out some wonderful moments in k2 as well #i haven't been playing kotors for 15 years... can't believe it!:D #kotor #knights of the old republic #kotor 2 #onderon #k2 playthrough #k2 thoughts #star wars #kreia... *deep sigh* #i've never been a big fan of her tbh:D #my complaints?!

[renegade-skywalker]

In an attempt to rekindle my creative juices and overcome my writer's block, I edited and added to this scene I wrote a couple months ago for an upcoming chapter of Out of the Abyss, starring our favorite guilt-ridden ex-smuggler and the similarly guilt-ridden ex-Jedi he's unfortunately in love with.

~~~

“Figured I’d find you here,” Eden greeted before he could step into the cockpit proper. 

Atton froze, an overwhelming dread filling him at the sound of her voice after hoping to have a moment alone at the controls, only for the feeling to succumb entirely to the warring calm that often possessed him whenever he was in Eden’s presence. 

“Thought I might beat you to it,” she added before he could get a word of surprise in edgewise.

Eden flashed him a quick smile - a small one, almost sad - before returning her attention to the navicomputer before her. The pale blue light from the screen limned her face, making her eyes look almost silver. All Atton could do was cough purposefully and shove his hands deep into his pockets as he conjured his usual air of cool indifference. 

“Where else would I be?” he joked with a fake laugh - a nervous laugh. 

Eden let out an airy chuckle in response as if she were equally nervous, though Atton had no idea why she would be. As if waiting for some unspoken revelation, he kept his eyes fixed on her silhouette as she fiddled with the navicomputer while he gently padded across the room and sank into the co-pilot’s chair. Both to watch her from as well as to subtly distance himself from her, afraid of what he might say - of what he might feel - if he stood too close. Even the pilot’s chair was too close for his liking. At least right now.

An ache welled in his chest at the sight of her, that same gaping maw he often felt when Eden was near and her unspoken emotions abrew - but this time it was sweet, and almost somber. 

“So,” Eden said instead, ignoring Atton’s earlier question, even if it was hypothetical. “Where’re we dropping you off?”

She had the map opened up on the screen now, her fingers tracing various trade routes that sprouted from Telos. Atton had each of these paths memorized and then some, but to see Eden uncertainly follow each one made them seem new somehow, uncharted. 

“Where are you headed?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended, almost timid.

Eden paused and turned to face him, her hand still poised over the console as if she were going to enter the very coordinates she was about to speak of. 

“Dantooine,” she said, her voice similarly soft. It wasn’t tender, but apprehensive. She watched him for a reaction over her shoulder with a furrowed brow, unsure if she should turn to face him in full or return her attention to the screen. Atton locked eyes with her for a moment, flinching when she looked back, and eventually nodded, slowly.

“Dantooine,” he echoed, as if considering it. It didn't matter what her destination happened to be, his response would have been the same. “Sure, why not.”

Eden furrowed her brow further and sighed as she finally turned around completely and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back on the navicomputer as she abandoned the coordinates entirely. 

“I doubt you’ll find work there, or a ride off-world, if that’s what you were hoping,” Eden said, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read him. Unlike Kreia, Atton felt no intrusion inside his mind other than one of his own machinations, one that bid him to look back at her. After warring with his inner monologue, he did so. When he looked back at Eden, their eyes locked, and a chill of warring warmth and anxiety coursed through him. Part of him wanted to look away, knowing what Kreia knew now and what Eden did not, and yet instead he held her gaze, wondering if there may be a way to skirt his fears entirely, wondering if traveling in Eden’s shadow really would be all that bad. Besides, he’d at least get to be near her, wouldn’t he?

“Not looking for more work,” he admitted after a moment. “This is probably a full-time gig, right? I’m sure the pay's not great, but-”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Eden shook her head and raised a hand between them, insinuating that Atton shut up a moment and let her think. He tried not to laugh, though a smile threatened to take over his mouth. A genuine one. He bit down on his lower lip and hoped Eden didn’t notice. “I thought-”

“Well, whatever it was, you thought wrong,” Atton said, channeling his usual air of nonchalance. He felt weird in this skin again, even though it was so familiar. He couldn’t help but think back to the way Kreia made him feel in his cell back at the wannabe Jedi Academy - all his sins laid bare, all his sins yet unpunished - and hoped that this mask would hold up, that it would make him feel safe again. “Honestly, I’m a little too curious about where all this nonsense is going, and it doesn’t look like there’s any corner of the ‘verse I could run to that would matter unless all of this is put to rest. It’s not like I have anything going on right now, anyway. No jobs lined up, no outstanding bills to pay…”

He thought of Luxa and his debts, wondering whether that would come back to bite him again. Knowing his luck, it would. Knowing Kreia, it probably wouldn’t matter. He didn't have a choice.

“You do need a pilot, right?”

Eden opened her mouth, about to say something, before promptly closing her mouth again as she thought better of it. 

“It’s fine if you’d rather find someone else,” Atton sighed again, feigning indifference. “I get it, but I was just thinking if-”

“It’s not like I can hire you. Or anyone else for that matter,” Eden said, leaning further back against the navicomputer, a strange look in her eyes. Strange only in that Atton couldn’t read her - was this good news or bad? “Can’t in good conscience ask anyone to join me on this stupid little crusade, really. But if you’re offering, then…” Eden chewed on her lip, looking away. “Well, I’d be stupid to refuse.”

“You’re anything but stupid,” Atton replied almost too quickly, his voice unintentionally soft again. “I’m only saying that, seeing as I have nowhere else to go, and nothing better to do, I might as well-”

“Not fair,” Eden cut in, pushing away from the wall now and settling into the pilot’s chair across from him, her expression decidedly less demure as she was instead overcome with sudden determination. “You don’t get to tell me I’m not stupid and then turn around and downplay your own skills. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you and you know that.”

Do I though? Atton thought, thinking simultaneously of the times he’d helped her on Citadel Station as well as the fact that he was almost certainly the reason she was nearly smuggled off Peragus or worse, and at least responsible for the fact that the place no longer even existed.

“If you were to stay on, you’d be more than just my - than just our - pilot,” Eden continued quietly, her voice utterly serious. “You know that, too.”

Atton had no clever quip, no witty response. All he could do was look at Eden and try to read her features, surprised but also not to find that her every sentiment was genuine. And yet some unspoken, inner part of her felt guilty for it. It wasn’t plain on her face, but it was clear in her eyes. Those painfully familiar eyes Atton still had yet to place in his memory…

“Whatever you say, Captain.” 

“Captain,” Eden echoed as she huffed a laugh, leaning back in the pilot’s chair before considering Atton again. Amusement colored her features now and he couldn't deny that the look suited her, though the undercurrent of her previous statement remained steadfast in her gaze. “Really?”

Atton shrugged.

“You can still back out now,” he offered. “If I tag along, you’ll only get more of this.”

Atton gestured vaguely at himself though mostly to his jacket, though what he really meant to insinuate was that Eden would get more of his bullshit - whether for good or worse. He’d try to be helpful, he’d try to do right by her, but he’d be lying his way through it all. Both to her as well as to himself.

Eden narrowed her eyes again, playfully this time.

“Alright, alright,” she conceded, the hint of a smile teasing her mouth as she got up and meandered toward the navicomputer again. Eden turned to the screen and began to type in the coordinates to Dantooine, pausing only to add. “Anyway, I’m glad you’ll stick around, though I can’t promise you won’t regret it.”

“Yeah, well, too late for that," he quipped, trying to sound friendly about what could very well be their shared impending doom. He knew it wasn't too late. At least not for her.

But for Atton, it was too late for a lot of things and he'd just have to live with that. For now.

#kotor 2 #atton rand #the jedi exile #atton x exile #my writing #not sure if today is the day to post this but honestly not sure it even matters

[thatwitchrevan]

(dark kermit) it's 2:20am dump scarier meetra au

This is some shit I wrote last month along the line of 'what if Meetra said fuck free will and messed with everyone's heads a little. or a lot.' scary Meetra rights.

Visas stared blankly at her, her thoughts rolling. Her mental voice was somewhere in between Nihilus' deep gravely drone of the void and Meetra's own warm and deep tones, with a calm in the storm and gentle permanance that was all Visas. She held the image of her old master in her mind alongside her new one, appreciating the difference.

-

Meetra took Visas' small, cold hands in hers and gently rubbed some warmth back into them.

"Thank you, Meetra."

Meetra kissed her palm. "He won't bother you anymore. Kreia won't, either."

Visas did not ask what Meetra would do with her. She would not mind whatever it was.

She was curious, though. "I've never understood it. That power you have over others."

Meetra folded Visas' fingers softly into fists. "Do you want to learn how?"

Kreia was going to be the hardest and so Meetra went to her the moment she knew she could handle it. The elder Jedi watched her warily through the Force. She knew the Exile came for a fight, if not one with weapons.

Her eyes and her tone suggested to Visas that she should say yes. "Yes."

-

"Arren."

Kreia refused to cower. "I have told you not to use that name."

Meetra sighed. "Fine. Pretend all you want. But the rest has to change."

Kreia's lip curled. "Switching it up, are we? The student becomes the teacher?"

"Cut the shit," Meetra said. "You're going to stop messing with my crew. Stay out of their heads. Leave Atton alone. Leave Mical alone. You won't hurt any of them ever again."

Kreia visibly struggled to keep her scowl even. "You think to command me, command them, and condemn me for doing so in the same breath? Hypocrite."

Meetra just crossed her arms, unworried - she could tell that despite Arren's bravado, the order had hit home. "And Kreia? You're not to speak to me unless I ask you something."

If the whole charade had irritated her, this made Kreia truly angry, her rage and hurt bubbling under the surface. "Meetra."

Meetra shook her head. "What'd I say?"

Kreia spoke through clenched teeth, furious enough to strangle Meetra, but though the Exile had said nothing forbidding it something more powerful held her back. "I'm not to speak unless you ask."

"I don't know what to do with Atton anymore."

Meetra's shoulders relaxed. "Good."

-

Meetra was flying the ship, musing aloud to Mical as he stood beside her. Their usual pilot was in the medbay after another mission throwing himself on the line until he collapsed. He was spoiling to get his ass kicked even more than usual and Meetra was going sick with it and him and everything about him.

Mical leaned on the pilot's chair and sighed. "We don't have to do anything with him," he said miserably. "You could just let him go."

Meetra frowned out the viewport at the blur of hyperspace. "He's endangering himself and all of you. He's never honest with me. And he refuses to go."

"It's because of Kreia," Mical insisted. His hand grazed her shoulder, holding on gently to her robes. "She was messing with his head. He only wants to help."

Atton seemed to be waiting for her to get to him. She had been thinking about it for what felt like ages, what she'd ask of him, what would be best. He stiffened every time he saw her now.

Meetra sighed. She wished she was like him, all optimism and seeing the good in people. It tore him apart but it was good of him. "Mical, I hope you never change."

-

When she eventually came to him, she stared at him, and he stared back at her, quiet.

"You need to be more careful."

Atton crossed his arms. "Is that right."

Meetra hadn't wanted to get frustrated, but he seemed to make it inevitable. "I don't want you to die."

"You cannot," Atton said, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to compell her instead, "order me to live."

Maybe she couldn't. Yet. "I am asking you to be more careful."

Atton narrowed his eyes, but he seemed to relax just a fraction. "Asking, huh?"

"And I'm telling you -" he tensed again, but she kept going, deliberate - "not to lie to me again."

If she thought the notion of avoiding self-sacrifice would bother him, she had underestimated the impact of this. Atton looked genuinely frightened, and his anger was no longer calmly packed away behind his scowl. "Meetra. That's insane."

"You can leave. She's not making you stay anymore, and neither will I. But if you're here you're not going to lie to me."

Atton looked at her like he didn't quite know who he was talking too anymore. "You can't do this. This is... come on, Meetra. This is ridiculous. You've had us killing for you and risking our lives for you, but this... can't you see how messed up this is?"

"And it's not messed up for you to tell me you're okay when you're not so you can go and get yourself nearly killed, to tell me you've got my back when you're hiding things from me? What am I supposed to do, Atton?"

Atton huffed. "And what about all the times you've lied to me, huh? Does that not matter? Only you're allowed to hide things?"

Meetra didn't respond.

His hands were shaking. "You can't control me."

Meetra sighed. "Atton. I could almost do it without trying. I'm sorry."

She hated how he was looking at her - without violence, without any desire for retribution: just pain and anger with nowhere to go. "And if I don't listen? What if I figure it out, huh? What are you gonna do to me if I don't follow orders?"

Meetra shook her head. "Nothing. I won't hurt you. But I think I'll know. I can tell now."

Atton opened his mouth, shut it again. He stepped forward, his hand held out, desperate. "You are hurting me. Okay? This is the worst thing you could do. I'm asking you to stop it."

Meetra stared at him. She wasn't unmoved - it ached to see him in this much pain. But he'd been in pain the whole time: whether she was causing it, or Kreia, or he was doing it to himself. At least this way she would know. She took his hand. "I am sorry. I won't stop you leaving. But I can't take it back."

Meetra found Bao-Dur in the engine room. "Hey."

His eyes burned. He pulled his hand away.

-

His eyes were heavy as he looked at her, searching. "General. You doing alright?"

Meetra tried to shrug. "I'm doing my best."

Bao-Dur frowned. "It's just you seem more tired than usual. Spread thin. Everyone is."

Meetra frowned. "Are they okay?"

Bao-Dur shook his head. "Don't think so. Mandalore asked me if I trusted you. Seems twitchy out of nowhere."

"Do you trust me?"

The answer was automatic, clean. "Always."

Meetra nodded. "I appreciate you looking out for me." She thought of leaving it at that. He did so much for her already. But she was scared - her crew was in pain and danger was coming for them again. She looked up. "Bao-Dur-"

Bao-Dur grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly. "Don't." His voice was soft. Worse than reproach, even though he didn't mean any. "Just ask like you always do. Whatever it is, I'll do it."

Meetra looked at him. She didn't know how to turn it off, now that she started. But she knew that with him she only needed to ask. If this was how he wanted it she had to try. "Please... just take care of them."

Meetra fell heavily to her knees in front of Kreia and grabbed her by the shoulders. "You are not dying."

She could tell the difference now, and Bao-Dur's nod was immediate but his eyes were clear. "Of course."

-

Kreia was silent. If she had a card to play it wasn't showing now. She had tried everything to break Meetra's will, but she could neither compell her nor threaten her friends, and any appeal she was able to make fell on deaf ears.

Only Atton felt sorry for her, and only because he knew the same pain - their beloved Exile had become what they hated.

Meetra left Kreia to stew in the center of the chamber. Atton had turned to run as soon as he saw her stand, was almost out of the room, but she put s stop to that. "Atton, come back."

He returned to stand beside her. It didn't even look as though he was resisting, his expression and his thoughts the only indication that he would, if he had any control left, be running like hell. "You said you wouldn't. You said you wouldn't make me stay."

"I'm not. I just need your help with one last thing. I need you to help me kill Sion."

"I hate you," he said.

That should've hurt. Meetra marveled that it didn't, in more than the most distant way. "I'll let you go after this. I'll protect you."

Atton sighed. "You could've just killed me. That, I'd forgive in a second."

"I don't need you to forgive me. I need just need you all safe."

#visas and bao dur: this is fine #griffin writes #kotor #my fic #meetra girl are you okay #i think meetra's request and bao dur's natural inclination to protect the others will eventually bring him to stop her #and meetra handed visas the tool she needs to help bao dur do that #there's a weakness built into the heart of the weapon etcetera #my aus

[kirnet]

Mouth to Mouth

Kirnet/Atton. 3.2k words. 

Atton ached.

Actually, that wasn’t strong enough. Atton fucking ached. He could barely tell which direction was his head and what was his feet in the fog of blinding pain. It was as if someone had punched through his skin and carefully unspooled his intestines like an old crone knitting a ball of yarn. He couldn’t even muster the strength to open his eyes.

Speaking of old crones, there was one less of those in the galaxy. Maybe Atton hadn’t been able pull off anything suitably heroic before Sion had torn him asunder, but he was sure that a certain ex-Jedi knight with a shining lightsaber had taken care of it. He hated that ugly witch, but Kirnet had a certain affection for her, and he almost felt bad for her loss. What he truly felt bad about, though, was that pathetic monologue he had managed to choke out before collapsing in a pool of his own blood. The quality of the delivery was atrocious, so bad that Kirnet had cried all over him as she pulled him into her lap.

Huh. Even in death he was dancing around the truth.

The distant scream of an engine pulled Atton from his thoughts. It wasn’t the Hawk’s gentle hum, that was for sure. He cracked a swollen eye open and immediately blinked it closed as light pierced his vision. After a few moments he tried again. He wasn’t in the Hawk’s dingy medbay with its too-firm bed, rather he was in a large and pristine room, the gray walls alight with different machinery and equipment. A large window made up the entire wall to his left, which allowed blinding sunlight to flood the room. He could make out the sprawling expanse of a city when his eyes adjusted. He was up high, so high that the streams of vehicles that weaved through the skyscrapers were reduced to blurry dots. 

Atton made to sit up to get a better look, but a sudden dizziness and a strange feeling in his chest pushed him back down to the pillow. He ran a hand over the papery robe he was dressed in, his fingers gliding over thin bumps under his clothing. A monitor on the wall chirped occasionally in time with his rising heart rate.

Oh, so he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse.

Muffled conversation drifted through the walls, one voice higher and controlled and the other low and raspy. Atton shimmied deeper under the blanket as they grew louder.

“The Senate thinks-” Ugh, so the blond boy wonder had survived the ordeal. It was a miracle that he could even speak, given how efficiently Kreia had almost crushed his windpipe. 

“The Senate can file their complaints with Revan when she returns. They’re damn lucky I even extended the courtesy of informing them.” Atton ignored the tightness in his chest as he shot up. Kirnet released a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Mical, but I just don’t have the focus for politicking right now. But if the Jedi want to survive-”

“Then we’ll need the support of the Republic, I know.” There was some rustling of clothing, and Atton forcefully pushed down his overactive imagination. “That’s what I’m here for. You’ll have plenty of time for persuasion when you bring a missing Sith Lord back.”

The chirping picked up speed as Kirnet laughed. “Thank you for all of your help. I’d be dangling some senators over the skyways if you weren’t here.” 

“I seriously doubt it.” Disciple gave his pleasant farewells and retreated with heavy footsteps. He could feel Kirnet’s deep breaths as she milled about outside the door. Atton cursed the lack of any reflective surface in the room. He knew he looked as ugly as he felt, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to see that. He settled for carding an aching hand through his greasy hair and praying it achieved an effortly sexy look before throwing himself back down on the bed.

The door slid open and Kirnet entered the room. She was dressed a little nicer than she did on the ship, with an asymmetrical buttoned jacket that was collected under a simple belt without any pouches. Her braids, usually decently even, were broken up into strands of wildly different sizes. The dark eclipses under her widening eyes accentuated their roundness as they fell on him. “Atton!” she sputtered. “You’re awake! Wait, let me get the medical droid-”

“No!” He was barely able to croak out the syllable, his voice hoarse from disuse. How long had it even been since he had passed out on the floor of that blasted academy? He shuffled over on the tiny bed as Kirnet gave him an owlish blink. “Stay?” He patted the empty space next to his covered legs. “Please?”

She slowly stepped over to him, her footsteps muffled by soft boots. “Sit up first.” Her hand trailed from his shoulder to in between his shoulder blades. She held him in place as she adjusted the pillow and then gently lowered him back down. When he was situated, Kirnet crossed the room to a table Atton hadn’t noticed before that contained a pitcher of water and some glasses. She poured a glass and set it into his hands. Only after he gulped down the whole thing did she sit on the bed, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she looked at him.

Atton wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?” His voice was much more intelligible after the water.

Kirnet’s lips quirked to the side. “Your hair’s a mess.” She reached forward and combed it back with her fingers. “You’ll get a shower- a real shower with real water, not sonic waves- once the doctor approves it.”

He didn’t even try to hide his pout. “You bring me all the way to Coruscant and I can’t even use a fancy shower? That’s cruel.” He turned his head to the window. “This is Coruscant, right?”

“Welcome to the Jedi Grand Temple.” Kirnet took the glass from his hands and set it on a side table. “Sorry that this room isn’t as exciting as the library or the Room of a Thousand Fountains, but it was the best we could do while keeping you alive. Someone will give you a tour when you’re healed up.” 

Cramming a group of people together on a ship made you familiar with their habits, largely against your will. You could tell who was who by the sound of their chewing, or their gait, or the intensity of their snoring when you were trying to sleep. Atton thought that he knew Kirnet pretty well, especially since he actually wanted to learn her habits, so it came as a complete surprise to him when she grabbed the belt of his robe without warning and yanked it open. A welcome surprise, though, if his frequent daydreams were any indication. The monitor on the wall let out a series of high beeps as she peeled the garment away from his chest, her calloused fingers gliding to a patch placed above his heart. “I’ll have to get someone to check out that monitor,” she murmured as she tilted her face down to hide her smile. “It seems to be malfunctioning.”

“You just want an excuse to feel me up.” Atton ignored the growing heat across his face as he leaned back. Kirnet hummed as her hands trailed lower, unfortunately stopping right above his underwear band. There was another patch, this one large and slimy, that engulfed a large section of his abdomen. He could just make out the jagged outline of new flesh through the semi-transparent material.

Kirnet delicately prodded around the outside of the patch, immediately retracting her hands when Atton hissed. “You’ll be due for a replacement soon. This kolto patch is almost used up.” Atton couldn’t get his arms to fully cooperate, but Kirnet waited patiently until he could grab her wrist and pull her hand into his lap. 

She ran a gentle thumb over his smarting knuckles. “How long was I out?” Long enough for the kolto to work some of its magic, sure, but still recent enough that he could see the haunted glint in Kirnet’s eye. 

“Six days.” Kirnet pushed her bangs to the side with her free hand. “We had you and Bao-Dur in full kolto tanks for a while. I was worried you weren’t gonna wake up before I left. Bao-Dur still hasn’t.” She released a deep sigh as Atton squeezed her hand.

“So you’re really going?” He knew the answer already, but he didn’t like the idea of her leaving without him, especially in pursuit of a person who had abandoned her once before. Revan might hold the key to some important puzzle, and Kirnet may have forgiven her, but that didn’t mean Atton couldn’t hold a grudge in her stead. 

Kirnet’s face scrunched up, and that little wrinkle that she got on her brow whenever she was thinking emerged. “Of course I am! If Revan thought something out there was dangerous, then it’s dangerous. She shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

Atton raised an eyebrow. “So that means that you have to go off alone?”

“First of all, T3 is coming- He absolutely counts!” Kirnet interjected as Atton rolled his eyes. She poked a finger into his exposed chest. “I know what you’re getting at, Atton, and the answer is no. You’re in no condition to go anywhere.” He opened his mouth to argue, but he snapped it shut when she gave him a bone-chilling glare. It might have been over a decade since the wars, but Kirnet could still perfectly channel her General persona. “Do you have any idea what you looked like then? I still haven’t gotten all of your blood out of my clothes.”

She gently untwined her hand from his and pressed her palms into her eyes. “Look, we’ve started negotiations with the Senate for better resources. There are a few Jedi that have resurfaced, like Bastila and some others who hid after Revan left to help us rebuild. Mical is taking care of the politics, Mira and Visas are already scouring the galaxy for younglings, and Brianna is tearing up the archives.” Kirnet dropped her hands and patted his leg. “You and Bao-Dur will have plenty of support, and things to keep you busy, when I’m gone.”

“Are you kidding? Teaming up against Kreia was the first time we’ve actually worked together without you breathing down our necks.” They might have all orbited around Kirnet, but that didn’t mean they even tolerated each other’s presence. 

“Then you’ll have no problem doing it again. I’m sure you’ll remember how.” Kirnet fell quiet for a while as she focused on smoothing the wrinkles out of the blanket. The rumble of speeders and the monitor’s subdued chirps filled the silence. “How much do you remember? About your encounter with Sion, I mean,” she eventually murmured. 

Atton ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought. All of it. He remembered all of it. The feel of Sion’s cracked fingers closing around his throat, the pain that shot down through his spine as he was slammed into the wall, the… Atton didn’t realize he was holding his wound until Kirnet softly dragged his hand away. “Most of it, I think. I almost had him on the run, too, but-” he gestured to his body. “You know.” He could still taste the desperation he had as he crawled through the maze of rooms, the thought of her the only thing keeping his deadening muscles moving.

Kirnet nodded, her gaze focused on his split knuckles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She gave him a smile that only he would know was forced, her dark eyes teeming with emotion. “I know you probably don’t feel great, Atton, but you look a hell of a lot better than you did when I dragged you back to the ship. You’ll be healed in no time.” 

She was giving him an out, Atton realized with a mix of horror and relief, a chance to claim amnesia instead of facing his deathbed confession. They had flirted for months, sure, but Kirnet was like that with everybody, and Atton would have to be more than blind to not notice the way the other crew looked at her. Maybe this was her way of letting him down easy, of erasing a very prominent L-word that kept ringing in his ears. Or maybe she thought him a coward. He certainly hadn’t planned on telling her under normal circumstances. She was destined for more, fated to restore the Jedi and defeat whatever hidden threat awaited her in the shadows. The heart of the Force was waiting for her. Atton hadn’t even managed to protect her.

He always was a fool.

Atton sucked in a breath. “And... I seem to recall a rather poetic confession.” The breath left his lungs as Kirnet’s eyes snapped to his. “Like something out of the holovids.” A lie and a truth, and she was privy to both.

“It was horrible,” she groaned. Kirnet’s posture immediately relaxed as she scooted up closer to the head of the bed. “Traumatic. Please, never do that again.”

The monitor chirped, but Atton tried to force his best smolder around the swollen planes of his face. “You don’t want me professing my love to you?” If Kirnet wasn’t interested, she would have laughed in his face by now.

“I don’t want you dying again.” She closed the distance and dropped her forehead to his chest. Atton didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her frame. “I was so worn out from the fight that I could barely heal your wound. I was convinced that every step I took would be the moment you truly bled out, or that a piece of rubble would crush us both, or that you were already gone and I had just deluded myself into thinking I could save you,” she mumbled against his skin.

Atton placed his chin on the crown of her head and breathed in. Motor oil and herbal tea stung his nose, but somehow she made it work. “For better or worse, I’m here.” He had dreamed about a moment like this for months, on the quiet nights of the ship when he didn’t need to shield his thoughts from other waking minds. Now that he finally had her, Kirnet was ready to slip away to some unknown corner of the galaxy. He squeezed her tighter and pressed his chapped lips into her hair. 

“So you’ll keep professing your love?” Kirnet teased as she pulled her head away. “I could use the ego boost before I go. T3 can get mean.”

Of course he would, he always was. The lingering touches, the teasing, placing his jacket over her when she curled up asleep in the hidden alcoves of the ship: they were all betrayals of his heart when his foolish mouth couldn’t form the words. Atton brought his trembling hands to the sides of her round face. “Kirnet Cavira.” He had meant the words to sound overly solemn, but he couldn’t quell the laugh that found its way into his voice. “I’ve loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you, and now that you’ve bullied and nagged me for months, I somehow love you even more.” He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. “So you need to return with your Sith Lord soon so you can heckle me some more, alright?”

She looked beautiful like this, with her lips slightly parted and the glow from the window lighting her face. Her hair was disheveled now, and the darkness under her eyes still hadn’t alleviated, but it was such a common sight that he hardly even noticed. Her eyes trailed down his face. “I’ll agree to that if you get the lightsaber workshop organized before I return.”

“Deal.” The kiss wasn’t explosive, the stars didn’t realign or shake the foundations of the Temple. And it wasn’t like the holovids: Atton’s breath was too bad for that. It was simply homely, as if he belonged inside the action. The frequency of the monitor’s beeps increased as Kirnet pressed into him, her hand trailing up his midriff. Atton blindly fumbled his hand over his chest and ripped off the patch above his heart. He threw it in a random direction before his hand drifted back to Kirnet’s neck. Blissful quiet engulfed them. Their noses bumped together as Kirnet tilted her head, and Atton swallowed up her sheepish giggle.

Kirnet was only lightly leaning on him, the majority of her weight placed on the arm braced against the mattress. He knew that she was just trying to spare him from his injuries as best she could, but he couldn’t fight the gravitational pull between them. He needed her weight, needed to feel every plane of her body mold into his. Atton gently pulled her down, smiling into the kiss as she collapsed onto him with a surprised squeak. His body flashed with pain, but he hardly registered it. 

Maybe it only lasted for a few moments, but Atton was ready to sink into eternity as Kirnet’s hands, always cold, wrapped around the back of his neck. But she pulled away with a smile that rivaled the sun, leaving her bitter herbal taste on his tongue. “You smell like ass,” she eventually breathed.

Atton laughed and pulled her back in. He pressed a kiss to her lips, the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the center of her brow. He was drunk on her, or maybe it was the delirium of pain and exhaustion, but he didn’t care to find the difference. “You don’t seem to mind much.” Each word was accentuated with a new peck. 

“I don’t,” Kirnet conceded as Atton tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She barely pushed his shoulder, but he flopped back against the pillow with a lopsided grin. The heart rate patch flew from the floor into Kirnet’s awaiting hand. She lightly patted it back onto his chest, but she pouted when the chirping didn’t resume. “Atton, remember when I said we were negotiating for resources? Please don’t break any more expensive medical equipment.” Her hands never stilled, and they trailed from the corners of his jaw up into his hair. “I’m going to get the doctor, okay?”

“Trying to get me into the shower that soon, eh?” Her outline was starting to blur into the sunlight. 

“Don’t try your luck, flyboy.” Kirnet pressed a kiss to his temple and stood up. “I’ll check on you in a couple of hours. Try to get some rest.” She pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Rest? Atton didn’t need rest, not with the giddy electricity lighting up his nerves. He complied, though, after the little wrinkle reappeared on her forehead, and sunk deep into the pillow. “Hey, Kirnet?” he managed to mumble out as her silhouette approached the door. She paused. “I have no idea what state I’ll be in then. More mouth-to-mouth might be necessary.”

He could feel the affection in her scoff. “Love you, too.” After a second, the door opened with a hiss and slammed shut.

Atton closed his eyes, the warm tint of the sun slightly permeating his eyelids. “Love,” huh?

He could live with that.

#she was - in fact - trying to cop a feel #kirnet cavira #kirnet/atton #my writing #they are literally so dumb and gross im obsessed

[sovonight]

unspoken | soulmate au

✧ — ✧

"Atton. Atton Rand," says the man in the force cage. Something about the name resonates with her, but only in the hazy, distant way that reaching out to the Force once more had. "I'd shake your hand, but--"

"Do we know each other?" Cela asks, peering through the shifting barrier of the cage between them with a frown. His face is that of a stranger, she's sure, but his name--his name just sounds... important.

"I'm flattered," Atton says, and only now does she realize she'd murmured her thoughts aloud. "Now, can you tell that to the guys in charge? Maybe that’ll get them to let me out."

✧ — ✧

With an energy shield in her hands, and Atton's voice in her ear, she remembers who he is.

"Got all that, Jedi?" Atton says over the comm, ignorant of the realization that has washed over her and frozen her to the spot. "...Jedi?"

"Y-yes," Cela says, breaking free of her thoughts, and back into life. "Yes, I have it."

"Good. You're going to need it if you're going to get us out of here alive," he says. "Somehow."

She should have realized it earlier. She's traced the name upon her heart countless times, let the words echo within her mind as she wondered when, and how, and who. She can't believe that it had slipped from her memory when they had met; the sedatives must have made her mind more sluggish than she thought.

Cela activates the comm to speak--but hesitates in its ambient crackle. She's found him, but this is not the time or place; she needs to stay focused, as does he.

"Your comm stuck?" He asks. "Or just testing the buttons?"

Though he jests, Atton clearly sounds tense, and she shakes her head free of lingering, sentimental thoughts.

"It's nothing," she says. But, unable to resist, she signs off with, "Cela Pace, out."

✧ — ✧

Back in the communications hub, all Atton catches is, "It's no--th--. C--- ---ce, out." 

“Jedi?” He asks. No response, but the display shows she’s started moving again--she’s fine.

"Peragus equipment," he grouses, when the static of the terminal has died back down. "Must be the interference."

✧ — ✧

With Peragus behind them, and Telos ahead, Cela finds herself alone with Atton once more. She's given him her name--he must know who she is--and yet he appears so unfazed, as though her existence does not mean much to him at all.

She's not sure what to say.

"Are we on course?" Cela asks.

"Yeah," Atton says. "If you want, you can check that map back there, see where we are."

The words are recited and dismissive, like he's flown for many an impatient passenger before. She's not making a very good impression.

As she stands there longer still, unwilling to just leave him but unsure how to act, Atton turns in his seat with a puzzled glance back.

"Something up?" Atton asks. "It's still a while to Telos--you might as well get some rest. I would."

Yes--he must be tired, and here she is, waiting like some hopeful, idealistic padawan, for him to be glad to have found her. Gathering what energy she has left, she manages a smile.

"Of course," Cela says. Her smile wavers, but lucky for her, he has already turned away.

✧ — ✧

She carries trouble everywhere she goes, these days. After a glance to make sure Kreia has stepped safely out of her deactivated force cage, and helping Bao-Dur exit his, she turns finally to Atton.

"Are you alright?" Cela asks. She extends a hand to him, which he ignores, preferring to pick himself off the floor of the cage alone. He almost stumbles a little as he steps out, and on reflex, she tries to catch him.

"Woah! I'm fine," Atton says. His hands are up, almost defensive--though after a look at her face, he relaxes with a huff. "Just a little on edge from the ambush."

He doesn't look fine. He looks disoriented, and troubled, beyond that. But it's more than she can voice, especially after the way he'd taken that hasty step back to dodge her, as though her touch were poisonous.

"How did things go with the Jedi here?" Atton asks. "Are you all done?"

"Yes. We have to leave, immediately."

"Things went that well, huh?" He says. "You make friends wherever you go, don't you?"

It's not like this, usually. But then again, she's been alone for a long time. If she thinks back... yes, when she had her friends, she had her rivals, too. When she acts, she meets opposition--and when she approaches her soulmate, she finds disinterest. Leave it to her to have always been so consistent.

"Well, nothing like a steady stream of people who hate us or want to kill us to keep the heart pumping," Atton says.

"You can go," Cela finds herself saying, against the tightness in her throat. The wound in her heart aches, but she is used to it now, and cannot see the point of trying to lessen the pain much more. "You've done enough, Atton. If you want, you can go."

In the background, Kreia shifts, and Atton puts on a silly grin.

"Nah. I was just complaining," Atton says. He chuckles, giving her the warmest look she has ever seen from him; basking in it feels like the warm sunlight of her childhood, from hazy memories of a family she was instructed to forget.

"Really?" Cela says, faint. If she had had her doubts before, they are gone now: he is the one meant for her.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm with you until things start going better for you."

Her sunlight shatters.

"We need to stick together, you know?" Atton continues, oblivious, as the cold promise of that one word, until, echoes and drowns the rest of her hope out. "And who knows... I might be able to help you out of a tight spot at some point."

She doesn't know what she expected. She turns from him, ignoring the confused look he gives her when she dismisses him so abruptly.

"Thanks," says Cela, hollow. "Let's go."

✧ — ✧

"You're laughing at me?" Atton says indignantly, throwing his words at the smug T3 unit shaking with simulated laughter before him. "I'll put you on the scrap heap, you walking tin can!"

The droid trundles away. Atton crosses his arms with a huff, leaning back against the jamb between the hold and the hallway.

"Fine, I don't need your answer," Atton cedes at length, as Bao-Dur shows no signs of looking up from his work. "Just tell me one thing?"

Bao-Dur sighs, long-suffering.

"What is it?"

Atton hesitates, playing back the way they'd left things at the academy. Before their capture, his Jedi had been doing fine, but after it, she'd just gone cold. He recognizes the sharp cut of her emotion then, the same way he remembers the name of the one destined for him, faded to a dead gray at the pulse point on his wrist.

"Her soulmate," Atton says. "Do you know if..."

"If you're asking that, you're more serious than I thought," Bao-Dur says. "But no, I don't know. How would I?"

"You're right," says Atton distantly, as Bao-Dur returns to work. "...I'm just a little out of it, today."

✧ — ✧

I'm as Atton as Atton will ever be.

As deep and as dark as his other secrets were, this--the most innocent--is the one she cannot shake. She supposes she's overestimated herself, hearing so many confessions from him in so little time. She finds herself, once again, tired: of remembering, of knowing, of being.

She takes a breath. One piece of the puzzle at a time, she thinks. Her hand comes to her heart, but rather than linger there wistfully as it had in years past, she finds herself gripping the cloth of her robes tight within her fist.

How foolish she was, to have held his name in her heart for so long. To have held hope past the answer every record and roster had shown her: that no living Atton Rand exists.

To find that he is an invention--to find that he has hunted Jedi--

No, not yet.

To find that he must utterly, truly hate her.

Yes, there is the first point on her list. To mourn, the way she had not let herself after Telos. The rest of his secrets, and his request, can wait.

✧ — ✧

She trains him. She can do nothing but.

"All right," says Atton, picking up the lightsaber she has lent him once more. "But I tell you, I think you're carrying this teacher thing too far."

"You address me as Jedi, I will treat you as such," Cela says. "If you want to be more familiar, call me by my name."

"No need for that," Atton says quickly, just a little too fast compared to his earlier words. If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked a little sheepish--embarrassed, even. "I'll take whatever you've got."

So would she, she's found. Despite the promise she'd tried to make herself--that outside of combat, outside of training, they were to be little more than strangers--she keeps letting Atton back in.

Though he doesn't love her, he feels bound by his debt not to leave her; this is a motivation that she can understand. If she could be heartless, she would push him to leave--but for once, selfishness and selflessness align themselves together, and she can only let him stay.

She directs him, imparting on an old technique, one she knows he'll find useful. Inside, silently, she both dreads and anticipates the promise of his “until”.

✧ — ✧

"Because you'll be right here with me, playing pazaak, where they can't reach you."

She hates the way her voice sticks in her throat, unable to say anything as he deals their next game. She watches the cards emerge between them, placed one by one by Atton's steady hand, until the colors of their hands blur as the sight of the world wobbles before her eyes.

"Your move, Jedi," she hears him say. Then, "Jedi?"

"Say my name," Cela says. She cannot even face him now, too scared to blink. "Please, say it, just once. I need to hear it from you."

Perhaps, if Atton says it now, she can live off this memory for the rest of her life. It is as Kreia says: events are drawing her to their center. Soon, he will part ways with her, and she will know him no more.

"Uh, Jedi, I..."

"Do you hate me so much that you've struck my name from your heart?" Sadness turns to anger; Cela lets herself feel it. "You must know it, or I am truly unfortunate. You must, or the Force has taken its revenge for Malachor on me from the moment I was born."

"I really don't--" Atton stops short, panic filling his eyes when he sees the look on her face. "Don't, don't cry. What did I do? What should I do to fix it?"

"Acknowledge your soulmate."

Atton looks thoroughly confused now, beyond anything he could fake.

"My--My soulmate? She has nothing to do with anything, anymore. She died, before I even got to meet her." He hesitates for only a second, and adds, "Like yours did."

"Like mine?" Cela says. Her tears have fallen, cool on her cheek, but the emotion that had summoned them has vanished. "My soulmate is alive. As is yours."

Atton gives a sharp little laugh, paired with a bitter smile.

"No, I remember it well. I remember, she died with..." His expression slackens, as the realization dawns on him. "...With Malachor V."

His eyes meet hers. And here, at last, Atton says her name, with more breathless reverence than she could ever have imagined--not as a child, missing the warmth of home; as a padawan, collecting her dreams for the future; as an exile, hoping beyond hope that her soulmate would accept all that she is, and all that she has done. He says her name, and he holds her face in his hands, looking upon her, at last, as something precious.

"Cela," he says. "Cela Pace. Why didn't you tell me?"

No--she's not going to let him place this whole mishap on her. She flips the question back to him.

"We have traveled together for so long, now," Cela says. "The others, they might not use my name, but they know it. Why didn't you?"

"I... I don't know. I never caught it," Atton says, "And you never said it. By the time I thought I'd just ask you for it, you seemed to hate me--I didn't want to ruin my chances."

"...But I did say it," Cela says. "On Peragus, in the mining tunnels."

Atton smacks his face with his hand. "That damn interference!"

A laugh escapes her, light and breathless, because after the range of emotion she’s experienced, joy might as well be the one that comes next.

She pulls his hand from his face; he lets her, and then their gazes linger. She hasn’t allowed herself to truly look at him since she first thought she’d received his rejection, and she’d never known the neutral gray of his eyes could appear so warm.

"Can I see it?"

In the silence of Atton’s puzzled expression, Cela realizes the words had been her own. She stumbles, dropping her gaze from his, and finishes, "My name... where it's written."

"You have it," Atton says. His hand is still in her grasp; he turns his palm up. "It's under the leather."

She takes hold of the edges of his glove, to pull it gently off.

"Let me do it," Atton says, as he watches her move so carefully. In one movement, he tugs the glove away; his head is ducked, as though to focus on the action, but the tips of his ears are pink. "You don’t have to be so gentle. It's not like I’m--well. Here."

There, on his bare wrist, lies her name. He returns it to her, and she runs a fingertip over the text, so similar to her own. Sure enough, her name is dead-- but she is more captivated by how it is real.

Atton rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, embarrassed.

"Don't tell me you believe what they say about the locations of these things," Atton says.

"What?" She's never heard of this before. "What do they say?"

"For me, they'd say some nonsense about how I'd do anything for you, and--well, you know." Always one to shift the subject away from himself, Atton lifts his gaze to hers. "Can I see it, too--my name?"

"Ye--no," Cela amends quickly, once she realizes what that would entail.

"No?" Echoes Atton, obviously disappointed. Then he sees where her hand lays, over her chest. "Oh."

"Your name is upon my heart," Cela says, apparently nervous enough as to say something so obvious. Atton just nods, face pinker than she remembers it, and she asks, "What... what would they say about that?"

"J-just--uh, something about how you love," he says, conveniently skipping over what it is, although it’s clear that despite himself he’s touched. "That's all it is, really. Endless ways of describing love. That's what makes it so meaningless. I mean, ultimately they're just trying to spot patterns out of data that's all just random to begin with."

"I see," Cela says, amused by watching him ramble along. She smiles. "You have much more to say about soulmate marks than I would've thought."

Atton merely shrugs.

"Just stuff I heard, a long time ago. Kids are sneaky little things, you know--they absorb a lot more than you might think,” Atton says. He continues, a little distant, “But then you grow up, and you realize there’s no point in thinking about soulmates anymore. It's a big galaxy. The chances are slim."

He closes his gloveless hand, pressing the underside of his wrist against his thigh to hide it; Atton seems to take the action without really registering it, no longer meeting her eye.

“I never looked for you,” Atton says. “Not once. Even after Malachor, when I realized I missed my chance, I never made the effort to find out who you could’ve been.”

With a forced laugh, Atton gives her a weak smile. “Who knew you had been so close? Do you think I could’ve run up to you, back then? Would you have taken me?”

“I don’t know. You weren’t Atton then--though I’m sure I would’ve given you a chance,” Cela says, with a teasing smile. Atton, surprisingly, does not tease her back.

“Not Atton?” He says. “Then--is that how I’m written? Atton Rand?”

“Of course. I have never known you by another name.”

Atton’s lips take on an uncertain curve; he looks like he needs to be convinced. Cela grasps the edge of the wrap of her inner robes, wondering if this weren't a moment in which modesty should be brushed aside, but before she pulls it so much as a centimeter, Atton stops her with a word.

“No need. I believe you--I was just surprised.” To himself, she hears him add, “I don’t think you know how you look to me right now.”

“How is that?” Cela asks. Atton’s resulting expression clearly says he hadn’t expected her to hear that.

“You know those... Well, you know...” Atton strings her along in suspense until he finally relents, “In those “forbidden Jedi” love stories--”

“In what?!” Cela says, barely able to contain her surprise, as Atton splutters, “Don’t laugh!”

“And don’t ask,” Atton continues, very seriously. “It used to be a popular genre, it’s not like I could’ve escaped it if I wanted to.”

“Of course not,” Cela reassures. Then, “So I am your forbidden Jedi.”

“Don’t start,” Atton groans.

“Am I meant to pull you close even as my words push you away?”

“Cela, come on--”

“Atton,” she says at last, all mirth in her voice lost, “...Say my name again.”

Atton looks at her, abandoning the defensive posture he’d adopted to endure her teasing. “Just your name?”

“I have been “the Jedi” to you for so long. I wish to be myself.”

“Cela,” Atton says, more warmly and more familiar than he had the first time. She wraps it up and stores it away in her heart, used to keeping memories as though they are numbered, but he’s not done. “Is that what you thought?”

He reaches out to her, taking her hand; she can see, upon the curve of his wrist, the glimpse of her name once more.

“You haven’t been just “the Jedi” to me since the moment I loved you.”

“You love me?” Cela says faintly, barely able to believe her ears.

“From the moment I first saw you.”

She feels close to crying again. She had been practical, when they resolved their misunderstanding--she had thought she would ask nothing of him, give him time, and simply hope quietly that one day their feelings would align.

“Not again,” Atton jokes, though his voice trembles, as though he’s feeling close to crying himself. “I won’t know what to do.”

“It’s alright,“ she says, closing the distance between them. “I do.”

#sovo writes #cela pace #atton x exile #soulmate au #soulmate au take 3 let's goooooo

[loljulie]

(is it on brand for me to write for an obscure ship that’s over a decade old?? also, i tried writing this out in third person for a change, because of how the game works - it feels very 3rd person even if it’s your own character. def different but i love a challenge! special shoutout to @sovonight​ who’s art for exile x atton has rlly spurred me to write something, along with me just having general FEELs for atton. ALSO ALSO i haven’t finished the game yet so pls no spoilers, this takes place sometime throughout the course of it with a very pining and soft atton, and only based on what i have played, thank u love u bye) 

title: tonight 

genre: star wars: knights of the old republic 2 

atton x exile 

word count: 1704

The soft hum of the ship traversing through the depths of space are of little comfort to her. If she focuses hard enough, she can hear the steady breathing of the domoritory’s occupants; Kreia, sleeping on her side with her face toward the inner wall of the bunk, and Visas on her back with her arms resting just above her stomach.

The white noise should be soothing; it should ground her, have her feel connected and supported. In her current state, it only serves to do the opposite. The people in this room, and the starboard dormitory on the other side of the ship, are depending on her to lead them. They are loyal to her, and will follow her wherever she may go - but, where exactly is she going? What will come of her decision to seek all of the lost Jedi masters? Will she even find anything she is looking for? 

And now, as their fearless leader, she can’t even promise them that she will be well-rested and healthy for their travels, wherever they may take them. 

Bare feet hit the cold, metal floor as she decides that a walk through the sleeping ship is the only antidote for her insomnia. Her nightwear is long - soft, cream-colored fabric that covers her arms and legs to shield her skin from the coldness of deep space. It’s looser than her normal attire, which usually serves to give her comfortable mobility at while she sleeps. 

She pads through the ship, listening as it continues its journey. The lights throughout are dimmed, but still very much alive with color. She decides that the cockpit ought to be her final destination - while it may be brightly lit in some regards, the vast viewport should offer her a clear view of space that might soothe her. 

She sensed him as soon as she reached the entryway. He is in his usual seat, back to her and face toward the wide expanse of space. From this angle, she can’t tell what he’s doing, but she can surmise that he isn’t actively piloting. The ship has been in autopilot ever since they all broke off to rest. 

“Can’t sleep?” Her voice came as a surprise to Atton. She could tell as much by the way his back straightened as he turned to face her. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” was his response, as he rested his elbow against the headrest, his body turned sideways in the pilot’s seat. “What brings you all the way up here?” 

She smiles softly as his question. Honesty in this situation wouldn’t do any good, she figures. What good is a leader that is unsure of herself, of her capabilities? 

“I could ask you the same,” she muses as she walks toward the second pilot seat. She rests her elbows on the headrest, and stares out the viewport. Finally, she answers his question. “The stars. I wanted to see them.”

Atton knew it was a superficial answer. He didn’t really expect the Jedi to be honest with him about all of her inner demons and what kept her up at night. Though, from what he’s seen and heard, he knows that too many reasons to guess why she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

He lets her answer hang in the air around them. It’s not so much a moment of contemplation, really; he sees how her face softens as she gazes out the viewport toward the endless starry pattern that surrounds them, and can’t think to interrupt the silence and her escape just yet. 

Instead, he focuses on how different she looks in that moment. Her hair is down, and it frames her face in a way he’s never seen before. Her features are softened by the somewhat tangled hair around her - no doubt caused by tossing and turning in the single-person cot. Her attire is clean and roomy around her, but it makes her seem less rigid and commanding than usual, less distant. He thinks she looks like an absolute vision. 

He doesn’t want to know, or even guess what thoughts have plagued her mind enough to keep her awake. Honestly, part of him is selfishly grateful for it, if only for the fact that it allowed him to see her in such a way that made his heartbeat quicken. Her business is her own, he decides, and the least he can do for his fearless leader is distract her from her troubles in the only way he knows how. “Pazaak?” He asks, holding up the deck in his hands, “Republic Senate rules?” 

She lets out a sigh - an air of laughter? Atton can’t help but wonder - and nods to her companion. He gives her a large grin before getting up from his seat. 

He sets the cards up on the floor of the cockpit - the only place where there is enough space for the game. Atton crosses his legs and leans against a wall of the cockpit as the Jedi sits on her knees across from him. 

The first cards are laid out. She is faced with a 5, while Atton has a 10. The Jedi looks at her side deck for a brief moment before nodding to Atton - a silent motion that he has come to interpret as to end turn. He places another card next to hers, a 9, before doing the same for himself - a 6. 

Atton watches as she brings her lower lip between her teeth and contemplates for a moment. He’s seen the gesture before, and he can’t help how endearing it is to him. Then, all too soon, she releases her lip and nods to him once again. End turn. 

He gives her another card, another 5, and does it once more for his hand. He tallies up his score now, a 24, before placing a -4 card from his side deck to end the round in his victory. 

She scrunches her nose at the sight. “I’m just warming up,” she says.

He smirks at the familiar excuse. “Of course, as you always do.” 

The Jedi gazes across at her opponent, meeting his stare after her first card has been dealt - an 8 - and mirrors his crooked smile. “There are three rounds to win for a reason, are there not?” 

“Sure, but not for that one.” 

- 

Atton leans against one of the walls, one leg outstretched and other bent at the knee, as he stares intently at the cards in front of him. The only card in his side deck is a -1, and he doesn’t like his odds. 

The Jedi has changed her position now, too, and rests on her belly to give herself a closer eyeline to the floor where the game is taking place. Her legs are stretched behind her, bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles. She adjusted there two games ago, and it’s given her the last two victories. Now, on the final round of the 5th game, the entire victory hinges on this last play. 

Her score is a 17, while his is an 18. He knows she hasn’t played all of her side deck this entire game, and while his number is good, it’s impossible to know what she could play next. 

She ends her turn, and gets an additional 2 card for it. Atton stares at his cards. If he doesn’t play, it’s an automatic loss. If he tries for another card, his chances of getting the right number to beat her are very slim. Still, slim chances are better than a definite loss. 

He gets another card, a 4. He winces as the card is placed - even with his -1, he’s still 1 point over. The Jedi has won that game, and therefore the majority of the games that night.

The grin on her face says enough. 

“I do believe that makes me the winner, doesn’t it?” 

“Of tonight. Don’t let that get to your head.” 

“I would never. It was merely an observation.”

Atton snorts at that as he packs up the deck. 5 games was a lot for them, and while he’s sure it distracted her enough from her thoughts, he isn’t sure it made her any more tired and willing to attempt to sleep again. 

“You should really get some sleep,” he says finally, after the cards had been packed away. The Jedi had gotten up from her spot on the floor, and sat against the opposite wall of the cockpit. He doesn’t have to add that  in a few hours, they’ll be docked on the next planet and will have to face unknown dangers that she’ll be leading them through. Her rest is more important than even his own.

Her fingers played with the fabric of her sleepwear, an antic Atton can only assume is one out of nerves. At that moment, he suddenly does wish he knew what was going on inside her mind, if only to ease her worries away. 

“I will,” she says after a long moment of silence. She gets up, and Atton follows suit. She is almost out of the entryway when she pauses and looks back at him. “You never told me why you were awake.”

Atton pauses; he knows the answer just as much as he knows the back of his hand. Ever since he had joined her cause, and became her pilot, the thoughts inside his mind never stopped racing. Whenever the crew broke off, and went to their respective dorms, Atton could never fall asleep as easily as the others. He had plenty of past troubles to keep him awake, and yet, his mind was always clouded with thoughts of the Jedi; he both dwindled on past encounters and envisioned future ones. But, with Bao-Dur snoring softly across from him every time, it was impossible to do his visions justice, and he always came to the cockpit to find solace.

He wouldn’t tell her that, of course. Not when, every time he ruminates on their conversations, he becomes less and less sure if she reciprocates his feelings. Instead, he thinks back to an hour earlier, and offers her an easy smile. 

“I guess I wanted to see the stars, too.”

#atton x exile #exile x atton #atton x reader #kotor fanfic #kotor 2 fanfic #atton rand #atton rand imagine #IDK WHO USES THESE TAGS #also sovonight if you don't want to be tagged lemme know i can untag i just wanted to put this out there <3

[coruscantexpat]

Bonds Unbroken - Chapter 21: Home Again

Meetra felt the heavy thud of the Ebon Hawk’s landing beneath her feet as she strode down the corridor from the starboard dormitory. She’d spent most of her time there in the last week since they’d left Telos, due both to her exhaustion and the tension on the ship. The Handmaiden rarely emerged from the cargo hold, but when she did, Atton and Bao-Dur would practically flee the common areas until she returned. Meetra hadn’t even seen Kreia since their departure. Every time she’d thought to check in on her, she’d felt an overwhelming unease, perhaps not entirely her own. If the old woman wanted to be left alone, Meetra would respect that.

As she passed through the main hold, she kept her eyes averted from the rust-colored droid standing in the small storage compartment. Discovered shortly after takeoff, Meetra and Atton had wanted to jettison it due to the uncomfortable resemblance to the HK-50s, but T3 wouldn’t hear it. Though reluctant, the little droid was adamant they leave the doppelganger where it was, and despite her misgivings, Meetra agreed. It was nonoperational anyway, though T3 suggested it could be restored with replacement parts.

“Thing’s the galaxy’s most terrifying scarecrow.” Atton emerged from the corridor to the cockpit and fell into step beside her, grimace still in place as he looked away from the droid. “Still don’t understand why the little trash can wouldn’t let us space it.”

“He said it’s a ‘friend,’ although he didn’t sound entirely confident.” Meetra frowned as she recalled T3’s explanation. Her Binary was near-fluent, but some of the more complex translations still gave her a little trouble. “‘Friend’ might be too strong… perhaps ‘ally’ is closer.”

“Oh, so like Kreia. Or the Snow Princess.” He made a face. “Droid Kreia. There’s a fear I didn’t know I had.”

“Don’t start,” Meetra warned, but she returned his grin. “How’s your arm?” After much grousing, she’d finally relented and allowed him to remove the sling the day before.

“It’s fine. Look —” He lifted the arm and rotated it for proof, though Meetra noticed the full range of motion had not completely returned. “Trust me, this is nothing.” Recalling the scars crossing his torso, she knew he was serious, joking tone aside. Atton brought his hand to the back of his neck, a gesture she’d come to associate with discomfort. “So… you’ve been to Dantooine before, right?”

“I grew up there.” She left it at that, and he didn’t press. “... but I haven’t been back since before my trial.” The thought brought back memories, both painful and pleasant, and she shied away from them. It felt like they belonged to a different person now.

Bao-Dur was at the workbench when they entered the garage, T3 at his feet. A new remote droid circled his shoulders and let out a sharp chirp at the sight of them. The Zabrak turned, sharp canines displayed in his welcoming smile. “On your way out to Dantooine, General?”

“Actually, I stopped by to see if you wanted to go with us.” Meetra didn’t see the sharp glance Atton gave her at the0- last word, or the small smile that tugged at his mouth.

Bao-Dur didn’t answer immediately; instead, he glanced back to the mess of circuitry and wiring on the workbench. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer to stay here for now. I had my fill of excitement on Telos.” His grin returned. “Besides, there’s something I wanted to work on; a surprise initially, but I’m afraid I’ll need your help with it after all.” He rooted among the pile and produced the lightsaber component Chodo had gifted her. “I hope you don’t mind, General — I found it in your bag when I was looking for a medpac. I know your lightsaber was… well, I thought you might want to construct a new one, and I wanted to offer my assistance.”

Meetra eyed the cylinder like it was a fanged viper. To have a lightsaber again, to build a new weapon to her specifications — the temptation was strong. But so was her upbringing. “It’s a Jedi’s weapon, Bao-Dur. I don’t…” She struggled to find the words. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the offer, but she wasn’t sure it was a weapon she should, or even could wield again.

“It might make us even more of a target,” Atton offered when she fell silent. “I mean, sure, having a lightsaber to wave around would solve a lot of problems, it would also make the Exchange’s job a lot easier.”

“A fair point.” Bao-Dur returned the piece to the workbench, seemingly unperturbed. “However, if you change your mind, my offer still stands, General. The only thing I need are the remaining parts and your expertise.”

“I’ll think about it,” she promised and reached out to squeeze his arm. He laid a hand over hers, mouth turned up in a small smile, before returning to his project. Meetra waved for Atton to follow, and they resumed their walk toward the loading ramp, only to pause when T3 followed, beeping, in their wake. “Meetra knelt to put herself on the droid’s level. “You sure? It could be dangerous.” His indignant chirp pulled a laugh from her as she stood. “Alright, fair enough. I guess we have a third.”

“It's coming with us?” Atton scowled down at T3, who issued a rude buzz in return. “Tin can’ll probably get a rock in its treads as soon as we’re off the ramp.”

“He survived Peragus and Atris — I think he can take care of himself.” T3 extended his taser and flamethrower attachments and waved them to back up her claims. “I’ll take all the help you can offer, T3.” He chirped, pleased, and rolled past them toward the loading ramp. Meetra followed, Atton, still grousing, at her heels.

The setting sun hit them full force as they left the ship, and Meetra raised a hand to shield her face while her eyes adjusted. She registered the smell next, and her knees suddenly felt weak. Beneath the ship exhaust floated the thick grassy scent of Dantooine’s fields, spiked with the barest hint of lavender. The smell had haunted her dreams since leaving twenty-six years ago, and for a moment, she let herself pretend she never had. The breeze blew another whiff of lavender past her, cutting through the late afternoon heat, and she leaned into it for comfort.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Meetra?” Atton’s voice shattered the illusion, and Meetra pulled herself from childhood memories with a heavy sigh. She lowered her hand and opened her eyes to find him watching her with concern. She gave him a reassuring smile, and he hesitantly removed his hand as she turned to look around.

They had landed at a rudimentary dock, one she didn’t recognize. It still seemed fairly new; either it didn’t see a lot of traffic, or it had been built after Malak’s attack on the planet. The dock was little more than a durasteel pad with enough space for two large ships and heavy retaining walls. No other ships occupied the platform, though a few figures ambled across its surface. One of them, a dark haired woman dressed in a yellow and tan uniform and wielding a datapad like a club, approached. “Name?”

Meetra glanced at Atton quickly, but he only offered a shrug. “Ours, or the ship?”

“I couldn’t care less what your names are.” The woman’s attitude was impressively brusque. “I need to make a log of your arrival. Vessel name?”

“The Ebon Hawk.”

The woman snorted. “Yeah, okay. We’ll go with that. Wouldn’t mention it to the locals, though.” She entered the name into the datapad. “What’s the purpose of your arrival?”

Meetra shared another glance with Atton and opted to conceal their true intentions. “We’re heading to the Jedi Academy.”

“More salvagers huh?” Meetra frowned, but the other woman was focused on the datapad.  “Well, you gotta follow protocol like the rest. Nobody sets foot in the ruins without Administrator Adare’s permission.” Finished with the data entry, she turned and pointed at the path leading away from the dock. “Follow that up to Khoonda. Don’t get off the path, unless you like finding yourself ass-deep in kath hounds and raiders.”

“Wait, wait.” The woman scowled at Meetra, her face as severe as the bun on top of her head. “Sorry, I just need a little more information. What’s Khoonda?”

“First time on Dantooine?”

“... Sure.”

The woman shrugged. “It’s as close to city hall as we have around here. It used to be the Matale estate, but the whole family went missing right before the bombardment. The Administrator took advantage of a big empty building and rebuilt it as a new center of government four years ago.”

“That’s Adare?”

“Yeah, Terena Adare. She was the Agriculture Administrator, y’know, before.” She grimaced, and Meetra felt strangely guilty. Even though Malak’s actions had been his own, she still felt responsible for him and Revan. “Adare was the only government official to survive, and she stepped up in a big way. If not for her, this place would be nothing but raiders and wild animals. Well, more than it is now, anyway.” She jerked a thumb toward the path. “Now, no offense, but I’ve got work that needs doing. You want more information, the Administrator can give it to you.” Without waiting for a response, the woman turned away, headed toward the far end of the platform.

“Well, that was pleasant.” Atton glanced around the dock, eyeing the farmers and merchants milling about. “So, are we really wasting time with this Adare lady? You know where the Jedi Academy is, right?”

“I’d rather avoid antagonizing the locals, if possible. Besides, she might know where Vrook…” Meetra trailed off as she caught sight of a battered protocol droid stumbling near the entrance to the dock. His exterior was so scratched and pitted that the original color was indiscernible.

Atton glanced at her, then followed her gaze. “I think we’ve got enough droids for one ship. Maybe one too many.” T3 hissed at the insinuation and rolled closer to Meetra.

“No, I… I think I’ve seen him before.”

“Sure you have. They all look the same. Well, maybe not as run-down.”

“No, I mean —” Meetra shook her head and broke away, heading for the droid. “Never mind.” “Meetra.” When she didn’t turn around, he glanced down at T3 and gestured after her. “Come on.”

They caught up with Meetra as she reached the droid. It took him a moment to react to her presence, an indication of extensive sensor damage. “Salutations, ma’am. I welcome you to Dantooine on behalf of Administrator Adare and Khoonda. How may I be of service?”

“Do…” Meetra hesitated, questioning her own judgement. “Do you know me?”

The protocol droid was silent for a moment, and Meetra could practically feel the heat from his memory core as he struggled to process her question. “Apologies. There are many visitors to Khoonda, and I have no memory of the Sith invasion.”

She stiffened. “‘Sith invasion?’”

He jerked, the light behind his optical sensors flickering. “Resetting… Salutations, ma’am. I welcome you to Dantooine —”

“T3, could I get your help?” The astromech chirped and rolled up next to her while she waited for the protocol droid to finish his greeting. “Were you damaged in Malak’s bombing?”

“I believe I was, though I don’t recall it.” He fidgeted for a moment. “Administrator Adare did her best to find a mechanic, but self-diagnostics still indicate extensive damage to my exterior and memory core.”

“We could try to repair you,” Meetra offered, including both herself and T3 with a gesture. “At least internally. With your permission, of course.”

“Do we have time for this?” Atton muttered behind her, but Meetra ignored him.

The protocol droid glanced nervously between them. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, but I must warn you that Administrator Adare may be displeased if I am further damaged.”

“We’ll be careful.” He turned so she could access the panel on his back. Meetra swung it open, setting the droid to low power before motioning T3 closer. Atton craned his neck to watch them work. “Care to fill me in?”

“I think he’s an Enclave droid. If I’m right — T3, wire these circuits together, please — he might know where Vrook is. Or at least, what he’s doing here.”

“Besides hiding?”

“Vrook’s smarter than that.” Meetra pulled her hands out of the protocol droid’s chassis to give T3 room to solder safely. “Malak may have bombed the surface, but Dantooine was always known for the Academy. The old man wouldn’t risk coming here if there wasn’t a reason.” T3 let out a sharp tweet and slid back. “Thanks, T3.” She returned the droid’s power to full and closed the panel, waiting until he turned to face her. “Do you know me?”

“Of course.” His voice was suddenly enthusiastic. “So good to see you again, Master Jedi.”

“Hey!” Meetra glanced up sharply. An old man in farmer’s garb approached, his face set in a furious scowl. “What did that droid just call you?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “It called you a Jedi, didn’t it?! I heard it!”

Meetra opened her mouth, scrambling for an excuse, but Atton’s hand fell on her shoulder as he stepped between her and the farmer. “Do we look like Jedi?” An easy, lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth and he held his arms out loosely to either side; the very picture of friendly and easy-going to the untrained eye, but Meetra noted the stance gave him easy access to his blasters.

The farmer glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their weapons and lack of armor. “Well, no, but… I heard the droid call you Jedi; I know it did.”

“Yeah, but look at it.” Atton chuckled, and the old man answered with a weak laugh of his own. “Busted old clanker probably mistakes someone for a Jedi every other week. Your Administrator should really consider scrapping it if she can’t get it working properly.”

“Been saying as much for nearly a year,” the farmer agreed with a conspiratorial nod. “Sorry, miss. Jedi are a touchy subject for us locals.”

Meetra waved away the apology, grateful for Atton’s quick thinking. “It’s alright. Is it because of Malak?”

“Partly, him and Revan. But truthfully, it’s all of them. If they’re not lifting a finger to defend the Outer Rim from invaders, they’re turning on each other with innocent folk caught in the middle.” He shook his head. “Planet’s a sight better without them, maybe even the whole Rim. Anyway, my apologies again. If you all are headed up to Khoonda, best speak with Captain Zherron, as well as the Administrator. Dantooine’s not as safe as it used to be.” With a last wave, he headed back to the merchant stall he’d stormed away from.

Meetra let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Atton nodded, then fixed the Enclave droid with a glare. “That’s not going to work again, so let’s try to keep the ‘J-word’ to minimum, huh?”

The droid bobbed his head. “Of course, sir; I do apologize. It’s just that it’s been so long since I last spoke to a member of the Order. My excitement got away from me.”

Disappointment settled over Meetra’s shoulders. “Then you haven’t spoken to Vrook Lamar.”

“No, not since before Malak’s attack. I fear I have no knowledge of the whereabouts for any member of the Council.”

Atton crossed his arms. “So, what can you tell us?”

The droid started to fidget again. “My apologies, but I’m afraid there is actually very little I am permitted to tell you.”

“And why is that?”

He turned his optical sensors on Meetra. “My apologies, Master, but you are Meetra Surik. You are listed in my records as one of the… initiates who followed Master Dekari into the Mandalorian Wars. I have been programmed to withhold any information pertaining to the Order since your departure.” He bowed his head. “I am sorry, Master; I wish it were not so.”

She managed a weak smile. “Me, too, but it’s not your fault.” Meetra turned and waved for Atton and T3 to follow. “Thank you, all the same.”

“Wait, Master Surik.” The droid hobbled after them. “Since you mention Master Lamar, I have a file in my records involving you both. I don’t know if it will help you, but as it originates before your departure, I can show it to you, if you wish.”

Meetra hesitated, then nodded. “Alright, but lower your volume and keep the projection small.”

“Of course, Master.” The light behind the Enclave droid’s optical sensors flickered and then glowed blue as he projected two figures: a marginally younger Vrook, still balding but less lined, and a small, wrinkled, bat-eared alien. The footage was staticy and the sound quality poor, the words cutting in and out.

Vrook’s voice came in mid-sentence. “... nearly broke my padawan’s arm! Kavar won’t reign her in, no matter how many times I speak to him. You have to step in, Vandar.”

“Your concern is noted, but she is not your responsibility.” Meetra’s heart lurched at the sound of Vandar’s voice. The old Jedi had always projected a calmness that put everyone at ease. “She is headstrong, but —” A burst of static erased the rest of his words.

“... is uncontrollable. No student… immune.” Vrook was uncharacteristically animated, shaking his head and throwing up his hands. “Half of them love her… them want her head! These emotions she engenders… lead them to the Dark Side! If you and Kavar won’t… do it myself.” The holorecord flickered and dissolved into static, the droid’s sensors returning to their usual yellow.

Atton glanced at Meetra cautiously. “That was about you?” She didn’t answer; she didn’t have one to give.

The Enclave droid watched her closely, his anxiety clear in the way he rocked from side to side. “Forgive me, Master. I hope I have not offended.”

“No, of course not.” She forced a smile. “Thank you; it’s a good reminder.” He nodded hesitantly, then offered a quick half bow before shuffling away. Meetra watched him go, heart heavy, until T3 bumped against her leg with a soft trill. “I’m alright. Thank you, though.” She sighed and looked to Atton, found him watching her. “You’re right - we’re wasting time. Let’s go talk to Adare.”

Atton fell into step beside her as they headed up the path, T3 rolling along on her other side. Out of the corner of her eye, Meetra caught Atton glance at her, then look away and back again before he spoke. “So… not a lot of love lost between you and this Vrook guy, huh?”

She let out a dry chuckle. “That’s one way to put it. Vrook was one of Revan’s biggest detractors; those of us who followed her were little better than Sith, as far as he was concerned.” Her smile faded. “Part of me wonders if he was right.”

“Well, I don’t know much about Jedi, but I don’t think he was right. About you, at least.” She smiled again, a genuine one this time, and he glanced away before she saw the extent of his feelings. “The other Jedi that droid mentioned, though… who was that?”

“Vandar? He was headmaster at the Academy.”

“No, the other one it talked about. Who’s Master Dekari?”

Meetra tensed, her pleased smile flattening into a thin line. “Her name wasn’t always Revan.” She quickened her pace, and Atton let her pass him without further comment. The completeness with which she’d shut down was startling, and he worried anything more would drive her further away. T3 swiveled toward him with an uncertain murmur, then sped up to match Meetra’s pace.

Full chapter on AO3 and FFN.

#KotOR 2 #kotor fanfic #atton x exile #The Jedi Exile #Female exile #atton rand #T3-M4 #bao-dur #terena adare #zherron

[ladyrevanhalin]

ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW: CHAPTER NINE - WHAT IS IN A NAME?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753210/chapters/37036242#workskin

      Halin Chan roamed the corridors of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine, the hood of her cloak pulled over her head in order to hide her face and the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to take one last walk through these halls before such a time as she knew she would be welcome there no longer. Her childhood, her memories, her past life… everything she had known until that moment echoed residual energy that could be felt through the Force. For one last time, she would drink it all in. After her decision had been made, there would be no turning back.

           “Halin?”

           Halin froze at the sound of her name, but dared not look up. She knew Alex’s voice all too well. She had almost hoped not to run into him while she was here. After all, how could she possibly hope to explain to her closest friend that she intended to abandon all that either of them had known their whole lives through?

           Alex Kharr could feel a strange disturbance in his friend’s thoughts, but her own mental blocks prevented him from seeing the cause of her torment. This worried Alex. It was not like Halin to be so evasive, particularly toward him. Something must have happened to her…

           “Halin, please speak to me. Something is bothering you—I can tell… Please, whatever it is, you know that you can trust me…”

           He waited for a reply from her, but all that came was a sigh. Unable to endure her silence any further, Alex reached out, placing one hand on Halin’s shoulder and turning her toward him while removing the hood of her cloak with the other. It was then that he saw her tear-filled eyes which were so full of uncertainty. A piece of him shattered inside at seeing his dear friend in such a state. Trembling and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into an embrace.

           Halin nearly choked in her attempt to hold back a sob. She tried gently at first to push him away, but he held her fast. “Halin, please tell me…”

           “I’m not Halin,” she said in a trembling voice. “Not any more…” And she pushed him away more forcefully this time, escaping his arms and stepping backward in order to put space between them.

           Alex looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand…” He stepped forward, reaching out to her again, but she raised a hand and called upon the Force in order to create a stasis field, freezing him in his tracks. He could still see her, still hear her… but he would not be able to approach her.

           “You are a good friend, Alex… but I cannot explain to you here… If you truly wish to know, meet me in the grove at sundown. This may be the last time that we see one another…”

           With these words, she pulled the hood of her cloak back over her head and stepped backward further, seemingly fading into nothingness as she used the Force to camouflage herself in stealth. It was a technique she had learned under Master Arren Kae that had mostly fallen out of use with the disappearance of the Jedi Watchmen.

           The stasis field lasted no longer than a minute, but by that time, Halin Chan was long gone. Alex was having difficulty understanding what she had told him. How could she not be Halin? How could she not be the woman he had grown to admire and to love?

           He determined to meet her in the grove as she had told him. There were answers he needed from her. He needed to know what this change in her was, and why it had happened.

><><><><><

           The woman formerly known as Halin Chan sat under a tree near a set of crumbling white stone pillars in the grove, turning something over and over in her hand. It was the Kyber crystal that she had won from Alex a year before, when they had both been fully accepted into the Order as Jedi Knights. Recently, the thing had undergone a drastic change. Whether intentional or not, it seemed that she had been slowly becoming attuned with the crystal. Its formerly clear and resplendent myriad of facets that had previously reflected so many colors and possibilities had changed to a smoky amethyst color.

It was an unusual color that only occurred among those who walked a fine line between Jedi and Sith. It was this thought that startled her perhaps more than the war itself. It was part of why she felt so strongly about speaking to Master Kreia about the matter. However, even this conversation had left her with a sense of uncertainty. She knew and understood that, for the Jedi, the risk of corruption was a very real thing… to be consumed by lust for power to a point where it overshadowed all else… To walk the thin line between the two was no easy feat. By leaving the Order and going to war against the Mandalorians, it was her burden from this point on.

Master Kreia had seemed alarmingly unconcerned about her taking up such a task. A part of her had wished that the old woman would have tried to talk her down from such a rash decision… And yet, it had seemed as if the Jedi Master always knew this would be the case…

Footsteps approached, and the young woman instinctively drew her lightsaber, it’s Veridian blade illuminating the darkness of the newly fallen cloak of night. However, when she saw who approached, she withdrew the blade and returned the hilt of her saber to her belt. It was Alex.

“So you came after all…”

“Of course I did! How could I not come after seeing you in such a state?”

“The state I was in may yet be overshadowed by the state in which I may become…”

Alex was even more confused than before. “Halin, what are you talking about? It’s not like you to speak in riddles and to be so evasive. Please, tell me what is going on…”

“I told you before, I am not Halin Chan… Not anymore, at least… I must ask you… what would you do if you found out that everything you believed in wasn’t what you thought it to be?”

Alex didn’t like the sound of where this was going. “Where are you going with this?...”

“I’ve decided to leave the Jedi Order, Alex,” she said with as much authority as she could muster. “I refuse to sit idly by in wake of the Council’s decision to not aid the Republic in their war against the Mandalorians. I refuse to believe that any true Jedi would be able to do so… My people have suffered because of this war, Alex. So many other peoples have suffered, and are suffering still, and will continue to suffer if no action is taken!”

Alex was surprised by such news. War had been declared so very recently that he had not expected the Council to have made any sort of final decision on the matter yet. “And you are certain that this was their final decision on the matter?”

The woman nodded. “That is what I was told by the Masters themselves…. And that is why I can no longer be Halin Chan. Halin Chan is a Knight of the Order. She is respected by her colleagues and by her mentors, and will always have a place among them… But I am not Halin. Not any more… In the ancient Deralian tongue, there is a word that is difficult to translate into Basic. It means something along the lines of ‘an act of presumed evil done for the sake of justice being served to the innocent’… In Basic, it’s quite a mouthful, but in old Derlaian, it is one word… From this point forward, I am not Halin Chan. I am the Revanchist.”

Revanchist…

The word seemed to echo through the emptiness of the night, and it sent chills down Alex’s spine. His friend was choosing a very dangerous path if she meant to defy the Council. The fact that she had gone so far as to change her name meant that she was serious about the matter.

“Is the Revanchist capable of fulfilling promises that were made by Halin Chan?” Alex asked her.

Halin hesitated. She wasn’t certain what promise he was referring to… but perhaps it would be for the better. After all, everything would change after this point. “The Revanchist is always true to her promises, whether those promises were made by herself or by Halin Chan… What is it that you wish of me?”

“You promised me that you would let me come if you ran off one day to help those affected by this war.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, back when you met Talon for the first time since being sent to Dantooine… I’m coming along with you.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Alex. Your life is here. Don’t throw it away by following my poor example… I don’t want my decision to leave the Order to harm you or anyone else…”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Do you think that I agree with the Council’s decision any more than you do? Perhaps there is a reason for it, but even so, does the Republic deserve to suffer because of it? And beyond that, you can’t do this alone Halin—Revanchist! So many other Jedi, if they knew what was happening, would also disagree with the Council’s decision. I’m making this choice not because of you, but for myself. Let me follow you! Let anyone who is willing to take up the cause of the Revanchist follow you!”

With these words, Alex knelt before her, bowing his head and beating his fist on his chest as if to make a solemn oath. “I, Alex Kharr, ask that you accept me as your honorary apprentice, Revanchist.”

The Revanchist was a bit taken aback by this gesture, but deep down, she knew that he was right. The war was so large that the more Jedi support there was for the Republic, the better their chances of defeating the Mandalorians.

“Do you swear to do all within your power to protect the innocent and to bring an end to this war?” she asked him in a firm voice.

“I swear.”

She pulled her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it, carefully passing the blade over each of the man’s shoulders before holding it aside. “Then arise, my apprentice. I accept your pledge. From henceforth, you shall be called ‘Malak’ of the Revanchists.”

Malak, as he was now known, arose and bowed fervently to his Master. There was no turning back now for either of them. What was done was done.

“What task would you have me to do, my Master,” Malak asked.

“You are right in that there may be others amongst the Order who would be sympathetic toward our cause. My task for you is to search the Enclave and recruit any of these such Jedi. When you have finished your assignment, you are to meet me on Coruscant. I am going ahead to ask the High Council one last time if they will support our cause. When their decision has been made, we shall proceed accordingly.”

“Understood, my Master.”

“And Malak?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for your support. Because of you and others like you, we shall ensure that the Republic does not fail.”

><><><><><

           The halls of the Jedi Enclave on Dantooine were completely empty at this hour. The Revanchist slipped silently through the shadows, making her way past the Council chambers to the initiate training room. There was one more thing that she needed to do before heading to Coruscant.

           This particular training room was a little different from the others within the enclave. It was designed as the place where students would undergo the final trials before becoming a full member of the Order and attaining the rank of Padawan. It contained a small portion of the archives, intended for learning about the Jedi Code and a brief history of the Jedi Order, it contained a computer for simulations and for research on different classes amongst the Jedi, and it contained a workbench, where the new initiates were to craft their first lightsaber. It was for this purpose that the Revanchist had come.

           The Revanchist pulled the amethyst Kyber crystal from her inner robe. The thing emitted a faint, yet pleasant hum as she held it in her hand. It had bonded to her, and its energy was reacting positively with her own connection to the Force. It was time. It was time for her to set the crystal and to construct a new lightsaber.

           She began by crafting the basic pieces of the lightsaber: the focusing lens, the emitter matrix, the energy cell, and the skeleton of the hilt. The first thing was the hilt, since this would encase all of the other pieces. It was the part of the lightsaber that the Jedi held in their hand, so a comfortable grip for the wielder was crucial in its design. Some Jedi would choose to create a curved hilt, or one with extra handle, or a long staff-like hilt, depending on their own individual preferences.

           The design that the Revanchist chose was relatively simple, yet elegant. It was of medium length, to account for grip with either one or both hands, and had three long, slightly curved pieces spaced evenly through the length of the body. On the end where the lens would be placed, they protruded slightly, creating a sort of claw-like encasement for the future blade. These three curved pieces would aid in maintaining her grip on the weapon in battle. The body was primarily silvery-gray in color, with accents of black along the edges. The back vent was very simple, round with no particularly interesting patterns.

The only thing particularly unusual about her design was her choice of placement for what would become the trigger when she inserted the energy cell and emitter matrix. She had opted for a faux trigger in the traditional red on the outside of the hilt. The true trigger would be located inside of the hilt. While seemingly bizarre at first, there was good reasoning for her choice. After all, the Mandalorians were skilled warriors, and, in the event she lost her weapon in battle, she did not wish for a Mandalorian to be able to wield the thing against her or against her allies. The only way that one would be able to ignite the saber would be through the Force.

She created a basic Diatium power cell with the materials available to her at the workbench, and a basic emitter matrix in order to power and stabilize the blade, and placed these inside of the hilt accordingly, being quite careful not to inverse anything, as the lightsaber could explode if improperly assembled in such a manner.

When it came time for the lens, she chose a somewhat unorthodox material. Adegan crystals were a relatively abundant crystal that was often used as a focusing crystal rather than material for a focusing lens. When used for the focusing lens instead, the crystal greatly intensified the power of and amount of damage the lightsaber could deal in combat. This new saber, while she honestly wished otherwise, would need to be capable of taking a life quickly should the necessity arise. Mandalorians were known to possess a special sort of iron ore that was incredibly durable and found only on the planet Mandalore. Such a material was capable of resisting even a lightsaber’s blade. Given the likelihood of it being used in Mandalorian armor, the Revanchist did not wish to risk her weapon yielding to the stuff.

Her new weapon was nearly complete in its construction. All that remained were the focusing crystals. The woman still had with her the three crystals which she had won on the day that she had become a Jedi Knight: the Bondar crystal, the Opila crystal, and the now colored Kyber crystal.

The first crystal she set was the Bondar. It was the least lethal of the crystals, and provided a unique sort of energy within the blade that was best suited for stun. It was a crystal typically used in the training sabers of young Padawans. To the Revanchist, however, the crystal held a greater significance. It represented her origins and her training, but also, it represented mercy, and the way of the Jedi which she had grown to believe in before their seeming betrayal to the cause. The crystal reflected the past.

The second crystal she set was the Opila crystal. Unlike the Bondar, Opila was highly lethal. It made for an intensely focused beam that cut quickly with little able to inhibit its power. In this war, she would need whatever strength she could muster in order to defeat the enemy at hand. This crystal represented the aggression of war. This crystal reflected the present.

And the last of all of these things was the amethyst crystal which continued to resonate with its faint humming. It would be the main focusing crystal of her new lightsaber, and would determine the color of the blade. The color of the blade of the saber itself often reflected the identity of its individual wielder. The color purple was one which stood entirely on its own. It was removed from the Jedi, removed from the Sith… It was a color of great conflict... Of light and of dark… Of illumination and of shadows… Of good and of evil… Of Harmony and of Chaos… Of tranquility and of passion… Of blue and of red… It was the color of the Revanchist. It was the crystal of her future.

When the focusing crystals were all set in place, the Revanchist closed the hilt with the Adegan focusing lens. Her work was finished. The time had come for her to appear again before the High Council of the Jedi Order. The time of the Revanchists was now.

#kotor #kotoredit #female revan #revan #revan malak #jedi exile #mandalorian wars #fanfic #star wars #revalek

[theexiledgeneral]

Prompts! 112: “ Why are you bleeding?” and/or 137: “ You’re an asshole.”

First off, THANK YOU for the prompts!

The night was quiet. Tamara shivered from her vantage point atop a tall ‘scraper and drew her cloak tight around her. The merchant she’d been eyeing finished up with his latest customer and she finally turned away from the railing and headed to his kiosk. She rifled through his stock, taking advantage of a sale he had on a decent lens and a few spare mechanical parts that would come in handy to fix various things on the Ebon Hawk. The man gave her a strange look but he sold her the small lens she found anyway. She put his curious gaze out of her mind; everyone on Nar Shaddaa had something they were hiding and if she thought too long about all of it she’d never leave this place. Tam turned away from the merchant and glanced around the courtyard, debating if it was worth stopping by a cantina or if she should head back to her crew on the ‘Hawk.

A few elevator rides down, several plazas later, Tam was still not sure what she wanted to do and was almost ready to turn back to the refugee sector. She had turned disappointedly into a smaller alleyway, heading back to the ship when a figure making his way past the crowd caught her eye. The padded shoulders looked suspiciously like the back of Atton’s preferred jacket.

She wove through the crowds until she found him again, a few feet in front of her, and tapped him on the shoulder. Atton twisted back in surprise, his grimace dropping once he realised who she was. “Hey Tam,” he said, glancing around them and turning to face her, his eyes skimming past the crowd behind her and not really taking her in. “How’re you liking Nar Shaddaa?”

“Hey,” she smiled at him. “It’s hasn’t changed since the last time I was here. I’m starting to remember why I left.”

“Yeah, me too.” They began to walk through the crowd. Atton grinned at her and then did a double take, stopping and turning to look at Tam, “Uh … hey, you alright?” he gestured to his face. “Why are you bleeding?”

Tam touched her face gingerly, her fingers coming back wet and red under the gas lamps.

“Here,” Atton rummaged in his pockets for something and handed her a clean white cloth, “hold that over it for a bit. Should stop soon.”

They found a less crowded alleyway and made their way over to a secluded set of buildings on one end of the street. They both sat down on a set of steps nearby while Tam held the cloth under her nose.

“I was thinking of hitting up an old pazaak den I used to frequent back in the day but it turns out the place was lost to a fire years ago,” he said conversationally, stretching his legs. “It’s apparently a luxurious high rise now, if you can believe it.” He seemed almost offended. “Now I’m out of places to go. No one had a deal like they did. Three hours of pazaak and you’d get a complimentary glass of ale. A whole glass! They just don’t make them like they used to.”

Tamara’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter, “It has not been your day today, has it?” Her voice was muffled behind the cloth.

“Hasn’t been my month, if we’re being honest. Things started turning for the worse about the time I got to Peragus.” Atton turned and smirked at her. “I guess all that money you’re paying me for my role as pilot is just going to have to stay in my pockets for a little while longer. It’s a real damn shame.”

The cloth hid Tamara’s guilty expression, but she wasn’t able to chase the guilt out of her voice entirely. “You know, I owe you a lot for sticking around. I’ll tell you what, if we somehow strike it big I’ll give you my share of the loot after we’ve split it between the crew.”

Atton rolled his eyes. “‘Between the crew’?? Tell me we’re not giving your fanboy a share.”

Tamara groaned, “You’re an asshole.”

“Hey, it comes with the territory,” Atton said, gesturing to the alleyway around them. He leaned back on his elbows and took a deep, dramatic breath, “Never a dull moment on the Shad.”

Tam glanced over at him, “I thought you couldn’t wait to get back here.”

“Not really. Just seemed like the right place to go after everything that happened on Peragus. Nar Shaddaa is a great place to hide. You could get murdered here and no one would probably ever know.”

“What a sad way to live,” Tamara said softly, sitting up and pulling the cloth away from her face.

“I suppose. Here, that’s just normal really. Only people here are the ones that can’t get out and the ones that don’t want to ‘cause it’s worse for them anywhere else in the galaxy.”

She twisted to look at him, “I can’t imagine that at all.”

“Yeah,” he said, a far-off look in his eyes.

She brought the cloth back to her face and they sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Well,” she made to stand up but Atton grabbed her elbow, keeping her in place. Tamara glanced questioningly at him and Atton snorted. “You’re really going to make me ask?” He nodded at the cloth in her hand.

Tamara took a breath and shrugged, settling back against the steps. “Sometimes it feels good to let loose.”

“Not when half the galaxy’s after you,” he cautioned, “the whole point of coming here was that we could blend in and be invisible.”

“You sound just like Kreia,” she snapped. Tamara leaned forward and looked down the other end of the alleyway. “I can’t catch a break from her. I was hoping you’d understand.”

“Here,” she felt Atton’s hand on her shoulder, “let me take a look.”

Tamara turned to him again and pulled the cloth away. Atton seized her jaw and tilted her face up so he could see it better.

“Yeah. Looks better. Should probably get you to the ‘Hawk to clean up fully. Maybe he’ll have a time running through all your diagnostics.” Atton shrugged innocently at the glare Tamara shot him. “I’m joking. The crew will be worried though. Should probably tell them I didn’t do it just to be safe.”

Tamara chuckled, “Why, is that a worry the others have?” Something crept into his face, although he was still as unreadable as ever.

“Who knows,” he said finally. He lifted her chin to let her face catch more light so that he could inspect the cut. Her nose didn’t seem broken from this angle. “Now, who pissed you off?”

“Some Quarren doing a slave run,” she responded sulkily, making a face and wincing as he ran a thumb underneath the cut on her cheek. He shot her a questioning look and she shook her head, “No it’s fine, just sore.”

He let go of her and leaned back. “Well, it seems fine to me,” he said. Tamara shrugged and shook her head.

“I killed him but not before he got…” she took a deep shuddering breath and buried her face in her hands. “He got his guards to … shoot them all.”

“You tried to take them on alone? Come on, Tam.”

“Not entirely. I rigged a speeder to crash into them. I thought it’d take the guards out but it blew up before it hit the right target. Then everything went south.” She sighed.

“No shit-” he caught himself before finishing the rest of his thought out loud. This was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He went for a more neutral response.

“Well, fuck.”

She sighed. “Yup.”

“Well, if it’s slavers you want I got a whole list of common routes. We could camp one until we see a few slavers and take them down, what do you say?” Atton stood up, not entirely sure why he was helping her instead of bringing her back to the 'Hawk and keeping her out of trouble long enough for them to leave Nar Shaddaa without incident.

Tam stared up at him, quiet for a moment. “I honestly thought you were going to drag me back to the ship.”

“I got more fun things to do,” he flashed her a quick smile. Tamara smiled back at him, her grin lighting up the rest of her face underneath the tiny gas lamps in the alleyway.

Atton suddenly realised why he was doing this, alarms blaring in his mind like a ship in combat. He ran through ways to backpedal out of this little adventure in his head, coming up short at her harmless smile. His brain felt like it had turned to jelly.

“You’re the best,” she grabbed his arm and started walking down the alleyway. She was so close, so warm.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly.

Tamara led them down the alley and gestured for Atton to lead, “Let’s not keep them waiting then.”

#kotor 2 #attonjaqrand #asktheexiledgeneral #atton rand #prompts #sorry for the wait. RL has been crazy #I haven't done an Atton fic in a while so I thought I'd do a little more writing for this one #thanks for the fun prompts <3 #as a side note I haven't written in this POV in ages and it's a little disorienting I hope it came out okay

[babineni]

Facta non verba! (Deeds, not words) Illa and Atton, maybe?

Thank you thank you thank you :) I tried to approach this from a not-so-obvious angle and I ended up with this pile of angst, I hope that’s okay??

’Need any company? I mean, I’m not doing anything.’

Illa’s heart skipped a beat when Atton’s voice broke through the thunderous rumbling of Malachor falling apart. Even with everything that has happened in the last few hours, even with the guilt of the past and present clawing at her throat, the grief she felt for Kreia, the urging threat of the Mass Shadow Generator being activated again, she still felt relief washing over her. The Exile rushed ahead and wrapped her arms tightly around the scoundrel.

‘See?’ he said. ‘Told you it was nothing,’ he reassured the Jedi still shaking with fear.

Fear she felt for him.

Hours before, Illa sat beside Atton in the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk. They still had some time until they reached Malachor but the silence was so deep aboard the freighter, one would’ve believed it was a small graveyard world of its own. The pilot busied himself with reviewing the ship’s controls over and over, and the Exile could’ve found something to do as well, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave him.

Illa looked at Atton and her heart sank. She knew Malachor would be a place that would punish her, that it would demand sacrifices from her and she spent most of the time during journey there coming to terms with the fact that she may have to leave some things behind. She wanted to think she was ready but that illusion shattered when she glimpsed the scoundrel’s thoughts.

‘Atton,’ she called out to him. After sitting silently for so long, she could only muster a whisper.

‘Yeah?’ the pilot was still able to hear her and that made the Exile swallow hard.

‘I touched your mind earlier,’ she said, prompting Atton to stop and turn to her.

‘What did you find this time?’ he asked bitterly, expecting a lecture or a scolding as an answer.

‘You wished you never met me,’ Illa echoed his thoughts back to him. ‘You wished you died at Malachor V,’ her voice cracked at the last word. She turned away and shut her eyes, trying to fight the tears gathering in them.

Atton stayed quiet for a few moments. ‘Shit,’ he hissed eventually. ‘Look, you know me, I… I’m told I’m a bit of an idiot. I wouldn’t take me seriously if I were you,’ he explained.

‘How could I not?’ Illa turned back to him. She sounded snappier than she intended. ‘Between the things you told me on Nar Shaddaa and this… but I thought…’ she sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘Why haven’t you told me?’ that was all she could say.

‘Because thoughts like these come and go, ‘Atton stared at a small screen in front of him. ‘They’re pretty tiresome but at the end of the day, I’m still standing so they’re pretty meaningless too. They’re nothing, just… empty words in my head, but I also knew that you’d react like this if you knew,’ he shrugged. ‘You’ve got a lot to worry about already and I got this covered. So can we drop this? Please?’ the pilot looked the Exile in the eye.

Illa held his gaze. ‘No,’ the words she was about to say clogged her throat, suffocating her but she went on, ‘I can’t. Malachor has taken enough from us already. Please… don’t let it take more. I… I can’t lose you, not here, not now, not like this,’ she paused, trying to regain her composure, but continued when she saw Atton trying to interrupt her. ‘Just…  if this is really nothing then prove it. If you see your chance down there, do not take it. If this will all pass, then hold on until it does. Please, I… that’s all I ask.’

Atton looked stunned for a second. He opened his mouth to say something but then he changed his mind. He turned his attention back to the ship.

‘I told you not to get too attached to me,’ he said without looking at Illa.

‘Sorry. I didn’t take that bit seriously,’ the Exile said defiantly, but at the same time grasping at the arms of her seat, trying to ease the shaking of her hands.

That shaking didn’t cease until they were both back on the Ebon Hawk, flying away from the drifting pieces of Malachor V. At the end of that day they were still standing and those words truly were meaningless.

#kotor 2 #atton rand #atton x exile #tw: suicidal thoughts #illa vehn #kotor fic #oc fic: illa #fanfiction #uuuugh I'm bad at writing about stuff like this #idk how to discuss shit like this properly I'm sorry #dancing in your shadow #Wrytinge™

[thatwitchrevan]

Concept: Every single person on the Hawk at some point having to tell Meetra to go the fuck to sleep. 

#continues niche shitposting #kotor #kotor hcs #meetra surik #griffin writes #so far atton's done it and bao-dur's done it #i think at one time i was playing with the idea of mical tucking her into bed #and i could definitely see kreia being like #(deep sigh) apprentice. go to sleep. now. #'i'm fine let's finish the lesson' #i won't ask again meetra

[kirnet]

kirnet/atton and some kirnet/halrebe. 3.1k words. i think abt the korriban tomb way more than is healthy

It felt like Kirnet was the only living thing on the planet.

Between the ancient bodies in the tombs littered around the canyon and her sleeping companions in the Hawk, Kirnet was the only thing moving for miles around. The air was still, too still, almost choking her as she paced the hallway in front of the ship’s ramp. It reeked of death and decay and all of the things she had learned to forget the feeling of after Malachor. She knew that outside would be worse, that her companions’ steady breathing and the hum of the ship were the only things holding her back from spiraling. Still, she knew she couldn’t stay.

Something deep in the canyon was calling to her.

She had felt it ever since Atton had touched the ship down, but she had heeded Kreia’s warning to investigate it after their business was wrapped up. It took all her concentration to ignore the maw of the cave they passed on their way to the ruins, the dark tendrils of whatever lurked in there snaking around her heart as they walked. The remnants remained even when they were ambushed by Sion and his ilk. She had fought like she had during the wars, blades spinning like a tempest as she took Sion head on. Whatever triumph she had felt when her saber pierced straight through his abdomen melted away into horror as he grabbed her hilt and turned off the blades, Kreia and the darkness in the canyon screaming for her attention as she lunged away. The Ebon Hawk’s crew had barely made it out alive as what was left of the ruins came tumbling down around them, and they were forced to head straight back to the ship to lick their wounds.

Even her enemies were undead. What did that make her?

Kirnet rolled her shoulders. Sion had nicked her a few times during the fight before roughly force-pushing her back into a column so hard she thought the building would collapse right then and there. Disciple had gently fretted over wounds once she returned, bandaging her up with the few kolto patches they had left as Atton and Visas milled about outside, waiting patiently (well, Visas waited patiently) for their turn. She could feel a bruise blooming across her back, but it didn’t matter. Kavar had always chided her for being impatient during her youth, and right now was no different. Whatever was out there couldn’t wait.

She stopped her pacing, thankful for the tricks she had picked up from Atton to keep her footsteps quiet, and lightly traced her hand across her belt. Her lightsaber, an ugly, cobbled together thing, sat proudly on her hip, and her pockets were full with what grenades and stimulants could be spared. She left all healing items back in the medbay in case one of her companions needed more treatment, though she had made sure to grab an antidote kit. For good measure.

Speaking of…

“Just come out and say it,” Kirnet sighed, eyes never leaving the closed ramp in front of her. With just the push of a button she could be out in the open air.

Atton emerged from the darkness of the garage behind her and leaned against the wall. “I think you really hit your head when Sion threw you,” he grumbled, “because there’s no way you’d be considering this if blunt force trauma wasn’t involved.”

Leave it to Atton to know her movements before she even did.

She turned to face him, and his face pinched into an unrecognizable expression as his eyes roamed over her. She knew she wasn’t a pretty sight, all bruised and bandaged, but he hadn’t gotten out of the fight much better. Atton always had a scruffy look about him, but right now he was downright disheveled. “I need to, Atton.” Her voice was much softer than she intended it to be. “I need to face whatever is out there.”

“Great!” Atton kicked off the wall and unsuccessfully hid his limp as he stepped up to Kirnet. “My blaster’s cleaned, my lightsaber’s all fixed up. We-”

“Alone, Atton,” Kirnet mumbled as his face fell. “This is for me to do alone.”

His jaw clenched for a moment, but soon the tension in his body fell away with a sigh. “You know,” he started as he tucked a wayward strand of Kirnet’s hair back underneath her braid, “usually when a pretty girl sneaks away from me in the middle of the night, I’m not wondering if I’m ever going to see her again.”

Kirnet snorted as her eyes rolled back into her head. “Oh, I’ll be coming back. I need to hit you for that comment.” It wasn’t the most couth way of going about it, but Kirnet knew it was just his way of taking her mind off of her unease. When had she grown so confident in his actions?

“Looking forward to it,” he whispered, his knuckle ghosting her cheek as he dropped his hand back to his side. After a moment he shook his head and stepped out of the bubble of tension forming around them before pushing the button on the wall. The ramp groaned to life, and Kirnet winced at the sound as it lowered to the ground. Bao Dur would have to look at the mechanisms in the morning. Kirnet brushed past Atton and started down the ramp as he leaned his arms against the space above the opening.

Stale air and decay rested on her shoulders. She took her first few steps across the sandy ground before turning back around. “Hey, Atton?”

“Hmm?” His voice was gravely with exhaustion.

“Get some rest, please. There’s no use staying up for me. I’ll be back before you know it.” She hoped he could sense her smile in the darkness.

“You got it, boss.” 

Kirnet nodded and set back on her course, the ship at her back the whole time. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Atton never left his place on the ramp, his eyes following her the whole way out of sight.

------

The tendrils led her through wave after wave of shyracks as she ventured deeper into the cave, only her Jedi senses and the light from her saber kept her on track as the darkness swallowed her. It wasn’t just the absence of light from the night or the cave but a thick cloud of the dark side so strong that it made dots swim across her vision. Kirnet forced herself to stay upright as the bruise on her back ached from all the movement. 

The actual tomb itself… that was a different thing entirely. She steeled herself for whatever the Force would show her as she marched over the chasm. Your eyes created shapes to make sense of the darkness, after all. 

But seeing Malak after all these years, face whole and young like she had remembered him, had knocked the wind right out of her. She hadn’t been there when Revan removed his jaw or to see his full descent to the Sith, but she had seen the holovids after her exile. Force, it had been years. Was his chin always shaped like that? Or had time already robbed her of the clarity of her memories? 

Kirnet did her best to ignore the growing lump in her throat as Malak started his familiar spiel, lecturing the crowd of visions on the need for war, a topic she herself had debated with Atris many times in Malak’s stead. She waded through the conversation, pushing the fact that this was definitely a vision to the forefront of her mind. Still, she had to think about it a second too long when Malak offered her the chance to finally follow him and Revan, to fill the void she had left in their trio.

Malak was dead. Revan was gone. There was only one answer.

She won that fight.

The next visions were equally taxing. Memories of the battle had surfaced when she was on Dxun, but being able to indulge in the fantasy of saving the soldiers who had died on her orders was nice. The vision with Kreia and her crew would almost be homely with all the threats and bickering if it hadn’t actually come to a head. Cutting the vision of her companions, cutting Atton, down as Kreia stood behind her left a sour taste in her mouth, but it had to be done. Redemption had to be a possibility. 

All that couldn’t compare to what lay in front of her.

The door to the final tomb slid open, upsetting the ancient dust and kicking it up into the air. Kirnet swallowed thickly, all moisture gone from the atmosphere as she assessed the two familiar figures in front of her. The shorter one removed her hood, her thick braid swaying with every step she took. Amber eyes met hers as the vision unclipped her lightsaber, her lightsaber, the delicate and ornate one from the war, and turned it on. Red light illuminated the crevices in the stone walls as the figure with Kirnet’s face advanced. 

She didn’t have time to think before her own saber was out, blocking the double’s swing before it could cut her in half. Instinct overtook her and she vaulted back in an attempt to give her some breathing room. The double didn’t allow it. She gouged the stone where Kirnet’s feet rested moments before with the red blade.

Kirnet was famed for her quickness during the War, and for her un-Jedi like frenzied style. Two long blades and her stature put her at a disadvantage in a melee, something the Mandalorians had picked up on immediately. So she made it a point to be unpredictable, her saber blades strobing on and off as she hit the enemy from every angle they couldn’t predict. Daze and immobilize the enemy before they could ever clock her was the strategy that won her many duels in a time before her foes were decomposing ghouls and ghosts. The double with the amber eyes had the same strategy with none of Kirnet’s restraint. The double swung down hard, and Kirnet lifted her saber to deflect, only for the other’s to turn off as she braced for the impact. She darted to the side as the blade reappeared and swiped next to her face, cutting one of her thin braids from her head.

The masked figure watched in silence.

Panic pounded against her chest as she continued to scramble backwards, her own familiarity with the technique and her honed reflexes the only things keeping her alive. The double flashed her teeth, her amber eyes dancing with delight as it continued the assault. Was this how her enemies felt when she fought, like a prey animal being toyed with before they were torn apart? There was no time to block or reposition, only to dodge within a hair’s breadth of her life. Darkness and dust choked her as her own saber spun pointlessly.

Pointless. This whole thing was pointless. Why had Kirnet come here, anyway, while her companions got their fitful rest? For selfish gratification? For answers? The dark side never revealed such things. Revan was missing the far-out reaches of space, not watching her former left hand struggle for her life. If she were really here, would she take the second chance to save Kirnet, or would she throw her to the wolves again? Korriban held no answers, only new painful questions. 

She always was foolhardy.

One thing was clear, though: if she died here, Kirnet wouldn’t unravel the Sith plot. She wouldn’t get justice for Visas and her homeworld, she wouldn’t get to give Rev a piece of her mind for leaving like that, or to give Atton that punch she promised. Getting cut down by a future that never came to pass was not an option. The Hawk was waiting for her.

Kirnet turned off her lightsaber as she stepped back, the red blade narrowly avoiding her face. Kavar might have chided her recklessness, but it was exactly why Revan, why Halrebe, had brought her into the fold so quickly. Kirnet could rewire a power modulator with her eyes closed and could win any battle of verbal wit, but she was always lacking in wisdom. She closed her eyes, letting the hum of her opponent’s saber draw her into meditation as she imagined one of Kreia’s lectures. “The Force is a subtle thing,” she would say. “Don’t fall victim to its persuasions.”

She threw her palm out, pushing the vision a few feet back. She, it, felt tangible, but it lacked the weight of a real person. Kirnet rolled her shoulders, a new confidence rolling off of her like the unsettled dust. This was just a projection of her fears, a lie that she had told herself too many times. 

It was time to put it to rest.

Kirnet shot out, blades spinning as she descended on the vision. It tried to raise up a defence, but she knocked it to the side with the Force. She was fast, impossibly fast, the balls of her feet barely skimming the aged stone as she continued the assault. Silver light pierced through the figure, and amber eyes met hers as it fell away in a pool of mist.

She was already turning around to face the final test. The vision of Revan walked forward, its robes brushing silently against the floor. Twin blades materialized in its hands, a familiar violet and a new red. Kirnet dropped into a ready stance, her lightsaber hilt extended in front of her and her other hand balled up by her stomach. The mask revealed nothing as the vision surged forward. 

Rev was the only one who could truly keep up with Kirnet’s antics. Their sparring was always playful before war devolved fully into chaos and their free time was ripped from them, with Kirnet trying and failing to pull a victory from under Revan’s feet. There were no teasing remarks, no flashes of her friend’s dark eyes. This battle was to kill. 

Still, Kirnet was calm. If this were the real Revan then she might have had doubts about her chances, but she had a crew to return to. Every blow was met with an equal, every Force technique was matched or overpowered. The stalemate was going on too long, so Kirnet did something reckless. She feigned to the side, making sure that her own flank was exposed. The vision took the bait, the violet saber nicking the space above her hip as she turned around on her heel. The maneuver revealed her back, but she was too quick to get caught off guard. Her blade sliced cleanly through the vision’s midriff as she spun. It fell to the ground with an almost imperceptible thud. 

Kirnet heaved in stale air as she watched the vision’s feet slowly dissipate. She was victorious, not only in these battles but with herself. Fear was fought and conquered. Even so, a part of her that Kirnet knew would never go away twinged with grief. It pulled her to the ground, and she dropped to her knees next to the fading vision. Her saber clattered to the ground as her fingers reached out to the edges of the mask. This Force-forsaken tomb had shown her Malak in his youth. Why couldn’t it show her the face that haunted her dreams? She grabbed the mask and lifted, her heart leaping into her throat as she looked down.

The mask and whatever lay beneath fell away in her hands.

She stared at empty, dirty palms as a bitter laugh forced its way out of her mouth. Maybe it was better not to have the closure. The real Revan was still out there somewhere, and Kirnet was adding this to the list of grievances for when she finally tracked her down. She pretended it didn’t sting as she dragged herself to her feet, the weight of the fight finally settling in her bones. 

Disciple was going to give her an earful when she returned.

------

Kirnet limped up the ramp, too exhausted to keep her footfalls quiet. The stirring light of dawn disappeared as she slapped at the ramp button, the mechanisms screeching like those damned shyracks as it closed. She dragged herself through the empty hold on her way to the back barracks, but she paused by the blast door that led to the cockpit. She could reach her tired mind out to check, but something told her that she already knew the answer.

She passed T3 in communications, who gave her a happy beep. She smiled at the gesture and offered a floppy wave of her own before turning her attention to the figure in the pilot’s chair. Atton was reclined, his feet propped up on controls that probably shouldn’t be pressed at the same time. His head was turned uncomfortably into his shoulder, and a trail of crusty drool adorned his stubbled jaw. Kirnet pressed her lips together in a vain attempt to stop her smile as she turned around, ready to fall into slumber herself.

“Find what you were looking for?” His voice was gravely with sleep as he peered up with half-lidded eyes. 

“Yeah.” She nodded her head, flashes of the encounter playing in her mind. “Yeah, I did.” She leaned back against the arm of the passenger’s seat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Atton carded a hand through his disheveled hair. “Well, you walk like a bantha.” His face broke into a crooked smile as Kirnet chuckled. His eyes, now alert, trailed over her cut-up figure before coming to rest on her eyes. “You need to talk?”

Maybe. Someday. But right now she needed a full rotation of uninterrupted sleep, even if it took place on this haunted planet. “Nah. I just wanted to give you what I owed you.” Atton’s eyes never left her as she leaned forward, her hand forming into a fist as it slowly neared his face. She gently pressed her knuckles into his cheek, and Atton humored her and turned his head with the blow. He opened his mouth, no doubt about to offer a suggestive or pathetic comment, before thinking the better of it in a rare display of common sense and covering her hand with his. 

“Night, Atton,” Kirnet whispered as her thumb swiped his trail of drool. Maybe the nightmares tonight wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Night, Kirnet.” He brought her dirty palm to his mouth and gave it a light kiss. “Now get some rest. Please.”

#this is pretentious and unedited but im going to bed now GOODNIGHT #kotor #kirnet cavira #kirnet/atton #kirnet/halrebe #my writing #the kirnet lore that exists in my head is so extensive hopefully this is readable lmaooo

[sovonight]

sometime after the end of the game but before the crew gets dropped off back where they came from

Atton: You know, I'll almost miss you when you go back to Nar Shaddaa. Mira: Don't get sentimental on me, Atton-- but I'll almost miss you, too. Just think about following my advice, alright? Who knows, maybe you'll sort yourself out within my lifetime. Atton, remembering Mira’s foretold lifespan: Hey, I-- Mira: Oh, for-- Don't say say anything, I said I don't want to know what happens to me. Atton: Well, while you're glad you weren't there, guess who didn't get to hear his Force read. Mira: You know Kreia never liked you. Or anyone. Atton: Yeah, and it was mutual, but there was the tiniest amount of respect in there, too. The least she could've done was give me more than, (mimics Kreia) "he's a fool, and always will be". Atton: And you know what the Exile had to ask to even hear about me? "Did Atton truly love me". (scoffs) As if she doesn't know. Mira, confused: Hold on, you told her? Atton: No, but you know Jedi. They can read thoughts, emotions, it's like second nature to them. She must have felt it at some point. Mira: ...Okay, so if she's always known, why would she ask Kreia? Atton: ... Mira, sighs: Face it, Atton, you're just scared of how close you're getting to her. You know that when couples like yours break up they can just jump planets until they never see each other again, right? Atton, making excuses: It's not me, it's just never the right time. First I was waiting for Kreia to get out of the picture, and now there's this mission to find Revan. Besides, I can’t bring it up now anyway-- she’s still dealing with Kreia’s death. Mira: So that’s why you've been avoiding her? Do you even know how she's been acting? Atton: She’s been meditating. Meditating a lot. Mira: That’s how it looks from your vantage point in the hallway, but if you actually talk to her, she’s... distant. It’s like something’s frozen over inside of her. Atton, frowning: ... Mira: Whatever you know, just spit it out. Atton: It just sounds like how she was on Peragus, when I first met her. Anyone could tell she'd lost a part of herself-- even if they didn't know it was her connection to the Force. Mira: ...Kreia and the Exile's Force bond ran deep. You don't think.... Atton: That everything's Kreia's fault, even after death? Yeah, that vengeful old witch. Mira: No, that she's lost part of her connection to the Force, again. Look-- I don't understand how it all works, but maybe it'd help if you talked to her. Figure out what's going on. Atton: Yeah? And what do you get out of it? Mira: I'm a bounty hunter. I have a vested interest in my target's well-being. --And it’d be pointless to lose her to this after everything we’ve gone through. Atton: ...Alright, I'm going. And for the record, I wasn't avoiding her, I was-- Mira: Figuring out if you can still cut ties and leave? Atton: --giving her space. (mutters) I can’t wait for you to leave.

#still not sure what i want the consequences of the boss battle to be for the exile but Yeah #atton x exile

[thatwitchrevan]

I finished it ~!

Keep in mind: 1) 1am 2) no editing

-

“Atton, if you want me to teach you you’re going to have to try to be still.”

Atton sighed, shifting again on the floor in an attempt to get comfortable enough that he could stay still. His knees hurt, and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t used to it, but under these specific circumstances it was making him antsy. 

He couldn’t help wondering if it would have been better if Meetra had been the one to teach him, if she’d agreed when he’d asked her to. Maybe she would’ve known how to teach better than Mical did, or maybe he’d find it easier to listen to her than this admittedly cute but frustrating guy in front of him. “It’s hard to focus.”

“Atton, you have remarkable levels of self-control. You served under an intimidating and hyper-intelligent Sith master without letting her dominate your mind, you have a keen resistance to Jedi influence, and you are a talented actor. Do you really expect me to believe you are incapable of holding still and clearing your mind?”

Atton huffed, opening his eyes just enough to look at Mical. His eyes were still closed, of course, and he looked perfectly serene kneeling on the floor, as if he could stay here and meditate for ever. Damned perfect Jedi. “I don’t know if you’re trying to flatter me into listening to you, but it’s not gonna work.”

“Close your eyes, Atton, and try to clear your mind.”

Atton closed his eyes again, but he was frowning. His defiant tendencies were flaring up. He did make an effort to slow his breathing, to bring his mind under control, but he didn’t withhold the comment that came to his mind. “You’re not my master, you know. You haven’t got your full training either, and I’m older than you, anyway.”

“And Malak was older than Revan when she took him as her apprentice,” Mical returned calmly. Atton couldn’t physically see him, but he could imagine that infuriatingly calm expression still on his face. 

“Yeah, well Revan made Malak look like a punk bitch, so I think the exception was justified.”

That got Mical to laugh, lightly. “So irreverent,” he chided, but his tone was amused. 

“That’s me.”

Atton felt Mical moving - one minute, he was a foot away, and then he was sitting in front of Atton, their knees barely touching. “Atton, look at me.”

Atton blinked his eyes open and made contact with Mical’s. Despite the excuses he was making, he knew he was full of shit. Yes, Mical was younger than him and yes, he was inexperienced, too. But Mical knew the Jedi in ways Atton didn’t. He’d been trained as a child, had almost made it to apprenticeship. That was more than Atton could say.

All he really knew about Jedi was how to kill them.

“I know that you’re afraid, Atton. You don’t have her to guide you, and you know that to allow someone to train you will mean to let your guard down. You trusted her, but you’re not ready to trust me the same way. I understand.”

“But you’ve asked me to try, and I want to do my best. I can’t help you if you don’t give me a chance. I want to earn your trust. I want us to work together to figure this out.”

Atton clenched and relaxed his fists as they rested on his knees, fidgeting to take the edge off of his nerves. “Do I have to stop playing pazaak?”

“Eventually. The idea is to clear your mind. And if you can do that, I still won’t be able to read your thoughts, Atton.”

Atton nodded. “I’ll try, Mical. It’s just. It’s gonna take me a while.”

Mical touched his shoulder gently. He smiled. “I know. It’s alright, Atton. Be patient with yourself.”

“Now close your eyes. Start with pazaak. Let that be the only thought in your head.”

Atton obeyed, closing his eyes with a deep breath. Numbers filled his head, a familiar, calming element that he could lean into. Sometimes, like now, the habit triggered memories of things and people he’d used it around: Meetra, Revan, Kreia. But he pushed that away, concentrating on the game. 

“Good,” Mical praised. “Now stop picturing the cards, and just relax as much as you can.”

Atton resisted on instinct, physically tensing at the idea, but he calmed himself down and tried. Instead of imagining specific cards, concentrating on the colors and the numbers and the turns in the game, he let the sequence play out in his head as if in the background, and then tried to let it go altogether. 

It was about two full seconds of breathing, barely thinking of anything, before his mind jumped to forcefully listing planets, their hyperspace coordinates, the number of moons they had, and avoiding any thoughts about which ones he’d been to, how many he’d killed people on-

His eyes opened and he sighed. “I can’t. When I try to think of nothing, I start thinking about everything. This just...isn’t possible for me.”

Mical frowned at him. No, not at him. At the problem. They were both in uncharted territory here, and for not the first time Atton felt an unpleasant twist of almost-guilt at causing so much frustration to the only people trying to help him.

“It’s not about trying not to think at all, necessarily.” Mical’s forehead continued to pinch as he tried to explain. “The idea is to quiet your mind. To relax. Thoughts come and you let them go, or sit with them in peace. You open yourself up to everything, including what you’re thinking and feeling. If you try to fight it, it fights back. And that includes trying to bury it under games and patterns.”

Atton frowned at his hands. He could fight, and he could take apart his lightsaber and put it back together, all with his hands. He thought he should be able to use the Force, too, all without this Jedi bullshit about ‘clearing your mind’ and ‘facing yourself’...but he knew without a doubt that Meetra would’ve made him try, too, and that part of the reason she couldn’t train him was because of all this stuff, because this was too hard if the student and the teacher were both twisted up in the head.

He had to do this if he was going to control the power inside him.

That almost made him want to give up. Almost. He shook his head and looked back up at Mical. “I think I understand, but I need a break. It’s just not going to happen today.”

Mical nodded. “Then we’ll try again tomorrow.”

-

“Can’t we skip the meditation, this time?” 

Bao-Dur frowned at him. “No, Atton.”

Atton sighed, gripping his lightsaber and glancing down at it wistfully. “Why?” It came out more whiny than he meant; Bao-Dur had no pity.

“Because you want to, which means we shouldn’t. Come on, Atton.”

“Bao-Dur-”

“Atton, give me your lightsaber.” Bao-Dur held out his hand, expectant.

Atton stood still, holding his saber tight in his hand. He hated this thing sometimes. He was afraid of it. Afraid of what he was when he used it.

But it was safer than the meditation.

He hesitated. Bao-Dur’s eyes were watching him, waiting patiently for him to obey. And he wanted to. Wanted to trust him. He swallowed to clear his throat and handed it over, feeling a bit lighter when he did, but also less anchored. 

Bao-Dur kept eye contact and clipped the lightsaber to his own belt. “Meetra told me not to let you use it if you’re not calm, centered. You’ve got a lot of work to do, Atton. I’m going to help you, but I need you to trust me and give it a try.”

Atton barely held back a sigh. He couldn’t help being frustrated that Meetra had so much say in his training, even though she wasn’t doing it personally. Her directions were so strict. But it makes sense, he reminded himself. He sat down with Bao-Dur, letting his eyes close immediately and putting his mind on autopilot. 

He tried to imagine his mind as a white space with nothing in it. No thoughts to distract him, or for anyone to read. No emotions to cloud his judgement. He focused on the emptiness, not realizing he was still tense until Bao-Dur touched his arm and he jumped. 

His eyes shot open. “What?”

Bao-Dur sighed. “Atton, you’re practically chanting at yourself to stop thinking. That is not the purpose of this.”

Atton huffed and jerked his arm away. “I don’t know what else you want me to try. I’ve tried to ease into it, I’ve tried to power through it... you and Mical keep talking about ‘calming my mind’ but you don’t seem to understand that I just can’t!”

Bao-Dur frowned and stared at him. Atton squirmed a bit, feeling as though Bao-Dur was looking straight into him, despite knowing there was no way he or anyone else could actually read his thoughts right now. Bao-Dur reached out again, this time with his palm up, offering his hand. “Come sit with me.”

Atton raised an eyebrow, skeptical. But he quickly relented and scooted across the floor, closing the distance between him and Bao-Dur until their legs brushed each other.

Bao-Dur unfolded his legs and stretched them out, nudging Atton gently in the side to have him turn around. “Sit back and let me hold you. Try to relax.”

Atton stiffened on instinct, first at the touch and then the command to relax. Even though he trusted Bao-Dur, even though he wanted to, a part of his mind still told him that to relax was to open himself up to death. 

He tried to ignore it. He turned around and let Bao-Dur pull him almost into his lap, arms wrapped around him. Atton couldn’t help the light blush creeping over his face even though this was not remotely like that - it wasn’t sexual, just intimate. Wonderfully and painfully intimate. 

But he leaned back against Bao-Dur’s chest, and damn if he didn’t begin to relax. With Bao-Dur’s arms looped loosely around his torso, a feeling of safety and comfort crept in against his will. It’d been like that with Meetra, which he’d figured was partly down to her dangerous magnetism, and partly due to their mutual bond. He was bonded to Bao-Dur and Mical, too, which let their warmth override his paranoia. 

Bao-Dur kissed him behind the ear. “Come on, Love. Tell me how you feel.”

Atton huffed again. “I feel dumb. This is apparently level one, Padawan bullshit and I can’t handle it.”

“You have a lot on your mind. You always do. You’ve just got to stop sitting on it, Atton. Let it go. Trust yourself, and trust me.” Bao-Dur rubbed his arm, squeezed his hand. “Close your eyes.”

Atton did. 

“Now, don’t worry about emptying your mind, but don’t bury your thoughts. Let them come, and then let them go. Don’t dwell on them.”

Atton frowned. He still didn’t like the sound of any of that. But he had to try, if he wanted to move forward. He needed a control and awareness of his mind that went beyond throwing up shields to protect it or drowning his thoughts out. 

He let out a breath, and let go. His thoughts drifted from the exercise to the comfort of Bao-Dur’s embrace, and then the other sensations he felt. The hard floor underneath them. The warmth of the room. The movement of his and Bao-Dur’s chest as they both quietly breathed. 

He thought of Meetra. He wondered if she’d be proud of him for trying, if she’d be glad he’d begun to trust a couple of people enough to gradually let down his defenses. He’d never, ever stopped around her. Only would’ve if he had to, if she’d let him stay and help her. She didn’t want another apprentice, particularly one that came used and broken.

The breath Atton took was small, quiet, but sharp enough that Bao-Dur noticed. Either way he would’ve sensed that something was going on. He hugged Atton a little tighter. “It’s okay. Don’t ignore what you’re feeling, Atton. Don’t hide it.”

Atton took another breath, this one shaky. His eyes remained closed. His thoughts drifted from Meetra, but centered instead around himself, around everything he hadn’t really dealt with. He’d tried, but there always seemed to be more. More pain, more fear, more uncertainty that he was capable or even worthy of ever being better. All he was was pain, kinda like Sion, walking around and trying to hold himself together. Kinda like the Exile, too.

He didn’t realize he was crying until something wet hit his arm. Bao-Dur was holding him even tighter and Atton just sobbed. Becoming aware of it made it so much worse - once it was started, there wasn’t much hope that it would stop.

He didn’t try. Tears spilled down his face, and he wondered vaguely how long it’d been since he’d let anyone see him cry like this, but he just kept sobbing as Bao-Dur held him.

Bao-Dur didn’t once shush him or tell him it was okay. All he said were soft assurances like ‘I’m here’ and ‘I’ve got you’, and each one seemed to pull another sob from Atton’s throat but underneath the pain and embarrassment it began to feel more and more good to let it out.

It hurt so much and yet relief washed over him, more with every moment. He wondered dimly if that made it worth it, if it made him stupid to avoid it when it was this inevitable and maybe let some of the pressure off the pain.

It took a while before he quieted down. At some point he’d been turned around to rest chest-to-chest against Bao-Dur instead, and Bao-Dur was rubbing his back. Atton cried himself out and then slumped against his boyfriend, feeling tired and sore with tears drying on his face. He breathed deeply to calm himself and after another few long moments, he sat up and wiped his face, sheepishly meeting Bao-Dur’s eyes. 

“I guess I still didn’t do it, huh?”

Bao-Dur chuckled softly. “Well...” He reached up and wiped away some more wetness Atton had missed. “I wouldn’t call that quieting your mind, no. Not in the short term. But you feel better now, right?”

Atton almost hated admitting it, but he nodded.

“So, that means it helped. Everyone has to break down sometimes, Atton. If you try so hard to stay together that you never let it out, you only break harder. Case in point,” he poked at Atton’s cheek with his thumb, grinning when it made Atton smile. “You really are going to be okay, in the end. But sometimes you have to accept you’re not okay in the moment. Nobody’s that tough all the time.”

Atton chuckled. “What’re you talking about? I’m the fucking poster boy for mental stability.” He sniffed loudly and let out another sigh, but he felt like everything his mind had just stirred up was settling, and at the moment none of it seemed as serious as when he’d been trying to avoid it. 

He squeezed Bao-Dur’s hand. “Thanks. I...I’d never have chosen for you to see that, but I’m glad you were here.”

Bao-Dur squeezed his hand back and smiled. “Don’t you worry. I’ll always be here.”

#griffin writes #ughhhhhhh that took forever #to be clear i wrote the mical part and half the bao dur part ages ago #and just finishing the bao dur part has taken me too long #this is okay to reblog if you consider it coherent enough #im going. to bed #kotor #kotor ii #atton rand #mical #bao dur #oh also theyre all boyfriends #thanks goodnight

[coruscantexpat]

Bonds Unbroken - Chapter 19: Reunion

Meetra felt the sunlight first.

It spilled over her, warm and bright behind her closed eyelids. After the sterility of Peragus and Citadel Station, the warmth was overpowering, so much so it took several seconds for the pain to register. Meetra’s jaw clenched, breath hissing through her teeth. Everything hurt, a dull soreness that spread downward from her shoulders, concentrated in her arms and hips and one oddly specific spot near her hairline. Even her most intense training sessions at the academy had been kinder.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, compartmentalizing the aches and pains away, and pushed herself upright, lifting a hand to shade her eyes before she opened them. For a moment, there was nothing but brightness, Telos’ sun blotting out the planet with its brilliance. Then Meetra’s vision adjusted, and her breath hitched in her throat. Short scrub grass stretched out in front of her, racing away to the craggy hills in the distance. Small crooked trees broke through here and there, limbs outstretched at impossible angles. A sliver of ocean hovered at their edge to her left, too far away for her to smell the salt. It caught the sunlight, jewel-like, and reflected it among dancing waves. Above, white clouds scudded lazily through a pale blue sky. It was simple, primitive — the earliest step in the Ithorians’ restoration — but it was beautiful compared to the chrome and ceramic of the station or the thick drifts of Belsavis.

“Quite the view, isn’t it, General?”

Meetra started, hand flicking toward her waist before she caught herself. She’d been so captivated she hadn’t heard his approach. The speaker held up his hands, a self-conscious grin pulling at his lips. This was, without a doubt, Bao-Dur. The standard horns of the Zabrak were prominent with him, forming a circlet around his head. A complex web of facial tattoos lined his gray skin, framing golden eyes, and when he smiled, she saw sharp canines. His right arm drew her attention from his face. Cybernetic, a long ribbon of energy connecting the “hand” to the rest of his arm - something about it unnerved her and made her sad all at the same time.

Bao-Dur followed her gaze to his hand. He let his normal arm fall and spread the mechanical fingers in an exaggerated wave. “Gets everyone the first time. You get used to it.” His voice was soft and measured, and Meetra got the sense that it was his natural tenor rather than any effort on his part. As he spoke, a small spherical remote droid zipped up behind him, hovering at shoulder level. Without addressing it, Bao-Dur resumed his approach and held out a hand to help her to her feet. “Welcome to Telos, General — one of the habitable bits, anyway.” The golden eyes softened, the sun lending them a warm glow. “It’s good to see you again.” Meetra stared at him, unsure how to continue. He scanned her face, saw the confusion, and a flash of disappointment flickered in his eyes. “You don’t remember me.”

“I… I’m sorry, no.” Guilt came with the admission. “We’ve met before?”

He smiled, a touch of sadness in the lines around his eyes. “In another life. It’ll come back to you. Why don’t you tell me your story first?”

“The Ithorians — I mean, their leader, Chodo Habat sent us to — “ Everything came back in a rush. Reuniting wordlessly with Kreia at the shuttle dock as they boarded. Entering the Telosian atmosphere, dipping beneath the shield of the Restoration Zone to sweep through the clouds. Heavy, shuddering impacts along the shuttle’s keel and the sharp tang of burning circuitry. Shouting for her companions, only Atton’s voice answering. A bone-shattering impact and then… nothing. Meetra’s chest tightened, panic clawing its way up her throat. “Our shuttle — There were two others with me — What happened to — “

“Slow down, General.” Bao-Dur squeezed her shoulder. The gesture felt surprisingly familiar and Meetra didn’t shy away from it. “Take a breath.” He smirked. “And maybe a look around.”

She stared at him for a moment, then turned from the vista to the land behind her. The shuttle was a few yards away, a long divot in the earth leading from the crash site to where it lay with its nose buried in the dirt. Parts of the fuselage near the cargo doors and the cockpit were stained dark with soot, but Meetra didn’t smell anything burning. She spotted Atton and Kreia next, near where she’d woken, the former’s jacket draped over his chest. Both were unconscious and Kreia’s robes were perhaps a shade darker in places, but they appeared otherwise unharmed. A small collection of their belongings, including Chodo’s canvas bag and hers and Kreia’s weapons, had been gathered in a pile nearby.

Meetra crossed the space quickly, Bao-Dur trailing in her wake, and knelt in between Atton and Kreia, inspecting first one and then the other. “They’re alright; probably took a harder hit than you did. I was a few klicks out when I saw your shuttle come in. Thought it was some of Chodo’s herd, so I got here as quickly as I could - imagine my surprise.” He chuckled, the warm sound soothing some of her fears. “Got the fire down pretty easily, but most of the systems are fried. Between that and the structural damage…” He trailed off with a shrug. “Hope you didn’t plan on getting out the way you came in. Do you remember what happened?”

She shook her head. “Something hit the shuttle. Must have bounced us around pretty good.” More than that, if the dull ache running the length of her body was anything to go by. Meetra carefully lifted Atton’s jacket and tested the straps on his sling. He moaned softly as her inspection jarred his arm, but didn’t wake. “I remember the fire, some shouting, but after that…”

“Could have been a lot worse. You’ve got a hell of a pilot.” Meetra smiled and pulled Atton’s jacket back over him. Bao-Dur was right. By all accounts, they should be dead from the crash, but Atton had come through. She doubted it was the last time she would be thankful she’d released him on Peragus. Unbidden, Bao-Dur’s remote let out a sharp trill. “Fine, fine. I’m Bao-Dur, by the way. My friend thinks it’s a bit rude I didn’t introduce myself under the circumstances.”

“I know.” She saw the flash of hope in his eyes and felt guilty for quashing it with her next words. “Chodo said he worked with you, that you built the shields for the Restoration Zones. Our ship was stolen from Citadel Station and brought here; he said you could help us find it.”

“What kind of ship?”

Freighter, Dynamic-class. Goes by Ebon Hawk.”

He frowned, brow creased in thought. “I can’t say I’ve seen any freighters come through recently. Granted, I haven’t really been in a position to track new arrivals for a while.” He gave a sheepish smile in the face of her confusion. “Better to wait for your friends to wake up — that way I only have to explain once. But don’t worry, General; if your ship’s here, I’ll help you find her.”

“You keep calling me that.” Meetra stood, eyes narrowed and arms folded over her chest. “No one’s called me that since…”

“The wars, yeah.”

“You served?”

“Not with the Republic.” Bao-Dur chuckled and rubbed one of his horns with a thumb. “I was actually part of your regiment. Joined a few years before the end as technician, then an engineer. Thought I would have made more of an impression, honestly, being the only Zabrak.”

She stared at him, rigid posture loosening. “I… I’m so sorry. Everything from then is… hazy.” Except in her nightmares, when it seemed determined to return in horrific and warped detail.

Bao-Dur’s gaze fell and he sighed, the fingers of his prosthetic clenching into a fist. “Don’t push yourself. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, too... as much as I can, anyway.”

“Why?”

He risked a glance at her face, saw the genuine confusion there. “Because I…” His jaw clenched, the lines of his skin and tattoos tightening around his eyes. “General, I built the Mass Shadow Generator. Designed it to Revan’s exact specifications and fired it on your order.” His voice rose in volume and pitch, the soft warmth replaced with anger and desperation. “I stood on the bridge with you — you looked right at me, the longest you’d ever looked at me, and you nodded. Just once — a single nod… How can you not remember this?!”

Meetra didn’t answer. She stared at Bao-Dur - no, not at him, but through him. For a moment, she was back on the bridge, staring out at the massive battle sprawled above Malachor V’s atmosphere. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, under the weight of the memories. There had been someone with her, but she’d barely taken notice - by the end of the wars, it was easier not to care, to see those under her command as tools rather than people. The figure was fuzzy in her memories, but she remembered nodding — only once, as Bao-Dur said — and outside the ship, the world imploded. Everything after was chaos, a cacophony of sounds and images that was incomprehensible when it was fresh, much less a decade later.

The anguish drained from Bao-Dur as he watched the muted horror play across her face. He sighed and reached out to take her hand in his flesh-and-blood one. “I’m sorry, General; that was unkind of me. Neither of us knew what would happen. Revan kept everyone in the dark.”

“She never told me who built it.” Meetra’s voice was small and soft, the words thick, like she was forcing them out from deep in her chest. Her hand stayed loose in his, but she didn’t pull away. “I — I never asked. I always assumed she… I thought she told me everything, and if she didn’t, it wasn’t important.” She blinked, pulling herself out of the dark memory, and looked back at Bao-Dur. Although her eyes were dry, they burned with regret, a spark of anger at the very center. “There’s nothing I can say to change that. Even apologizing feels pathetic. I should never have let her put you in that position — I should never have put you in that position.”

“I made the choice to join — and I don’t regret that choice” His voice was warm again, but there was a firm edge to it now. “Whatever came after, I try to hold on to that. You should, too, General.” He squeezed her hand and smiled when her fingers curled around his. Meetra’s gaze fell and he followed it back to his cybernetic arm. “Souvenir, of sorts. It happened after the shockwave hit the ship. I remember seeing you fall, following you down, but after that… When I woke up, it was gone. The Republic doctor who did the surgery said it was crushed, probably under something that came loose in the blast. Thankfully, I was unconscious for most of it.”

Meetra slipped her hand free of his and brushed the prosthesis with her fingertips. “You built it yourself.”

“I have high standards.” The spherical droid at his shoulder made an indignant whistle. “And I guess I had a little help.” She laughed and Bao-Dur smiled, the lines around his eyes and mouth crinkling. “You know, I always wondered what that sounded like. Not a lot of fun to be had after I joined.”

“Watching a planet glassed firsthand kind of killed the ‘fun.’” A darkness flickered across her face, just as quickly banished. “How did you end up on Telos and fall in with the Ithorians?”

Bao-Dur was silent for a moment, eyes unfocused as he lost himself in his own memories. “When I woke up, you were gone, too. You and Revan and — ” His voice caught on the third name, much like her thoughts did every time they turned to her former friend — “Malak. The wars were over, and I was alone. Without a purpose. We’d won, but the costs…” He trailed off, and the haunted look in his eyes sent a chill down Meetra’s spine. She was fairly certain she wore the same expression when she thought about the Mandalorian Wars. Bao-Dur swallowed, finding his voice again. “I wanted… needed to do something, to make up for my mistakes. I started drifting, helping out where I could before moving on to the next city, the next planet… and then Revan and Malak returned.”

“And started the Civil War.”

Bao-Dur nodded. “You heard about that.”

“Not at first.” She didn’t like thinking about the years after her exile. Truthfully, she still wasn’t sure how she’d survived the first few — she hadn’t exactly made an effort to stay alive. By the time she’d returned to something resembling her pre-exile self, Revan had made her second return and saved the Republic from Malak’s Sith army. “I only found out recently. Did you… What was she like?”

“No idea.” Bao-Dur shrugged. “I stayed as far out of their path as I could. Didn’t want to be recognized; although, if your reaction is anything to go by, I probably shouldn’t have bothered.” He smiled to show he was teasing her. “By the time everything was done, a lot of refugees didn’t have a home to go back to. Malak had a habit of bombing entire planets. He was very sporting, that way. I caught wind that the Republic had authorized a restoration effort, and Telos was going to be the flagship project. As soon as I heard, I knew this was what I’d been waiting for, so I made my way to Citadel Station and joined up with Chodo and his herd. I had a talent for shield tech and he had a dream.” His smile turned sad. “Almost worked out.”

“‘Almost?’” Meetra waved a hand, indicating the land around them with the expansive gesture. “Looks to me like the idea was a success.”

His expression darkened. “We should have had half the planet covered by now.”

She raised an eyebrow at the anger in his words. “What’s stop— ” A soft groan cut her off, and she and Bao-Dur looked over to see Atton stirring, the whites of his eyes just visible beneath fluttering lids. A sudden panic seized Meetra, her chest tightening. She turned back to Bao-Dur, struggling to keep her alarm in check. “They — ” She paused and glanced back at Kreia. The idea that she had any secrets from the old woman was laughable. “He doesn’t know…”

Bao-Dur glanced from her to Atton and back again. “And you don’t want him to.”

Meetra shook her head. “Most of my friends are dead or missing. I’d prefer not to lose any more, so just ‘Meetra’ from now on, alright?”

He raised a brow, but nodded. “As you wish. Forgive me for saying so, Gen— Meetra, but is he really a friend if you don’t trust him with who you are?”

“Who I was.” She stressed the last word, the syllable slipping through her teeth like a curse. “And I do trust him. He’s fought with me, saved my life more than once… I don’t want him to leave because of what I’ve done.”

Bao-Dur inclined his head. “I’m sorry; that was more than a little hypocritical of me. It’s not as if Chodo knows what part I played in the Mandalorian Wars.”

“It’s alright,” Meetra relented, kneeling down again. “The question isn’t entirely unwarranted.” She pulled Atton’s jacket off of him again and put it to the side before touching his good shoulder. He came awake instantly, gaze finding hers, and for a moment, a flicker of fear and something darker passed behind his eyes. She leaned away, startled, but the shadow was gone before she could seek it out again. Atton blinked at her, as if unsure she were an illusion, then grinned. She returned the smile and held out a hand. “Welcome back.”

“And I was having such a pleasant dream, too.” Atton took her hand and let her pull him to a sitting position, grimacing only a little when the motion tugged his injured arm. He leaned around her to look out at the Telosian surface and his sour look intensified. “You sure we’re awake? This isn’t some shared nightmare?”

Meetra laughed despite herself. “It’s not that bad.”

Atton raised an incredulous eyebrow. “This makes Nar Shaddaa look civilized. At least you can buy drinks.”

“And thanks to your fool’s incompetence, we are stranded here.” Meetra started and turned to find Kreia already on her feet, dusting Telosian soil from the hem of her robes. The old woman’s ability to move without notice was unnerving.

Atton scowled up at her. “My ‘incompetence’ is why you’re still alive and not a pile of ash mixed with ship slag.”

Bao-Dur chuckled, breaking the silence that accompanied Kreia’s withering glare. “Interesting company you keep, Meetra.”

“It would be boring otherwise.” She stood, pulling Atton to his feet as well, and helped him slip his jacket on. “Bao-Dur, Atton Rand and Kreia”

He nodded to first one, then the other. “A pleasure.”

“Yeah, sure.” Atton eyed the Zabrak warily, ignoring Meetra’s frown. “Know anything about that AD tower that took us out? That was a pirate set-up; I thought the Ithorians were running a research project here.”

Bao-Dur’s remote jerked toward his shoulder and whistled, zipping back out of reach when he swiped half-heartedly at it. “Yes, yes, you were right.” He turned back to Meetra and thumbed one of his horns again. “It’s like I said earlier — I haven’t been able to keep track of anything coming to Telos because of Czerka. Chodo probably told you about the obstacles he’s been facing with them.”

“He actually asked us to help him find evidence of it,” Meetra said. “The Ithorians should have enough to bury Czerka now.”

Bao-Dur raised an eyebrow. “Well… that’s good to hear, but the news hasn’t made it down here. To answer your question about the tower: Czerka sent a ‘research’ team to the surface a few weeks ago.” His lips curved in a humorless smile. “Why the company needs so many mercenaries for research, I don’t know. They set up shop in one of the Ithorians’ abandoned compounds, cut off any outside communication, and sent a pursuit team after me when I started nosing around. Luckily, I know the terrain better than a bunch of Nar Shaddaa cast-offs.”

“Yeah, well, even a half-deaf and blind bantha will have heard that.” Atton jerked a thumb at the wrecked shuttle. “The longer we hang around here playing catch up, the sooner Czerka finds us.”

“As much as it pains me, my opinion aligns with the fool’s.” Atton rolled his eyes at Meetra, but otherwise ignored Kreia’s jab. “We are no closer to finding the Ebon Hawk, and we will be less so if we are taken captive.”

“Not necessarily. We can help you find your ship.” Bao-Dur waved a hand to indicate both himself and the remote. “I doubt the mercenaries thought to reset the shield network passcodes, so it’s likely I still have access. If we can get into the compound, I can locate records for any ship passing through the network. That’s the easy part, though.”

Meetra tilted her head. “And the hard part?”

“Besides getting past Czerka’s guards? It’s a bit of a trek from here.” He turned and pointed toward the shimmering water in the distance. “We’ll have to take the long way to avoid any patrols or the pursuit team. Not to mention the wildlife.”

“What ‘wildlife?’” Atton shook his head. “Unless Telos had some bomb-resistant blarrg I’m not aware of, the fauna’s as dead as the rest of this planet.”

“Chodo thought it best to introduce a few herbivore species to keep the new growth in check,” Bao-Dur explained, either ignoring or failing to notice the sarcasm in Atton’s voice. Judging from the smuggler’s sour look, Meetra suspected it was the former. “When their numbers started to get out of hand, the Ithorians’ decided to bring in a predator — cannoks.” Meetra kept her face carefully blank, but couldn’t suppress the shudder that rolled down her spine. An image of the squat little monsters flashed before her — rough, craggy gray skin, thick eyestalks moving independently of each other, and a mouth full of needles. A native of Dxun, they had been the cause of more than a few injuries throughout her regiment. The cannoks’ small size meant they weren’t life-threatening to humanoid species, but those impossibly sharp teeth combined with their tendency to attack anything that moved had made them a formidable nuisance. “Unfortunately, after Czerka forced Chodo and his herd off Telos, they made no attempt to maintain the ecosystem the Ithorians’ put in place. The result: no herbivores, and a large number of very hungry cannoks who will try to catch and eat anything — including us.”

“Great. I’m so thrilled we passed up drinks on Nar Shaddaa for mercs and flesh-eating mon— ” Atton cut off, posture stiffening as his gaze locked on a point behind Meetra. Before she could ask what was wrong, he drew a blaster with his good arm and fired past her in one fluid motion. Meetra flinched away and lifted a hand, the gesture unconscious, the Force surging into a concentrated point, but Bao-Dur caught her arm and gently forced it down.

“Nice shot,” he commended Atton, fingers pressing lightly into Meetra’s arm. “A scout drone — looks like Czerka’s goons are getting smarter. I doubt it was able to transmit much, but you’re right — we should get moving.” He squeezed Meetra’s arm once and released her. Atton holstered his blaster, face carefully neutral, but his eyes held hers, a flicker of uncertainty in their depths. Meetra broke the gaze first, hot shame crawling up the back of her neck. Losing control was embarrassing, especially with her weakened connection to the Force, and the idea of hurting Atton turned her stomach. Avoiding his eyes, she stepped past him and collected their belongings, tossing Kreia her vibrosword before slinging the canvas bag over her shoulders.

“Let’s go.”

Full chapter available on AO3 and FFN.

#KotOR 2 #kotor fanfic #atton x exile #The Jedi Exile #Female exile #atton rand #bao-dur #Kreia

[coruscantexpat]

Bonds Unbroken - Chapter 20: For Auld Lang Syne

Atton tried to lean away from his assailant’s force pike, but she tilted the point up into the soft flesh beneath his chin. Her twin shifted her pale gaze to Kreia. “Let go of the weapon. I will not say it again.”

“Who are you?” The pike at Meetra’s throat pressed harder into her skin, a silent but clear warning, which she ignored. “Are you with the Exchange? Did you take our shi-”

“Do as I say, and your questions will be answered.” The woman’s voice was calm and measured, but she couldn’t hide the undercurrent of annoyance in her words. “It is not our wish to harm you.” She left the implication unspoken.

There was a soft clatter behind her and Meetra half-turned her head before the increasing pressure on her neck stopped her. The woman holding Atton hostage lowered her pike from his throat and stepped around him, returning a few moments later with Kreia’s vibrosword in one hand. She passed it off to her doppelgänger and reached for Atton’s blaster, the force pike held against his chest. He glanced sideways at Meetra, a question in his eyes, but her answer was a minute headshake. The woman tugged the pistol free of its holster, thumbed the safety, and slid it into the sash of her white tunic, then reached between Atton and Bao-Dur to pull the matching blaster from the Zabrak’s waistband. 

Satisfied, the more vocal of the two lowered her force pike from Meetra’s neck, though she kept it held ready. “Follow me.” She turned and stepped back through the hatch without a backward glance. Her twin stepped to the side, but did not follow. After a moment, Meetra nodded to Atton and the two moved forward, Bao-Dur’s weight hanging between them.

Once inside, the sudden surge of warmth raised and then banished goosebumps along Meetra’s arms and legs, an involuntary chill making its way down her back. The hatch gave way to a spacious foyer, curved walls leading to a domed ceiling held up with a single tall pillar in the middle of the space. To either side of the path directly in front of the entryway the floor fell away, revealing a sickeningly long drop into darkness. Their guide waited at the base of the pillar, flanked by three more women dressed in white with snowy hair and pale eyes, all armed with force pikes. The last of the women followed Kreia in and closed the hatch before joining her replicas. The most central of the women spoke, and Meetra was no longer sure if she was the one who had led them in. “My sisters will attend to your companions. You — ” She pointed a slender finger at Meetra “ — will follow me.”

Meetra’s grip tightened on Bao-Dur’s arm. “We’re staying together.”

“That is not possible.”

“The hell it isn’t,” Atton growled, and Meetra felt a rush of gratitude. Behind them, Kreia remained silent, her blind eyes watching the performance unfold.

The woman never glanced at Atton, but her lips thinned. “Our mistress has requested your presence alone.” In the face of Meetra’s continued defiant glare, she sighed, her posture loosening a little. “Your companions will not be harmed, as long as you cooperate. You have my word — and my mistress’ honor.”

“And that means so much from the person who ordered our kidnapping.” When she refused to react, Atton turned to Meetra, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes flicked from one woman to the next, and he could almost see the wheels turning as she considered every scenario. From the way her jaw tightened, none of the outcomes were favorable. Not entirely surprising, considering the state they were in.

“We should play along.” Kreia’s voice was soft, and if not for Atton’s sharp look, Meetra was almost sure the old woman spoke only in her head. “For now. I sense no ill intent, and there may be a chance for us to learn why the Force drew us here.” Meetra felt blind eyes on her back, the unseen gaze hot and intense between her shoulders. “Taking advantage of their knowledge is worth the risk of separation.”

Atton glanced back at Meetra, watching closely as she weighed their options. Her gaze was unfocused, distant, one corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth. Under more pleasant circumstances, he would have found it charming, alluring even. After a long moment, she looked up, meeting the center sister’s eyes. “We didn’t come here to start a fight. I’ll go with you, but my friends are hurt. I want you to guarantee they’ll be taken care of, as well as kept safe.”

The woman nodded. “You have my word. My sisters will tend to them, and I will make their safety my personal responsibility.”

“Good.” Meetra’s tone was light, but something dark and violent lurked between the words. “If anything happens to them, I’ll expect answers.” She turned to Atton, and he braced himself for any lingering anger in her eyes, but there was only an entreaty as she tilted her head toward Bao-Dur. “Take care of him.” He nodded, but she held his gaze. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.” The words were out of his mouth before he could pull them back, but if she heard the inappropriate earnesty in his voice, she didn’t comment on it. Two of the women came forward, and Meetra slid out from beneath Bao-Dur’s arm, allowing one to take her place. Atton did the same and retreated to Kreia’s side. The center sister gestured with her pike, both indicating a long hall leading further into the structure and that Meetra should go first. Glancing back at Atton and Kreia, she managed a weak smile and hoped it was somewhere in the vicinity of reassuring, then did as ordered, the sister falling into step behind her.

As they walked, Meetra glanced up at the high walls, her eyes tracing the way they bowed outward before curving back in to meet the ceiling. There was something familiar about it, about the way the architecture caused their footsteps to echo back on themselves until the hall was filled with the sound. The thin path stretched out across the chasm, the drop devouring their footfalls as easily as it would one of them if they got too close. The structure was clearly designed to both impress and intimidate, and as the hall opened up, Meetra realized why she’d been struck with such familiarity.

The path ended in another wide room, this one connected to the far wall by a thin, sloping catwalk. Six high-backed white chairs were spread out evenly in a semi-circle around her side of the room, all turned to face the center, and thick glass windows curved along the walls. It was all very reminiscent of the Council’s chambers in the Jedi Temple, albeit on a less grand scale, but somewhat reversed in terms of power: the chairs were clearly meant for recipients of speaker standing in their midst.

“Wait.” Her chaperone’s command stopped Meetra short at the threshold. The woman came abreast and pointed at the bag on her shoulder. Meetra hesitated, then handed it over. The sister pulled it over her arm and took a step back, gesturing to the center of the room with her pike. “Our mistress will be with you shortly.” She raised a hand as Meetra opened her mouth. “Save your questions. She will provide answers… if she so chooses.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left the way they’d come.

Meetra stared after her, lips pressed together in a grimace, before turning to enter the room properly. She drifted over to one of the chairs and ran a hand over the smooth stone. Marble, judging from the color and feel; sleek, but chill and unyielding. The seat was carved like a bowl and a thick white cushion was placed at the bottom. She gingerly tested its give, her hand sinking deep into the fabric. An uncomfortable chill ran down her spine. The chairs were designed to put those sitting in them in a position of subservience, maybe even reverence to a speaker. A pang of unease mixed with pity ran through her at the thought. Were the sisters as captive as she was right now, in a more sinister fashion?

The heavy thud of a barrier cycling drew Meetra’s attention from the chairs, and she lifted her head to see another white-clad figure descending the thin catwalk opposite her. Another woman, bearing little similarity to the sisters. Her hair was also white, but with a faint silvery sheen; far longer than the other women’s, it was drawn into a severe bun at the back of her head with two loose strands framing either side of her face. She was taller by at least half a head, closer to Meetra’s own height. As the woman neared, the hem of her pale robes ghosting against the catwalk, and her face came into focus, Meetra’s breath caught in her throat, heart suddenly squeezed in her chest. The face was more lined, the set of her mouth harder, but the pale blue eyes were as sharp and angry as they had been a decade ago.

Meetra’s breath left her in a rush. “Atris.”

Atton watched Meetra leave until she was out of sight, simultaneously hoping she would look back and relieved she didn’t catch him staring after her. One of the unburdened sisters gave him a small push, her pike held up as a reminder, and he turned to follow the other down a small sidepath to the left of the hatch, Kreia and the women holding Bao-Dur following.

He jogged a bit to catch up with the sister in front of him. “Where did they go?” She glanced back at him, eyes narrowed. “Look, your sister told her you would keep us safe; I just want the guarantee for her.”

“Our mistress will decide her fate.” The woman’s voice was cold. “Yours, as well.”

It was his turn to narrow his eyes. “That wasn’t the deal.”

“We do not make deals with murderers.”

The air went out of the room. Atton froze, mind racing in a hundred different directions, none of them useful. They know, how can they know, if they know I’m dead — He yanked himself out of the spiral and realized the sister was watching him, an odd look almost akin to pity on her face. He forced himself to relax, to breathe evenly. She didn’t know; she couldn’t know. Still, better safe than sorry. Add 2. The totals are 12 and 10. Switch the face of the +4/-4 card… She was still looking at him. “What?”

“Do you really know who she is?”

Her emphasis on the word gave him pause. What did he really know about Meetra? She was a Jedi, or, as she claimed, had been, and she had secrets, both of which made her dangerous. His own secrets only made her more so. But she was strong and kind and funny and… Maybe just a different kind of dangerous if he was honest with himself, but one he was finding harder and harder to imagine going without. Atton glanced back at the sister. “She’s a good person. More than I can say for most people.”

To his surprise, she chuckled, the first outright emotional display he’d seen from any of the sisters, but it was mirthless. “No, you don’t.” Her smile faded, the piteous look returning. “And for that, I am sorry.”

“What does that mean?” He tried to move alongside her, but she waved him back with her pike. “What do you know?”

“I am no historian,” she snapped, irritation slipping through the cool facade. “Nor is it my place to reveal another’s past. If you want answers, you will have to seek them from her.”

“Can’t do that if she’s dead.”

“No.” Her gaze hardened. “Though if that is her fate, you will likely share it. We are here.” They came to a stop at a large door spanning the corridor. The lead sister cycled it open and gestured for the others to go on ahead.

The room was small, made more so by eight bodies filling the space. On the far side stood a row of powered-down force cages and their control console, and Atton groaned aloud at the sight. “Great, more cells. At this point, we might as well install them in the Hawk’s barracks.”

“You may continue your complaints from inside,” one of the women said pointedly. 

The other sister not supporting Bao-Dur moved to Atton’s side and reached for his sling. He swatted her hand away, the action almost unconscious, and she paused, an unreadable expression on her face. She reached out again, and this time her caught her hand and turned it away, the motion so smooth it almost didn’t look like he gave her wrist a sharp turn as he did so. “Leave it.” She gave her hand a small shake, eyes never leaving his, and he saw the flicker of uncertainty in their pale depths. He turned away and stepped into the nearest cage before she could question him.

Kreia entered the cell to his immediate left, her hand folded in the sleeves of her robe, gaze shifting from one doppelganger to the next. None of them met her eyes. The sister Atton had tried to interrogate activated his and Kreia’s force cages from the console and then gestured to her other. The four began to leave the room, taking Bao-Dur with them.

“Wait.” Atton stepped toward the cage’s barrier, leaning away as it crackled warningly. “Where are you taking him?”

“He needs medical attention.” The sister’s tone made it clear she thought her answer painfully obvious. “Likely he is only concussed, but if it is something more… We do not wish him to suffer. He will be returned when our examination and treatment are complete.”

“How long will that take?”

“Longer if you continue to delay us.” She turned away, signalling an end to the conversation. The sisters filed out without another word, and the door cycled shut, the heavy thud hanging in the air.

Atton leaned back against the rear panel of the cage with a sigh. “At least they left the heat on.” He glanced over at Kreia, who seemed enthralled with the room’s structure. “Why even lock us up? They already took our weapons.”

“We are leverage, not threats,” Kreia murmured, her tone distracted. “Our captors wish Meetra compliant.”

“Who are they?” He lifted his gaze, examining the walls with her now. “And what is this place? Some kind of doomsday bunker?”

“In a sense. It is a Jedi academy.” Atton glanced sharply at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Not a proper one — there are no students and these children are not padawans — but it evokes the same impression.”

“Why the hell would the Jedi build an academy in the polar region of a dead planet?”

“Academies are hidden from the rest of the galaxy, to keep young Jedi safe and ignorant of the outside world while their masters mold them. What better place can you envision?” There was nothing judgemental in Kreia’s matter-of-fact tone, which Atton found almost as chilling. “This place is different still; designed to train Jedi, but occupied by none…” She paused for a long moment, then punctuated the silence with a sudden chuckle. “Of course… How clever, Atris. I should have suspected on our approach…”

Atton eyed her warily as she continued to mutter to herself, but a different unease crept its way up his spine. He was comfortable with Meetra’s limited abilities and tolerant of Kreia’s eccentricities, but other Jedi might be harder to fool, harder to keep out. Even if Kreia seemed sure there were no others, the old woman was unfamiliar with this place, and even if she was right, who could say there weren’t more Jedi on their way there right now. He needed more information. “Who’s Atris?”

Kreia’s gaze snapped to his with a speed that was almost violent, as if she’d just remembered he was there. She narrowed her eyes, irritation thinning her lips. “None of your concern.”

He rolled his eyes to hide his alarm. “Whatever. All I care about is getting the Hawk and hitting lightspeed before any more Jedi show up.”

Immediately, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. Kreia paused, her head tilted just to the side, as if listening to something only she could hear. “You fear the Jedi.” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t you?” Atton danced away from the implication in her words, careful to keep his tone light. “The last time a bunch of Jedi were in one place, they killed each other. I don’t wanna get caught in the middle of that.”

“A half-truth.” Her gaze was intense, laser-focused on his own. “This fear is deeper, more personal. What do you know of the Jedi?”

Atton’s heart hammered in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Kreia could hear it. “Less than you, I’m sure.”

“On the contrary, I believe you know much more.”

There was no warning before her consciousness slammed into his, her mind splitting his thoughts like a white-hot spike. A cry ripped itself free of Atton’s throat, and he sank, knees slamming into the cage floor. He clutched his head, as though he could ward off the probing thoughts tearing into his skull. Add 5. The totals are 11 and 13. Flip the +2/-2 card — “Get out of my head!”

“How strange.” Kreia’s voice was clinical, impassive, as if her search wasn’t rending his mind into a million jagged pieces. “I would not expect such strength from you.” She pushed deeper, drawing another ragged yell from him. “It will be less painful if you cease struggling. I will find what I seek regardless; your resistance will only cause you further hurt.”

“Stop… it…” He forced the words out through gritted teeth, body bowed forward under the weight of her assault. She tore through his barriers as quickly as he erected them, the years of practice utterly wasted in the face of her power. Pain shrank the world to a single point before him, and Atton could feel her mind burrowing into his, her thoughts jagged claws that sliced into his mind and pulled out the things he never wanted anyone else to see.

Memories flashed before him as Kreia dug them free of his defenses. A woman’s face leaning over him, a flash of momentary horror before he realized it was Meetra… The same face, bathed in the soft blue glow of hyperspace, exhausted and in pain, but smiling and so beautiful — Kreia’s amusement trickled down through their connection, and Atton wrenched away from the memory, embarrassment briefly superseding the pain. The respite only lasted a few seconds before the old woman renewed her assault, and a scream escaped his clenched jaw. Another night blackout drunk in the alleys of Nar Shaddaa. Waking up in a strange Togruta’s bed, leaving a handful of credits on her nightstand before slipping out to return to the cantina and repeat the last night all over again. It was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay.

“Ah, and with the fear, there is guilt.” She sounded smug. This was a game for her, a challenge to be overcome. His pain, his fears — just rewards for her searching,

Atton forcibly pushed the memory away, and to his surprise, it worked, earning him a few breaths of freedom. “Why… why are you… doing this?” His vision was hazy, the world made blurry by the pain, but he could just make out the dark robes opposite him. “What… do you… want from me?”

“I dislike being at a disadvantage.” Kreia resumed her searching, and he collapsed fully to the floor with a whimper, body curling in on itself. “Her, I know. Everything she has done, all she has suffered. You, however, are much more of a mystery than I realized. What have I done to inspire such terror toward the Jedi?” The agony increased, and Atton’s vision disappeared entirely as a white-hot curtain fell over the world. “You hide your secrets well behind your feelings — behind the self-loathing and the infatuation — but I will not let you keep them.”

Atton feebly struggled against her intrusion, but Kreia brushed him aside. She plunged further into his memories, dredging up the darkest parts of them. Warm brown eyes, full of pain and fear and, most infuriating, understanding. His face was reflected in them, caught between rage and confusion. Soft bloodied lips formed words he didn’t want to remember and could not forget. A shaking hand touched his face, leaving trails of blood along his cheek. His hands closed around a slender neck. Blessedly, he lost consciousness before the memory could play out in its entirety.

When he came to, the room was silent, save for the crackle of the cages’ barriers and his ragged breathing. His lifted his head, wincing as the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through his skull, and found Kreia watching him. Her mouth twisted in a cruel smile. “Laid bare at last.”

“Don’t… please don’t tell her.” The world spun as Atton pushed himself to his knees, and he fought down the bile rising in his throat. “I’m… begging you… She can’t know, she’ll… ”

“What? Hate you?” Her lips quirked into a sneer. “Fear you?” She turned away with a chuckle. “That is not the way of the Jedi. Then again, by her own claim she is not a Jedi. Perhaps your fears are justified.”

Atton slumped against the back of his cell. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just — just don’t tell her.” He imagined Meetra’s face if she found out, her soft smile twisting in disgust, brilliant eyes darkening with anger. The urge to be sick grew stronger.

Kreia glanced over her shoulder, gaze narrow and calculating. “Calm yourself, Atton. I will conceal your past from her. In truth, it is no different from what I am doing with regards to her secrets.” She turned back to him and stepped as close as possible to the forcefield. “But make no mistake, I do not do this out of pity, or affection, or tolerance. If she learns of your transgressions, there is a chance she may turn you away. I would avoid this.”

“Why?”

“I do not know, not yet.” Her gaze turned inwards. “We found you on Peragus for a reason, even if it is not readily apparent. I refuse to waste any potential placed in our path, even as twisted as yours.” Kreia’s eyes found his again. “The price for my silence is your obedience.”

He gathered enough strength to sneer. “To you?”

“To her. The trials ahead will be difficult, and she will need more help than she knows.”

“And if I refuse?”

“You won’t.” She smirked, and Atton’s face warmed. Kreia had viewed Meetra through the lens of his memories; denying his attraction was pointless. “Even if you did, I would no longer be obligated to keep your secrets, and while Meetra may not be a Jedi, Atris most assuredly is. Were I to reveal your past, you would not leave this place alive.” She folded her hand in her robes again, suddenly introspective. “I had thought to remove you from her company once we regained the Ebon Hawk, but now I believe your absence would be more detrimental to her than your continued presence.”

A dry chuckle escaped him. “And here I thought I was only good for flying the ship.”

“There is also that.” Kreia met his eyes again. “There is something here she needs to see, something of her past she must revisit. It will put her on a dangerous path, and if even something so base as you can avert disaster, then you will stay by her side.”

“You’ve seen my memories, Highness; you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I do not make mistakes. The Force is clear — you have a purpose that aligns with hers.” His vision was still a little blurry, but Atton thought he saw her eyes soften. “Now, I have wasted enough time and energy on you and this discussion, and it will do no one any good for her to find you like this.” Her mind ghosted across his again, and Atton flinched, but it was gentle this time, rolling over him like a thick blanket. “Sleep — I must be free of distractions.” Against his will, his eyes slid shut and he sank back against the cell wall, his last thoughts of soft blue-gray eyes and a warm smile.

Full chapter available on AO3 and FFN.

#KotOR 2 #kotor fanfic #atton x exile #The Jedi Exile #Female exile #Kreia #atris #bao-dur #T3-M4 #the handmaiden #brianna