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swtorpadawan · 4 years

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Tales from the Eternal Alliance : Perspectives

Author’s Notes: The following takes place prior to my Awakenings series.

In the weeks following the fall of the Eternal Empire and the final destruction of Valkorion, the Eternal Alliance finds itself ascendant, unquestionably holding the balance of power throughout the galaxy. The ships of the Eternal Fleet, formerly a symbol of destruction and oppression, now deliver relief supplies and transport refugees to safe havens throughout known space. Alliance operatives and expeditions journey from planet to planet, negotiating agreements, resolving disputes and providing assistance of all kinds where needed. More recruits continue to sign up on Odessen every day, while the base continues to receive a stream of envoys and overtures from countless planets and factions seeking alliances, aid and support. Perhaps never in galactic history – even at the mythical founding of the Galactic Republic – had there ever been such a diverse collection of talented and dedicated individuals serving under one banner. There are, of course, internal tensions and disputes. But these are resolved with surprising efficiency, as the Alliance’s seasoned core of leaders and officers demonstrated an esprit de corps that has proven unbreakable, even when the entire Eternal Empire had descended upon them.

Morale, naturally, is at an all-time high. The people who join the Alliance want to be there. The Alliance doesn’t ask people to change who they are. It merely asks them to ally with people who are also fighting for something better.

It was in these golden days that the Alliance Commander’s closest allies noticed that the one person in the entire organization who did not seem to be reveling in this upswing of enthusiasm was the Alliance Commander himself.

Corellan Halcyon had gone by a great many appellations throughout his career, including the Outlander, the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order and the Hero of Tython. He still goes about his duties without complaint. He is up early every morning, training in either lightsaber dueling, distance running or both. When he is focused on a mission or engaged in combat, he is as unstoppable as ever, perhaps even more so. He attends the meetings that Lana Beniko and Theron Shan schedule for him. He dutifully reads each report his advisors give him, acknowledges every message or memorandum and seeks the advice of his advisors regarding most decisions of policy.

He still inspires the personnel of the Alliance by his mere presence. A smile and a greeting convince nearly everyone that he is in good spirits. To most of the rank and file – the troops, the crews, the vast numbers of specialists and support personnel – he’s still the unassailable Alliance Commander. Invincible. Fearless. Driven. Somewhere along the road, the Commander learned how to speak to people. How to lead and inspire them. Those skills serve him well, here more than ever. They flocked to his banner for hope, and he has delivered victory.

Nevertheless, the Commander is… listless. Distracted. Without true direction. The drive that powered the Alliance through its rebellion against Zakuul’s reign is often absent. Those who’ve noticed cover for him as best they can, but among them there are a variety of perspectives.

T7-O1, Corellan Halcyon’s loyal astromech droid, has famously been with him since the beginning. Surely if anyone knows what troubles the spirit of the former Jedi Master, it would be Teeseven, the first companion.

These days, the droid is by his side almost constantly, even residing in his quarters when the Commander sleeps. Teeseven keeps his schedule, making sure he makes his appointments. He still joins him on many missions, either in the field or monitoring communications. The droid tracks his performance, his memory banks remembering virtually every lightsaber maneuver Corellan Halcyon had ever performed. Teeseven writes his speeches, an old talent the droid is happy to make use of again. They’re still a great team, as they were back when they were fighting flesh raiders on Tython when they’d first met.

Most nights, after withdrawing to his quarters, Commander will ask Teeseven to help him review everything they’d been told that day, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. But some nights, the Commander will load up a map of the known galaxy on his holo-display and stare at it for an hour or longer. Teeseven will finally nudge Corellan silently in the leg, and he’ll sigh and rise to his feet, shutting off the display and then retreating to his bed to attempt to get a decent night’s sleep.

It is Teeseven who notes that Corellan rarely visits their old freighter, even though the ship is sitting unused on the landing pad and had been their home for nearly five years. He doesn’t share this observation. He also doesn’t share with anyone that he wakes the Commander each morning with an alarm. Or that he keeps the Commander’s schedule carefully, making sure that nothing relevant is missed. Or that he’s been tracking Corellan Halcyon’s intake of alcohol and has “advised” him more than once that he’s had enough.

(It isn’t a problem. Yet. The ex-Jedi is too disciplined to fall into that trap all at once. But Teeseven is determined that it doesn’t become an issue.)

Teeseven knows he can’t give his friend everything he needs. He knows that he is a constant reminder of the Commander’s past, and that’s not always a good thing. But he’s determined he will be part of his friend’s future, because despite everything, Teeseven knows that he’s a reminder of the promises Corellan has made. To his friends. To the galaxy. To himself.

And that most definitely is something he needs.

Shae Vizla, who will be known to history as Mandalore the Avenger, never thought she would find another warrior worth following into a war. Not after her experiences with Darth Malgus and the death of Mandalore the Vindicated.

And if someone had told her she would find such a warrior, she would have been incredulous to learn that the individual in question was a former Jetii – a Jedi. Unbelievable. But the death of her brother was decades ago, and even a Mandalorian’s vengeance eventually cools.

One night, at Vizla’s invitation, the Outlander ventures alone to the Mandalorian campsite near the base. There, around the bonfire, he addresses the Clans that have followed Vizla and the Alliance up to this point.

His fluency in Mando is not strong, but he makes the attempt. That impresses them. The Sith and their Imperial lackies rarely made the effort. He does not offer platitudes about peace, but instead offers them a battle that will never truly end. He tells the Mandalorians that they can adapt to a purpose that would make them stronger – a cause worthy of warriors – without abandoning who they were or losing their traditions. He speaks of serving as Cabure – as defenders – not for politicians (as the old Jedi had) but for people.

He expects to be challenged and is not disappointed. He faces his foes as a warrior, fighting according to Mandalorian traditions. He prevails, but he does nothing to dishonor his opponents. He spares those he defeats and, as he once did with Vizla herself years earlier on Rishi, he helps them to their feet as friends.

When it is over, the Clans chant his name over and over. They will follow this Outlander and his Alliance unto death. Vizla herself now presents him with a rare gift; a pair of beskar'gam bracers, one of the last few examples they had of true Mandalorian iron. Honored, he gratefully incorporates these bracers into his uniform; the one inspired by the dead Prince of Zakuul.

He will always be aruetii; never a true Mando. But to Shae Vizla and her followers, he is nevertheless alor. A leader.

In the weeks that follow, when the Mandalorians witness the Commander gazing up at the horizon at length, they whisper to themselves in anticipation that he is foreseeing the next great conflict. The next enemy. The next challenge.

Shae Vizla is less certain. She remembers Malgus. She knows great warriors tend to have great weaknesses. She knows that even Mandalorians take off their armor eventually.

She doubts she’s ever seen the Commander without his armor on.

But she is Mandalore, and she stands ready to lead her people into battle when needed.

Vette decides, all on her own, that it’s going to be her job to hand the Commander his cup of caf when he enters the war room each morning.

No one ordered this. No one even suggested this. She’d probably have rolled her eyes if they tried. This is all her.

The Commander saved Vette’s life from Vaylin’s troops during the Battle of Odessen. She’d come closer to dying that day than at any other moment in her life. The debt she owed him was one she doubted she could ever repay.

What kind of ‘thank you’ gift do you even get for the man who has everything but never seemed to want anything?

Up until that point, Corellan Halcyon had pointedly obtained his own caf at the station in the war room, taking it black without sweetener, and usually drinking only a single cup for a full day. (Vette, who piles on creamers and sweeteners and drinks several servings a day, finds that ridiculous, but she knows he used to be a Jedi, so maybe that’s what was going on? Doesn’t matter.)

So one morning, Corellan Halcyon, Commander of the Eternal Alliance, entered the central hub of the Alliance base, Teeseven following alongside him, when he was promptly presented with his cup of caf by a grinning Twi’lek.

The Commander was surprised and a bit embarrassed, thanking Vette and accepting the cup but insisting that it really wasn’t necessary.

Vette promptly did the exact same thing the following morning, again flustering the young Commander.

On the third morning, Vette tried to repeat it a third time, only to be approached from behind by Corellan Halcyon, caf already in hand. His smile isn’t exactly smug, (Corellan Halcyon doesn’t do smug.) but he did seem content at having obtained his own cup of caf. Confused, it took Vette most of the morning to work out that the Commander had gone out of his way by circumventing the entire base to approach the hub from the opposite direction from where Vette was waiting for him.

After that, it was on.

Each morning, the former Jedi and the former professional thief engage in a fierce contest of wills, attempting to outmaneuver the other, with Vette trying to present him with a cup of caf before he can get his own. On one day, the Commander thought he had successfully evaded her only for her to drop out of a ceiling panel hanging upside down, his caf in hand. (And her smile absolutely was smug.) Another day, Vette almost had him cornered before the Commander force leapt over her head and across the room, avoiding her and reaching the caf station. (That was so cheating!) He could have ordered her to stop, but she realized that wasn’t his style. Clearly, the Commander was somehow enjoying the challenge that Vette had presented to him.

Lana Beniko observes all of this disapprovingly, pressing her face to her palms and sighing in frustration while muttering about being ‘surrounded by children’. But notably, she doesn’t reproach Vette or try to put a stop to it.

(Theron Shan, of course, is amused to no end. Gault, meanwhile, starts taking bets.)

After about ten days of this, the Commander unexpectedly and gracefully surrenders one morning, accepting the caf when it is offered up and offering a ‘thank you, Vette’.

Vette’s happy she won, and that she gets to present the commander with his caf every morning. But privately, she’s disappointed to see the contest come to an end.

She wonders if the Commander is disappointed as well, not for having lost, but for losing the distraction from whatever’s been eating at him.

Talos Drellik has never been particularly adept at making friends.

The former officer in the Imperial Reclamation Service has long made peace with this fact of life, knowing full well that it dates to his childhood. (And it probably has something to do with his issues with his father and brother, but best not dwell on that.)

The field of Sith archaeology is a surprisingly small one, even within the Empire. Few non-Force sensitives have an interest in the study, and most Sith who have the necessary ‘intellectual bent’ to make real progress are principally concerned for what personal power may be gleaned from any artifacts or writings. But for Talos, Sith archaeology itself is his passion, perhaps to an extent that can make socialization challenging.

Talos had enjoyed his time with Darth Nox’s crew. He knew the Sith Lord valued his knowledge and his abilities. But at the same time, she never exactly warmed to him. She would enter his lab near the cargo hold, ask a series of questions about some subject related to his field of study, and then she would then leave, usually satisfied with his answers. In return, she’d allowed him to examine numerous archaeological sites on worlds he would never have otherwise had the chance to visit, like Voss. It had been a mutually beneficial relationship. The rest of Nox’s crew had been a mixed bag for him. Ashara had always been kind, but he knew that even she could lose patience with him when he prattled on for too long. Xalek had shown little use for him, and Revel – a constant thorn in his side – had even less. Talos had been initially excited by the idea of conversing with Khem Val, a being who had actually known Tulak Hord thousands of years ago. Sadly, the Dashade shadow assassin had soon grown bored with their interviews, finally complaining that modern “Imperials” simply couldn’t appreciate Hord’s contributions to Sith philosophy and culture.

Although Corellan Halcyon had obviously spent far less time with Talos than Darth Nox had, he nevertheless felt that the Commander had been a warmer, more inspiring presence in his life than the Sith Lord had been. Talos understands that the former Jedi had developed a genuine interest in the archaeology of Force-sensitive cultures, including even the Sith. He further felt that the Commander valued him and his advice, even pursuing that lead on Yavin 4 that led to the recruitment of Ak'ghal Usar. And this ancient Dashade shadow assassin had proven to be far more helpful to Talos’ research than Khem had ever been, even if he had been spotty on details like the actual names of participating Sith Lords.

[ Talos doesn’t tell the Commander that he was once part of Darth Nox’s crew. That he was there during the fighting on Tython with Revel and Xalek, back on her Fury-interceptor, ready to intercede if she called on them. That call never came. He regretted the Sith Lord’s death at the Jedi Battlemaster’s hands, but he didn’t hold Corellan Halcyon responsible. Such things happened when Sith and Jedi went to war.]

But Talos would never presume that the Commander counted the Imperial Archeologist as a close friend or confidante.

So it was that Talos was quite startled when Corellan Halcyon had approached him one morning, informing him that his senior advisors had insisted that the Commander take a couple of days off, and he had decided that now was as good a time as any to investigate the old ruins he had observed months before in the wilds of Odessen. The Commander was convinced that Force-users had settled on Odessen in the past, perhaps even related to the early Zakuulans. He asked if Talos would be interested in putting a team together and joining him, embarking on a two-day expedition into the forest.

Talos had naturally jumped at the offer, quickly enlisting the aid of three more specialists from the science division.

The Commander with his astromech droid by his side had seemed as upbeat and vigorous as ever on their trip, even saving the lives of the quartet of field operatives from a pack of attacking shade stalkers who attempted to ambush them along the path. He emerged a natural outdoorsman, coordinating the setup of their campsite near the ruins. He seemed intrigued at the team’s findings over the next two days, carefully taking notes and promising to devote additional resources and to authorize further expeditions going forward. He spoke about his experiences with ancient Force sites on Tython, Voss and Ilum. At one point, sitting around a campfire, noting that he was technically off-duty, he asked Talos and the other team members to call him ‘Corellan’.

No Sith Lord who Talos Drellik had ever encountered in his entire life had ever asked him to call them by their given name.

Once they had returned to the base, Talos had been promptly summoned by Lana Beniko. That was unusual in and of itself. Beniko was, perhaps, the most considerate Sith who Talos had ever met. She rarely ‘summoned’ anyone in his experience. Once he reported in, she had questioned him at length about their trip and how the Commander had behaved, with Talos laying out the details to the best of his ability. Gradually, he began to understand that it was Beniko who had insisted on the Commander taking a couple of days off in the first place. Apparently, what she did not have in mind for him was taking an archaeological team into the forest and fighting shade stalkers.

While she was eventually satisfied with Talos’ answers, she was hardly pleased with the outcome.

After that, Talos made a point to privately observe the Commander in his natural, day-to-day environment. He was a better interpreter of ancient Sith hieroglyphics than he was in reading human body language, and initially he noticed no problems. But eventually he started to understand Lana Beniko’s concerns. When on a mission or with a clear task in front of him, the Commander seemed himself. When the path forward was unclear, he was… not.

Talos was driven to find answers in the past of the Sith and of other Force-users.

But sincerely Talos hoped that the Commander… Corellan… would find the answers he was seeking for his future, as well.

They say the hardest ‘mark’ for any con artist is another con artist.

It may or may not be true for others, but Gault Rennow certainly believes it.

The shifty Davorian plays his games, as he always has. The rules, the playing pieces and the stakes may have changed, but that’s no deterrent for a player like him.

Gault sometimes wonders if Corellan Halcyon is pulling the greatest con in galactic history. And if so, what’s he really after? (It’s certainly not credits. The Commander has shut down more of Gault’s money-making schemes than Gault cares to think about.)

Who is this fellow who risks his life constantly for other people, but who is clearly putting up a front? He’s everything that the old Jedi pretended to be, and yet… he’s not a Jedi at all.

It’s no skin off Gault’s nose. The Commander and the alliance have given Gault a place where he doesn’t have to constantly look for the exit. (And a place where maybe – maybe – Gault and Hylo have a future together.) It’s been a pretty good deal. Better even than the one he had with Xadya when he ran with her crew. He’s content then to sit back and watch. If the Commander really is playing a long-con, he’s doing it masterfully, and Gault could enjoy a show like that. And if he’s not, if this is just a situation that’s getting away from him, someone will need to be there to pick up the pieces when it blows up in his face.

So Gault kicks back, sips his drink and stays tuned.

Koth Vortena is a man of great personal faith.

The price of holding onto that faith has been high. He believed in Valkorion absolutely. After the death of the Immortal Emperor, he continued to believe in the Eternal Throne. After he lost faith in that, he eventually came to believe in the Alliance. Ultimately, even though he’s sometimes disagreed with the man, Koth Vortena found himself placing his faith in Corellan Halcyon.

He’s never questioned it. He was furious when the Commander let Arcann join, but Koth never questioned why. He understood the decision. It stuck in his craw, but he understood.

Koth remembers the days before they freed the Outlander, listening to Lana tell stories about their adventures. He honestly didn’t believe most of them. He never says it out loud, but the reality has been so much better than those stories. Honestly? Deep down, Koth knows that most people would have just let Zakuul burn.

Koth’s deepest regrets in life have been for those members of his crew who he’s lost along the way. They had been his people, following his orders and falling in battle while under his command. He will never forget any of them.

But at least in the case of his fallen crew, there can be some closure for him.

The Commander once had a crew of five on his little freighter. Koth remembered the stories. Two have returned. Teeseven – who Koth knows well from their time together with Lana, and that stone-faced alien soldier named Rusk.

Koth can’t help but wonder how he’d deal with it if three of his own crew were missing, their fates unknown. He seems to be the only one who notices the Commander never talks about the ones who haven’t come back.

Bas’rish, the woman once popularly known as the Voidhound, knew the Commander back in the day.

They’d done a few jobs together, and she’s even adopted him as her ‘little brother’, even though she’s only two years older and he’s about a head taller than she is. He’s saved her life at least twice, now. Through it all, he’s never really asked her for anything.

But the smuggler captain knows how to read people, and she’s seen things that others miss. Now she sees him start to flounder when the hyperspace route ahead of him isn’t clear.

She tries to talk to him about it. He always insists that he’s fine.

Yeah, Bas’rish knows about ‘fine’. She spent three years as a prisoner of Zakuul learning all about ‘fine’.

She’s tempted – sorely tempted – to talk to Shan or someone about her suspicions. These people do care about him as a person, if he’d only let them. (He’s lousy at that.)

No. Not yet. Not her style. (Not actually her business, maybe, but that’s family for you.)

Instead, she does the only thing she feels she can do. She puts out some feelers to her old contacts, and quietly starts to search the galaxy, hoping that if she finds the right trail of breadcrumbs, she can give Corellan Halcyon the mission he really needs. Just because he wasn’t confiding in her didn’t mean she couldn’t help him.

That’s what big sisters do, right?

Every morning, Arcann wakes up, dresses, then joins Corellan Halcyon in the training ring for a pre-breakfast lightsaber sparring session.

Given that the first two times they had crossed blades, the Jedi Battlemaster and the Emperor of Zakuul had been trying to kill each other, it’s a strange sensation at first.

But for Arcann, still struggling to make friends within the Alliance, it is a welcome one.

The Commander has been a good friend to Arcann since he had joined. Truth, he’s been the only true friend he’s had since Thexan. The Commander often brings him on missions, but more important to Arcann is the time they spend together off-duty. They spar together, frequently dine together, and talk. Occasionally, they play dejarik. It helps Arcann’s image. Their sparring matches, which are rather intense, routinely draw impressive crowds of Alliance personnel. As the Commander obviously trusts Arcann with a lightsaber, Alliance personnel are much more willing to accept the former Emperor’s presence, particularly on missions, where trust is imperative.

(There was a time when Arcann was supremely confident that he could defeat the Outlander in such a duel. Now, even without Valkorion’s aid, he can sense Corellan Halcyon’s power had eclipsed his own, and that the former Jedi was well ahead of him in innate skill. Nevertheless, Arcann was closer to the Commander’s level than anyone else in the Alliance.)

Arcann doesn’t know why the Commander shows him such kindness.

The former Emperor has famously never believed in destiny; he turned against the Scions for that very reason, back when he… back when he was that other person. Now he is starting to reconsider his beliefs. He is still trying to understand the vision he had of Thexan, when he and his family had fought Valkorion in Corellan’s mind. He’s convinced that even if it is not his destiny to aid the Commander, it is most certainly his choice.

Arcann does not know what troubles Corellan Halcyon these days, and he does not feel it his place to press him on the matter.

He just knows he will be there with lightsaber in hand when he is needed.

Marshall Fideltin Rusk is “old crew”.

The Commander’s crew from back when he was a Jedi is whispered of in reverence by many in the Alliance, their feats – real or imagined – having become legendary by now, rising to almost mythical status.

That is all that people seem to know about the old chagrian soldier.

A few brave souls have even asked Rusk about the stories they’ve heard. When asked by one of his trainees, they receive a harsh verbal rebuke. When he is asked by anyone else, they receive a raised eyebrow and an icy silence. In either case, a hasty withdrawal usually follows.

Rusk is valued and appreciated by Admiral Aygo and the rest of the command staff for his ability to train – and sometimes lead – Alliance infantry into able, combat-ready squads. Even Majors Antilles and Jorgan – the Alliance’s special forces commanders who have reformed Havoc Squad – consider him a premier instructor. He is respected by the other officers and those counted among the Commander’s companions for his abilities and resourcefulness in personal combat, even as he creeps into an age where most soldiers are already retired. He is viewed with a distinct combination of loathing, fear and ultimately grudging admiration by those he puts through the Alliance training regimen. The soldiers who eventually complete the training become indebted to him for what he has forged them into.

If Fideltin Rusk has a personal friend in the Alliance outside his former crewmates – the Commander and Teeseven – it is the best-held secret in the base. The old soldier doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. He rarely seeks the company of others even when he is off duty, preferring to keep his own counsel. He is nicknamed “stone-face” behind his back by more than a few. Rusk demonstrates no signs that he knows or cares about this dynamic.

But once a week, Rusk meets with the Commander in a quiet corner of the cantina for a game of dejarik and a drink. The Commander seems to enjoy these games immensely, smiling and sometimes even laughing when the two privately share a memory concerning their old crew. It’s as if he lets the mask of the stoic Outlander to slip a bit. Rusk himself doesn’t laugh during these games. He doesn’t even smile. But the muscles of his face seem to relax in a way that they don’t seem to in any other situation.

The other Alliance members – from the top senior advisors to the lowliest recruits – do not disturb these games. But some watch from a distance, both puzzled and fascinated by this uncharacteristic ritual.

On rare occasion, some third party will note the Commander calling Rusk by his old rank of “Sergeant”. It is not the kind of slip-up he would normally make. A small handful of people consider that this is not a mistake of the tongue, but rather a sort of personal designation. (In truth the Commander has known Rusk for far too long to suddenly start calling him “Fideltin”.)

If Rusk – who shared a small ship with the Commander for four years – has any personal observations or insights regarding Corellan Halcyon’s state of mind, he keeps those to himself.

That does not mean he is not concerned for the man he has followed for so long. The only man for whom he would have left the Republic’s service.

But regardless, Rusk keeps his own peace even as he prepares his trainees for the next war.

Oddly enough, the only ‘Force user’ in the Alliance whom the Commander has confided his troubles to – indeed, the only Alliance member whom he’s actually spoken to about his innermost thoughts at all – is one who would not identify as such.

Yuun is a Gand Findsman. He can find things. He can find people. (Hence why so many of his kind choose to become bounty hunters and related professions.)

But he can only follow the signs as they appear to him.

Corellan Halcyon seeks him out one day, then shares what he seeks with the Gand.

Yuun listens attentively, then meditates at length, looking for the signs. When he is finished, he regretfully tells the Commander that there is no path for him to follow for what he seeks. He can tell him only that when the signs do come, they will come for the Commander only. On this point, Yuun is certain of intuitively.

Befitting his nature, Corellan Halcyon amicably thanks the Gand, then asks for his discretion in this matter. Yuun naturally acquiesces.

As the Commander takes his leave, the Gand can only hope that the signs will come soon.

Theron Shan is worried.

Theron was, once upon a time, one of the best SIS agents and analysts in the Republic’s service. (If he hadn’t been that good, Marcus Trant would have had him killed for all the operations of Theron’s that had gone sideways.)

But the point is he’s good at watching people. Damned good.

The Commander of the Eternal Alliance has become the most ‘watched’ man in the galaxy. Theron knows for a fact that the SIS’s psychological analysis of Corellan Halcyon is hundreds of pages long at this point, and that most of it is bantha dung. Lana doesn’t talk about the subject much, but he would be surprised if Sith Intelligence’s files weren’t even more convoluted.

Theron now observes the Alliance Commander, and hopes he is doing so with better skill than all those other intelligence analysts. (And hopefully, with better skill than every enemy who has ever lined up across from Corellan Halcyon.)

He sees the Commander standing on the observation deck at the base, staring up at the horizon.

No. Theron realizes. Not staring. His eyes are closed. He’s reaching with the Force, reaching out into the galaxy for… something.

That worried him.

Theron Shan’s family history was… complicated. That didn’t mean he hadn’t learned it. It didn’t mean he hadn’t heard the stories from Master Zho or that he hadn’t read the old reports once he’d joined the SIS.

Theron remembered Revan.

After the Jedi Civil War and the destruction of the Star Forge, Revan and Bastila Shan had retired to Coruscant, leading relatively quiet lives of married bliss. They were nominally still part of the Jedi order, with the council unable to expel their two galactic heroes for fear of the political fallout. Revan, redeemed, victorious and united with his love, should have lived out his life in happiness.

That wasn’t what happened. Revan became distracted by… something out in the galaxy. Ultimately, after months of bad dreams and premonitions, Revan finally left his pregnant wife behind while he ventured out towards the Outer Rim, never to be seen again.

… until three-hundred years later, but that was another story.

It turned out, of course, that it was the Sith Emperor that had plagued Revan’s thoughts. His memories of Vitiate from years before during the Mandalorian Wars may have been suppressed, but he could still feel the old bastard through the Force. Pursuing that feeling had led to Revan losing the life he had built for himself, as well as any chance at happiness.

The Sith Emperor was dead. Of that, everyone was certain.

So. What was plaguing the Alliance Commander? What was distracting him? What new threat had him reaching out like this?

Would the Commander hop in his old ship some day and just disappear? Like Revan had?

And if he did, what would become of the Alliance – and of the galaxy – without him?

Lana Beniko knows full-well that much of what has developed has been a result of her actions. She believes this without hubris or ego, and with some measure of guilt.

Koth had warned her years ago even before they freed Corellan Halcyon on Zakuul. Winning the war against the Eternal Throne would take a greater toll on the Outlander than any of them could have imagined.

Through it all, he’d been consummate hero every step of the way. Stoic. Selfless. Courageous beyond all reason. She remembers his near-death experience fighting Arcann on Asylum. Once he awoke, he didn’t seem remotely discouraged. Once upon a time, Lana would have dismissed much of this as displays of his damned Jedi ethics. Lana no longer believed that. Corellan may have left the order behind, but his principles were his own.

Lana had had been by his side ever since, whether coordinating the Alliance or fighting in the field. The former Minister of Sith Intelligence felt she owed it to him, given that she had effectively drafted him into a position of leadership in fighting a war that he’d never asked for, taking on the responsibility of leading the Alliance. In all but name, Lana was effectively serving his chief-of-staff. (Theron, meanwhile, preferred to play the free-wheeling subordinate.)

She watched him now. They had been victorious. Triumphant. Untold billions of lives had been saved. Even if the Empire and Republic needed to be kept at arm’s length, the galaxy was still more peaceful than it had been in decades.

He should be, if not happy, then at least satisfied. He is not.

He’s not right. He’s not himself.

She feels the pings of guilt that he’s in this state, even as she knows she would have done the same if she had to. (And the Commander would have agreed with her, she knows.) She understands that, ultimately, he hasn’t let her in. That hurts more than she’s willing to admit. Regardless, Lana Beniko will always do whatever is in her power to support him, regardless.

To that end, Lana insists – with Theron’s support – that the Commander take two days off. Corellan promptly ventures into the wilderness with Drellik and an archaeological team. She says nothing when he spends each morning sparring with Arcann. (She still doesn’t trust the deposed Emperor.) She rolls her eyes but keeps her peace when the Commander and Vette spend more than a week in a ridiculous display trying to outdo each other over a cup of caf. Lana Beniko realizes these are all temporary measures. They may bring the Commander relief, but they do not address the underlying issues.

Something more needs to be done.

A private meeting is quietly organized by Lana Beniko, composed of carefully selected Alliance members known for their pragmatic and discreet natures.

They talk for hours on their observations and concerns regarding the Commander. They attempt to construct a complete picture of the situation, despite clearly missing some pieces. Inevitably, they debate and argue. The eventual consensus of the gathering is that the Commander paid a steep price in his final battle with Valkorion, and that the effects of that encounter linger. That he was wounded in spirit in ways that are not healing on their own and which he refuses to talk about or address.

The discussion then pragmatically turns to what could be done about it.

The prospect of outside counseling is suggested but is quickly dismissed. None of those assembled are properly trained themselves and finding someone trustworthy who could compel the Commander to cooperate would be nigh impossible given the circumstances.

Inevitably, the prospect of using Force Healing is raised. It seems to have worked well for Arcann.

Lana had already spoken to Sana-Rae. She told her that the Commander will always be considered a hero to the Voss, but that a vision by the Mystic, Valen-Da, predicted that Corellan Halcyon would find no peace among their people. That every time he would return to the planet would coincide with conflict and peril. So, it had been when he had confronted Fulminiss at the Dark Heart almost a decade ago. So, it had been when he had saved Voss-Ka from Vaylin. So, it would be again in the future.

Lana had been angry to hear this, but she had finally accepted the explanation. The Voss were out.

Neither Sith nor the Knights of Zakuul possessed the proper techniques – on this, there was no dispute. What about healing through a Jedi Force Meld?

More promising, that. But for someone like Corellan Halcyon, that would require a Jedi of sufficient power with a strong, pre-existing bond to the Commander.

He had been the Hero of Tython. Their Battlemaster. Their Champion. There must surely be many such Jedi…

Leeha Narezz and Jomar Chul both knew him before joining the Alliance, hadn’t they? He had called them his old friends. Not that deeply, the group is told. He had saved their lives twice over. But they didn’t pretend to have that sort of connection to him. Precious few Jedi had. But Satele Shan has not been seen since her appearance on Coruscant shortly after the war ended. What about the rest of the council? Bela Kiwiiks had been in touch with the Alliance but had not seen the Commander in person in years. The others? All missing or dead. Surely there were others? Kira Carsen, his former padawan, and Ulannium Kaarz, the Barsen’thor, had both gone missing during the invasion, like so many other Jedi. Corellan Halcyon may have been called the Hero of Tython, but he rarely seemed to spend much time on the Jedi homeworld.

As those assembled work their way down the list, they come to an uncomfortable realization.

Corellan Halcyon has spent his adult life going from world to world, saving people. First as a Jedi, now as the leader of the Eternal Alliance.

He seemed to call everyone his ‘friend’, but even Lana Beniko, who rescued him on Zakuul and had stood by his side ever since, was starting to question if she really knew him.

How many people had he even allowed himself to grow close to, aside from an astromech droid?

Senya Tirall finally slaps the table. She and Arcann will ‘take point’ on the situation, she declares. They owe the Commander that and more for what he has done for them.

When she is asked how she intended to help the Commander, the former Knight of Zakuul answered with steel in her eyes and in her voice.

“By being his friend.”

No one challenges this plan. It is, unfortunately, the most pragmatic they have right now.

Senya Tirall has a quality that many of her colleagues in the Alliance lack. That quality being life experience. In her time, Senya Tirall has protected Emperors and hunted criminals. She has tracked down traitors before ultimately becoming a rebel herself. She has warred with her own children and redeemed her son.

She has watched Corellan Halcyon since their first encounter in the Endless Swamp on Zakuul. He wasn’t quite what she expected at the time, and now, over a year later, she still found herself surprised at him sometimes. He was brave, compassionate, amicable and wise, all almost to a fault. He could also charm, flatter and even joke… in his moments.

Senya was fairly certain, however, that these last three characteristics were learned; that they did not come naturally to him. And that seemed typical of Corellan Halcyon; he constantly tried to remake himself into whomever he had to be to help others most effectively.

She saw this during Indo Zal’s celebration of the Eternal Alliance’s victory on Zakuul, held mere hours after the final battle against Valkorion in Corellan’s mind. The former Jedi refused to accept the title of Emperor, instead gathering the ‘movers and shakers’ of Zakuulan society and asking them to form a provisional government. The Commander had pledged that the Eternal Fleet – and the Alliance – would continue to defend Zakuul from external threats, but that they would not attempt to dominate the planet, nor would they interfere at all unless the Zakuulans themselves requested. Despite being mentally exhausted from his ordeal and months of fighting, Corellan spent six hours charming and cajoling the socialites and had them eating out of his hand.

(During the evening, Senya had been approached by no fewer than three matriarchs of influential Zakuulan families, each of whom had known Senya back when she had been the captain of Valkorion’s personal guard. After the obligatory small talk, all three had made inquiries to whether the Commander might be agreeable to a political marriage to one of their daughters or sons. Such deal-making had been commonplace at court back during Valkorion’s reign. Senya had not enjoyed passing along those overtures.)

The entire event had been a smashing triumph, successfully rebranding the infamous Outlander from a hated terrorist to the acclaimed savior of Zakuul.

It was only after all the guests had left that the Commander finally let out a sigh of exhaustion, catching himself against a table as he gazed up at Senya.

“How’d I do?” he’d asked her, like a student asking their teacher if they had passed a test.

Senya was starting to suspect that Corellan Halcyon viewed much of his life like that: Just a series of tests.

She’s even seen it when he was among his friends and allies at the Alliance base. Once, during an informal conversation, a joke seemed to go over his head. He’d blinked, then noting that everyone else seemed amused, he chuckled nervously. Senya didn’t think anyone else had caught it, but she had. A glimpse beneath the mask, perhaps?

It worried her that even after all this time, he didn’t feel completely at ease with his own people. He still felt the need to put up a front, a mask. Having been married to a man who’d worn a mask for centuries, only to have discovered a monster beneath it, Senya was determined to do something about it.

So not long after Lana’s meeting, she had Arcann go and extend an invitation to dinner for the three of them. If Corellan Halcyon was determined to be the “Protector of Zakuul” (as Indo and the aristocrats had acclaimed him), then he should at least become familiar with a homecooked Zakuulan meal. Senya was proved correct that, with the invitation going through Arcann, the Commander wouldn’t refuse.

That first dinner was pleasant enough. Arcann had been nervous about the whole thing; he respects the Outlander’s privacy absolutely, so was quiet for most of the evening. Corellan had even brought a bottle of Alderaanian wine. He seemed more at ease, though she wouldn’t say she understood him better. But the foundation had been laid; he agreed to a second dinner a week later.

By the third dinner, it had occurred to Senya that here she had two able young men who, almost inarguably, were the two greatest warriors in the galaxy. And both of them had apparently reached the age of thirty without picking up any culinary skills of any kind.

By the fourth dinner, she had put them both to work. The Commander was peeling vegetables for a soup while Arcann helped her mix a sauce. It didn’t occur to either Corellan or Arcann to refuse her ‘request’ for them to help.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Corellan’s smile at their weekly dinner starts to become more natural; less the mask worn by the Alliance Commander and more something else.

She’d get through to him, she was sure. She just needed time.

Apparently oblivious to these machinations, there stands Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander.

He has stood tall against the Sith, against Dark Jedi, against the Knights of Zakuul, against challengers on every planet he has ever visited. He has even stood against Valkorion himself. And he has ultimately prevailed every time.

The challenge he now faces is unlike any of those.

Is it his destiny to prevail once again? To find that which he seeks?

He doesn’t know.

But he has hope.

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swtorpadawan · 5 years

Text

Three Years

Author’s Notes: Warnings for PTSD, emotional trauma and allusions to sexual violence. The following story takes place between Chapters 9 and 16 of Knights of the Fallen Empire. Three years.

Bas’rish leveled her blasters at the target. It was all instinctive to her, of course. She could almost make these shots in her sleep. People had been telling her how naturally gifted she was with a blaster in her hand since she was old enough to hold one back on Ryloth. And she’d been very young at the time, indeed.

The shooting range on Odessen was quiet this time of night. This ‘Alliance’ of Corellan’s never really slept, but even so, most of its personnel did find time to sleep at some point. Even Bowdarr had finally settled in for the evening, though like Bas’rish, he preferred to sleep in his old quarters aboard the Maiden’s Luck, which was now sitting on a nearby landing platform. Bas’rish, of course, had been offered accommodations inside the Alliance base when she’d joined, but she’d declined. The familiarity of her old ship, with Bowie residing just down the hall, were a welcome sanctuary. Her ship was the only place that had ever truly felt like home. Her old crew – misfits and vagabonds, such as they were – were the only people who had ever felt like family. Aside from Corellan and maybe Kira and a handful of others she could count on one hand.

She pulled the trigger. The automated targets registered the hits. Both bull’s eyes.

Three years.

Bowdarr. Her ship. And her freedom. Corellan had managed to return all these things to her. And he’d offered her a place in his Alliance without a second thought. A chance for her to strike back at the Eternal Empire. Surrogate little brother or not, she didn’t like owing the Jedi – or former Jedi – so much. Hell, she still owed him from before he disappeared, and the entire galaxy went sideways.

She fired her blasters again. Both indicators flashed. Hits.

Three years.

Bas’rish had ‘been someone’, once. Someone important. The Twi’lek merchant captain had been the best smuggler of her generation. (And the best living, period, no matter what Hylo Visz thought.) She was the finest quick-draw artist anyone had ever seen. She’d been the one to find the long-lost treasure of Nok Drayen. She’d co-opted a coalition of fellow independent traders back in the day to help the Republic pull off an improbable victory on Corellia and was afterwards honored by the high-and-mighty Chancellor herself. She’d been a thorn in the sides of two Empires, both of which had been hell-bent on galactic conquest. She’d been an even greater scourge to legions of gangsters, petty crime bosses, bounty hunters and Republic customs officers. She’d been counted a friend and valued ally of the most famous heroes in the free galaxy. Along the way, she’d left a long trail behind her of broken hearts of both genders, including those of two Republic senators, one Jedi Knight on Tatooine, an Imperial General, and two Alderaanian nobles – a brother and a sister - at the same time. (Beat that, Hylo.)

In a word, she’d been the Voidhound.

Then the ‘three years’ had come.

Three years as a prisoner of the Zakuulan Empire. Three years as a plaything to that bitch of an Exarch on her infernal Star Fortress hovering over Belsavis. Three years during which the rest of her crew, believing she was dead, had apparently scattered to the four corners of the galaxy. Three years during which her name and reputation had faded; most now seemed to think of her as yesterday’s news. Three years where the rest of the galaxy simply carried on without her.

Three years.

Bas’rish finally holstered her blasters, satisfied with her shooting if not with her own state of mind. Her customized belt with its holsters, pouches and ‘little tricks’ was one of the few things she had retained from her old ensemble. That, and her boots. Gone was the flashy gray jacket with red trim with the mid-riff baring red shirt beneath it that was tied off just above her naval, showing off just enough of her lovely green skin to be distracting without looking outright indecent in public. Cast aside were the matching trousers, the ones that that showed her backside to great advantage. Her ‘new look’ featured a black trench coat with adaptive armor padding and dark clothes underneath that showed precious little in the way of skin. The Twi’lek smuggler had even considered an eye patch but had decided the small scar just beneath her right eye – virtually the only physical scar on her body left over from her recent time as a prisoner – didn’t really warrant it, and no matter what anyone else said, she hated being a caricature of herself.

She suddenly realized she wasn’t alone.

Bas’rish spun on her heels on reflex, rolling into a crouch as she pulled both blasters and pointed them towards this figure who had been standing behind her. The movement was purely instinctive; a talent that had been refined from countless gunfights with Imperials, gangsters and other scum.

Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander, the infamous ‘Outlander’, simply raised his hands in an ‘I surrender’ motion.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch.” He smiled thinly.

Bas’rish felt her eyes widen in recognition then exhaled slowly, realizing only afterwards that she had been holding her breath. She re-holstered her blasters, then turned away from the Alliance Commander. He was wearing his new body armor – the one that was clearly Zakuulan inspired. She’d guessed that Jedi robes no longer suited him. Still, even with his twin lightsabers sheathed, he couldn’t help looking like the star from an action holovid.

“Sheesh, Hero. You startled me.”

Corellan’s smile widened a bit at her old nickname for him. She’d used it on reflex. They’d been close, once. Maybe they still were. Bas’rish honestly wasn’t certain, at this moment.

In response, he let his hand fall to his sides.

“I can tell.” His voice was simple and matter of fact.

Three years.

The smuggler reached down and dusted herself off. She’d kicked up quite a bit of dirt with her little move, as well as from her shooting session.

“Need something?” Bas finally asked.

“Just checking in, really. We haven’t gotten to speak much since you joined us.” He looked around. “It’s kind of late for target practice.”

“I just wanted to avoid the crowd.” She said the words quietly.

“I understand.” Corellan just nodded. “Hylo says the run to Kessel you and Bowdarr just came back from went well.”

“Told her there was a short cut.” Bas’rish smirked wickedly. The smile faded when she looked over at him and realized he was watching her for something. Doing that ‘careful consideration Jedi-thing’.

She folded her arms at him, eyeing him incredulously.

“I take it there’s a ‘but’ in there, somewhere?”

Corellan slowly nodded. “Hylo also said she’s worried you’re pushing yourself – and your ship – too hard. Given what you’ve been through, I mean. Belsavis was only a week ago.”

Was it? Her eyes narrowed at that. Bas’rish didn’t doubt he was telling the truth about the passage of time, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Like it had been a mere interruption in the life she’d been living, or that she had been dreaming for a long time but had woken up now and was ready for the life she’d had before to resume.

Even if she knew it wouldn’t go that way.

“Well, it’s my butt. And my ship.” She countered. “They’re both mine to push as hard as I want.”

Bas’rish worried for a second that Corellan would bring up the fact that she’d signed on with the Alliance. She was technically under his command. If he pressed the issue and pulled rank, tried to ground her, she honestly wasn’t sure what she’d do. If he were anyone else, she’d probably jump in her ship and bail on everything on the spot. With him…

Fortunately, he didn’t press. Not the way she expected, anyway.

“What about Bowdarr?” Corellan’s head tilted just a bit.

That knocked the wind out of her sails, a little. The loyal Wookie was one of the last links to her life from before. Her reunion with the big fuzzy lug after all that time… she had to bury her face in his fur so people wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes.

Three years.

Corellan Halcyon had her beat on that score, of course. He’d been frozen in carbonite for five years. For all Bas’rish had been through, she didn’t even want to think about what that could do to a person. Bas’rish wouldn’t trade places with him. Certainly not with that crusty old bastard, the Sith Emperor, now running around in his head. She was one of the very few who had a damned good idea of what he had lost along the way. And, of course, he was still somebody. Even five years after he had disappeared, hundreds had flocked to his banner, with nearly half of those coming from his former enemies in the Sith Empire. The Republic troops were no surprise, and the independents (her ilk, she supposed) had been squeezed so much, they probably would have followed almost anyone at this point. But the Imps! Corellan had probably killed more Sith and Imperial soldiers by his own hand than anyone else living, and they still admired him enough to bail on their beloved masters back on Dromund Kaas.

She honestly didn’t envy him, not any of it. Not after getting a taste of the burden weighing on his shoulders. She just…

“Bowie can take it. Trust me.” She finally answered.

He regarded her softly, then nodded. “Okay.”

The Twi’lek smuggler blinked. “What do you mean ‘okay’?”

“I mean I trust you.” Corellan answered levelly, opening his hands wide. “If you tell me you’re alright, and that Bowdarr is alright, and that your ship is alright, then I believe you.” He regarded her again.

“So, that being the case, I’m okay.”

Bas’rish swallowed and turned away. Dammit. “Okay.”

Corellan shifted uncomfortably, a silence settling in.

“I’m sorry we haven’t talked more.” He dipped his head a little. “I’ve been busy.”

Three years.

“I believe you.” Bas’rish smiled, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I remember I felt swamped running a smuggler fleet for a few days. Running an outfit like this? I can’t even imagine.”

Corellan chuckled a little at that. “Honestly? Lana Beniko and the others handle most of the day-to-day administrative responsibilities. Theron Shan and I have been running operations.”

Her smile widened into a smirk. “I should have known. You never stay out of the field for long. What have you been hitting?”

The Alliance Commander eyed her levelly.

“The other Star Fortresses.”

Bas’rish blinked in surprise at Corellan.

“We used what we learned from the first one – and what you told us about them during your debriefing – to start hitting Star Fortresses above worlds with active resistance movements.” He pressed on. “There were minor differences, of course, but they all followed the same basic layout and employed the same strategy and tactics. Uniformity proved their undoing.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief at the Eternal Empire’s arrogance. “Belsavis was only the beginning. We’ve destroyed five more Star Fortresses all in the past week. All six worlds are now in open rebellion against Zakuul. Their resistance cells have linked up with the Alliance, like K'krohl did after Belsavis.”

The smuggler captain let out a slow whistle.

“That’s… crazy.”

Corellan shifted his head and shoulders a little. If he were a man capable of nonchalance, it might have come off as a shrug.

“Well, we weren’t sure how quickly they would make adjustments. As far as we can tell, they haven’t even tried. The Exarches apparently aren’t very effective at sharing information with each other, especially when faced with oncoming failure.”

Bas’rish shivered involuntarily. “Yeah. Forta Gair used to rant about the other Exarches all the time. Always complaining about who was getting the cushy assignments back on Zakuul, or who was commanding Fortresses over more interesting planets than Belsavis. She had a lot of anger.”

Corellan’s brow furrowed. Plainly, he’d picked up the emotion in her voice.

“It got bad, huh?”

Bas bit her lip. She could have given him a one-word answer. He’d have accepted it. She knew he would.

Three years.

“One thing I’ve learned fighting the Eternal Empire: At their core, the Knights of Zakuul are fanatics.” Bas’rish answered diplomatically. “With the Exarches, their best of the best, it’s doubly so. And Forta was the worst kind of fanatic.”

“How so? Was she brutal? Insane?”

“Worse.” Bas replied. “She was bored.”

Corellan was clearly being cautious with her. But when her pause lingered, he finally pressed. “How do you mean?”

It took her few moments to fully form the words. Corellan, of course, gave her all the time she needed.

“You know,” she began wistfully. “Back when I was just running contraband through Republic worlds, we used to say the worst customs agents weren’t the ones on the major worlds that saw lots of trade and had thriving markets, both black and white. No, the worst ones were the high-and-mighty petty bureaucrats on the small worlds at the ass-end of space. They just don’t have enough to do. One fella on Taris even threatened to have me locked up in prison on Belsavis. Which is ironic, I guess, given what happened later.”

Bas’rish exhaled slowly. “Forta Gair was like that, in a lot of ways. She was one of their biggest and baddest warriors, and here Arcann had stuck her on a Star Fortress in orbit over a dung heap of a prison planet that most people never heard of. A planet that has been a quagmire of fighting for years. The Fortresses practically run themselves; everything is automated. There was hardly anything for her to do aside from watching broadcasts of the freed convicts and the local Esh-kha killing each other while the Republic completely failed to restore order.”

Corellan must have caught the tremor in her voice. His eyes grew sympathetic.

“What did she do?” he finally whispered.

Bas’rish exhaled again, this time trying to turn it into a laugh. She felt light-headed and manic at the same time.

“Oh, you know. Sometimes she wanted…. wanted…” The Twi’lek’s voice caught itself before she said any more. For a second, it felt hard to breathe. She felt her right arm start to shake. Cursing herself, her left hand reached over and grasped it. On an academic level, she recognized that it was a coping mechanism. Something she’d hoped – prayed – she’d stop doing after her escape.

Three years.

She couldn’t help it. She started talking faster.

“It wasn’t so bad, though. She’d always have me taken to the medical bay afterwards to recover. Those Zakuul droids are good at patching people up. Three years of all that and I only got this little scar to show for it, see?” she reached her hand up to her cheek, brushing her fingertips against the small scar running across her eye.

She didn’t want to tell him why the Exarch had ‘allowed’ her to keep that one scar.

The hand started to shake again as she looked down.

Corellan started to reach out his hand for hers, then stopped.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Is this…?”

She looked up into those pale-blue eyes. They were so trusting, even after everything he had been through. She finally nodded, reaching out her own shaking hand.

He gently reached out and took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. After a moment, her breathing returned to normal and she looked up at him. There was a look of regret in his eyes she hadn’t ever seen before.

“I’m sorry.” He offered simply.

She scoffed but didn’t pull her hand away. “I told you before I’m a big girl. You aren’t responsible for what happens to me.”

“No.” Corellan reflected. There was genuine guilt in his voice. “I’m not. But if I had been around, if I hadn’t gone missing, I might have stopped all of this. The invasion, the subjugation… I might have stopped it all from getting this bad in the first place. I might not be responsible for you, but maybe I am responsible to the galaxy.”

Bas’rish angrily pulled her hand back from his and punched him in the arm. And she didn’t bother being gentle about it.

Corellan, who’d probably endured more combat related injuries than anyone she knew aside from Bowdarr, winced and started rubbing his arm at the point of impact.

“Ouch.” He looked down at her questioningly.

“That’s bantha dung, Hero. You know better than to think like that. Hell, even your Masters taught you better.” She brooded. “If we’re going to start thinking like that, I might as well blame myself for getting caught and everything that happened to me.”

Corellan picked up on that. He always was good at reading her mood.

“How’d it happen?”

She shifted and turned away. “You didn’t read my debriefing?” Theron Shan had taken most of the questions when they’d brought her to Odessen.

Corellan shook his head. “This isn’t ‘Commander Halcyon’ asking. This is just me. Theron would have told me if there was something the Alliance Commander needed to know. But I figured you’d talk to me about it if you were ever ready.”

Bas’rish exhaled, then nodded. Somehow, talking to him made it easier.

“Well, after the invasion rolled in, jobs started getting tougher and tougher. Their blasted fleet was everywhere. My crew and I did what we could. We even ran some jobs for the resistance group that Kira was part of before that fell apart. I lost touch with her after that.” She eyed him for some reaction and, finding none, pressed on with her story. “Two years in, we were starting to get desperate just to find a safe harbor. The Zakuulans had Nar Shaddaa on lock down by then, and I soured on Port Nowhere when it was taken over by some idiot calling herself the ‘Red Huntress’.”

She paused, brow furrowing.

“Risha had left by then, gone off to chase her throne on Dubrillion. With our situation, I couldn’t blame her. I know it didn’t work out for her, but I don’t know if she survived.” The Twi’lek swallowed again at the bitter memory.

“Anyway, we got word of a prisoner on Belsavis – an Exchange slicer named Chaney Barrow – who supposedly knew how to avoid scans by the Eternal Fleet. Problem was, by then, Belsavis had its own Star Fortress. The only way we could reach the surface and search for this slicer was if we knocked out their sensors for a while. We managed to board the station and get pretty far in before the Exarch got wise to what we were doing.”

Bas’rish took another breath.

“Long story short, I got trapped behind a security force field. Guss tried to work the panel and bypass it, but by then we knew the Exarch was on her way with her Knights. We were out of time. I told them all to run for it.”

She swallowed. “Corso refused. He actually started hitting the shield with his fists in aggravation, the damned idiot farm boy.” She smiled a bit at the memory and sniffed. “Akaavi finally had to knock him out and carry him off. She said something to me in Mandalorian… I couldn’t understand it, but it sounded like a prayer. She was pretty torn up. Guss, too.” She sighed. “Long story short, Forta Gair caught me, then broadcast to everyone that I’d been killed. Bowdarr had been holding down the ship where we were docked and would have come back for me if he thought I was still alive at that point.”

“I understand.” Corellan said somberly.

Had he been anyone else, she would have hit him again. Thing was, she suspected he did understand. That part of it, anyway. At least he had Teeseven – his little Astromech droid – back, the way she had Bowdarr.

Time to change the subject. Before her eyes started to well up again.

“By the way, that’s two I owe you, kid.”

Corellan raised an eyebrow, questioningly. She wondered to herself if he had learned that expression from watching his Jedi Masters.

“Two?” he finally asked when she didn’t elaborate.

“You saved me from Drooga when we first met on Nar Shaddaa. Remember?”

The Commander chuckled at the memory. “As I recall, you took a very active part in your escape. Same as you did at Belsavis.”

Bas’rish smirked herself in remembrance. To her own surprise, it had been almost ten years ago, now. (Damn, she was getting old.) Her ‘negotiations’ with Drooga had gone sideways even after she’d recovered his blasted pet shanjaru. She could never help running her mouth too much with the Hutts. Bad memories from back on Ryloth, probably. Bas was a hell of a gunslinger but facing off against all Drooga’s guards was just a bit out of her league. Realizing that Corso was going to get himself killed trying to save her, she’d ordered him to run. (Back then, he still listened when she gave commands like that.) With the Twi’lek captain captured, Drooga had ordered her dressed in a slave girl outfit and then collared with a chain leash that wrapped around him, forcing her to sit at the foot of his throne. The sick bastard had even pulled her close and licked her face, promising her that she’d be ‘my entertainment tonight and my breakfast tomorrow’.

Creep.

Fortunately for her, Corso had found a couple of young Jedi wandering the streets a couple of hours later, and they’d been willing to help. (This was how she had met Corellan Halcyon and Kira Carsen in the first place.) The trio had fought their way to Drooga’s barge, with Bowdarr – who she had only just met – staging his own jailbreak during the chaos. Taking advantage of the distraction, Bas’rish had wrapped her chain around Drooga, then pulled when she was out of reach of his grasp. The fat Hutt (was there another kind?) had struggled hard, but when his eyes had popped out of his sockets and his final breath escaped from his nostrils, it had been one of the most satisfying moments of her life. With their meal ticket gone, the remaining guards had fled along with Drooga’s guests, and Corellan had cut her loose from her chain with a slash of his lightsaber. Having been rescued and still practically naked, she’d jumped into the tall Jedi’s arms and planted a kiss on his cheek, drawing a flush of embarrassment from the Jedi Knight, a blustering reaction from Corso (who still had a little crush on her at the time) … and daggers from the eyes of one Kira Carsen.

Bas’rish had gotten it.

Instead of propositioning the Jedi Knight – which had been her first inclination at the time – she’d pronounced Corellan her ‘little brother’ on the spot. It didn’t seem likely that they’d ever meet again, but as fate would have it, they’d wound up teaming up several more times, most famously when she and Corso had joined with Corellan, Kira, Ulannium – the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order – and Havoc Squad in their assault on Darth Malgus’ space station at Ilum. That had been a hell of a fight. But in between all these encounters, the smuggler and the Jedi hero had often exchanged letters and holo-messages. He’d warned her off a couple of tough situations involving Imperial fleet movements and she’d advised him on matters involving navigating the criminal underworld and other matters well-raised Jedi weren’t usually taught in their temples.

They were very different people, but they had made a good team.

(She would never admit it, but he’d probably rubbed off on her a bit from that first encounter. She’d made more ‘altruistic’ choices along the way than she felt she normally would. It was kinda weird.)

“Well, in the case of Drooga, my ego wouldn’t let you and the others have all the fun while I played the damsel in distress.” Bas’rish smiled wickedly. “For Forta… that was personal. Just a taste of what I owed her.”

She thought back at the memory from just a week ago. Corellan, while storming through the station with his Astromech droid, had found her in the Fortresses’ medical bay, recovering from another extended ‘interrogation session’ with the Exarch. He’d freed her, even recovering her blasters for her, then she’d joined him and Teeseven for the rest of their run. In the end, when they’d finally confronted the Exarch, Corellan had engaged her in a vicious lightsaber duel, giving Bas the opening she needed. A series of precise shots had breached Forta Gair’s armor and crippled her for good.

Three years.

She’d stood over the Exarch, this woman who had made her whole world a living nightmare for the last three years and looked into her eyes. Defeated, Forta had looked back up at her in disbelief. As if it were impossible for the Zakuulan to believe that her imprisoned ‘pet’ could ever be the one to finally deliver the death blow.

One well-placed shot between the eyes had proved her wrong.

She noticed Corellan had grown quiet and somber again.

“I should have gotten you out.” He said sullenly. “The moment I saw you lying there. I should have aborted the mission and gotten you back to the ship. You were in no condition to press on to the Exarch.”

The smuggler scoffed. Her physical injuries had mostly been healed at that point.

She knew Corellan wasn’t talking about physical injuries.

“You couldn’t take the risk. You’d invested a lot of prep work for that mission. If you’d scrapped it all, the Exarch would know you’d been there and would have changed everything. She’d have been ready for you next time. You might never have gotten another chance. Besides, I proved I could still handle myself, didn’t I?”

“Maybe.” He looked at her again. “But it would have been the right thing to do.”

Bas restrained herself from rolling her eyes at his words. Instead, she sighed.

“Doing the right thing – and doing the best thing – aren’t always the same thing, Hero.” She said. “The things you’re taking on now… you’re making decisions that will shape the whole damned galaxy for years to come.” She stopped herself. The last thing she wanted to do was add to the pressure on his shoulders.

“Anyway, like I said, that’s two I owe you.” Bas finished.

“You know I’d never hold you to that.” Corellan frowned again.

This time, Bas’rish shot him a hard look.

“Hero, debts like that aren’t about the person they’re owed to.” She said somberly. “They’re about the person who owes them. Just… accept it, okay?”

He started to speak, then stopped himself, looking into her eyes.

“Okay.” Corellan finally said.

An awkward silence settled between them. She didn’t know where to go from there and he suddenly recognized the need to change the subject.

“Also, can I just say you’re only about two years older than me. That’s hardly old enough for you to call me ‘kid’.”

It was as close as he could manage to an actual joke. Kira would have been proud.

“Closer to seven, now.” She wrinkled her nose at him and smiled. “Carbonite.”

It wasn’t an idle barb. Bas’rish honestly hoped that would get him to open up about what was up with him. Instead, he just exhaled and nodded.

“Well, I suppose so.”

That was so like him. He just absorbed the blows, got up and kept going.

“Tried to escape once.” Bas’rish offered. She didn’t know why she was telling him about this part. Maybe she cared too much about what he thought about her? “From the Star Fortress, I mean.”

“Really?” Corellan turned his head, listening with interest.

“Mmm-hmm.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “About five months after I got snatched. I caught the Exarch in a … a ‘compromising’ position where I knew she couldn’t corner me and then I made a run for it. I had it all planned out. How to bypass the security. How to get past the patrols. I even had the codes to launch the shuttle sitting in the hangar. From there, there’s no way I couldn’t have out-flown whatever they threw at me and gotten away.” A soft sigh. “It would have been perfect, Hero. The greatest escape of my whole damned career.”

As Bas’rish’s voice trailed off, another awkward silence settled between them. This was definitely getting to be a thing.

“What happened?” He finally asked, quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t know that Forta had wired my shock collar remotely to her cybernetic implants.” She waved a hand, feigning indifference. “She didn’t need her control device – or even her hands – to zap me from anywhere within the Fortress. She basically just took me down with a thought, right before I would have reached the hangar.”

Bas’rish found she had turned away from him again.

“Clever bitch. She made me pay for that little stunt for weeks afterwards.” She exhaled. “And after that, she was much more careful with me. She never let her guard down with me again.”

She watched the tension roll through his body. What would have been anger in someone else. For a second, it looked like he was distracted, listening to someone else.

“I understand.” Corellan said quietly.

This time she turned and challenged him as a flash of anger came to her green eyes.

“Do you?” she bit back a retort.

He nodded slowly.

“I know you. I know you value your freedom more than almost anything else.” Corellan said. “Imprisoning you, telling your crew you were dead, treating you like that, to you, that must have been worse than death.”

Damn. He had her pegged as much as she had him.

“Yeah.” She swallowed. “Just as you value being the ‘Hero’ more than almost anything else.”

Not a dig. They’d always been honest with each other.

“Maybe. But like you said, I need to become more than that.” He shook his head, plainly determined not to get thrown off his train of thought. “That doesn’t matter. The point is, I can’t imagine what being imprisoned could do to you. Regardless of my intent, I’d never try to do the same by grounding you on Odessen, even if I thought it was for your own good.”

Finally, Corellan looked up at her. She could see the pain in his eyes, and he could see the same in hers.

“I’m not okay. And you’re not okay.” He said quietly. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

This time, Bas didn’t turn away. She reached out and embraced him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled him close. Much to her surprise, his feet didn’t budge. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug.

She lowered her head muffled a sob into his shoulder.

“I want to kill them all.” Bas’rish whispered harshly into his ear, still clinging to him. “All of them. Arcann. His stupid sister. All their Knights and Exarches. Everyone who fought for them and helped them. For what they took from me. For what they took from you. For what they took from all of us.” She exhaled slowly. “I want to just light their whole planet on fire and watch them burn.”

Stars, it felt good to say all that out loud.

Corellan simply pulled her closer, holding her like that.

“I know.” He answered quietly.

That was it. No judgements. No condemnations. No damned Jedi platitudes about temperance and the folly of revenge. Just a quiet acceptance of what she had said. An acceptance of what she felt.

That was Corellan. He would never preach or nag or demand. He’d inspire and even lead you… but only if you let him. Otherwise, he’d just press on with what he had.

He didn’t bother releasing her from the hug. He just spoke in a low voice.

“Listen, I know I’m not much of a counselor. And I’m probably not much better at being a surrogate little brother, either. But I am your friend. I’ll do anything I can to help you. And I have a whole organization of people behind me, now. Some of them are, you know, equipped to help with situations like this. I can send one of them to talk to you.” He paused. “But only if you’re comfortable with it.”

If it had been anyone else making the offer, she’d probably have pushed him away and stormed off in a huff. Possibly after delivering some key insults about people minding their own business.

But she knew he was hurting, too.

Their experiences had been very different, but he understood about her crew. Maybe he understood about this, too.

So instead, she just pulled him closer.

“You’re the best surrogate little brother any girl could ask for.” She exhaled slowly, then leaned up to whisper in his ear. “When we find him, please don’t let Corso know I told you that. He gets jealous about that sort of thing.”

Corellan chuckled faintly. “What about Bowdarr?”

“Oh, Bowie’s way too old to be a surrogate little brother. Or even a surrogate big brother. He’s more like a loving, slightly crazy uncle. With a lot of fur. And with the strength to rip Skytroopers apart with his bare hands.”

Corellan laughed lightly at that, something he did rarely. The two finally eased out of their embrace.

“You’ve gotten better at this ‘hug’ business.” Bas’rish grinned up at him wryly.

He smiled back. “Well, I’ve learned to expand my skill set.”

She snickered then finally exhaled.

“I think… I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” She swallowed. “For help from someone.”

“I’m glad.” Corellan looked relieved.

An easy peace settled between them. This time, it didn’t feel awkward at all.

“Nightcap?” he offered.

Bas’rish smirked again. In all the years she’d known him, it was the first time he’d ever been the one to invite her for a drink.

“Sure. See you in the Cantina in five?”

“Of course.” Corellan gave her a boyish grin, and there was a bit of light in his eyes. “It’s good to have you here, Bas.”

With that, he turned, walking back towards the base. Bas’rish simply watched him depart before gathering her things.

Corellan was right. She wasn’t okay. And she wouldn’t be okay for a while, yet.

But she had her ship, her Wookie, her friend and, most importantly, she had her freedom.

Bas’rish realized that she was still somebody, after all.

END

#swtor #oc: corellan halcyon #oc: bas'rish #tales of the eternal alliance #swtor fanfiction #bas'rish is the big sister corellan always needed #odessen #eternal alliance #bowdaar #Forta Gair #voidhound #the corellan halcyon legacy

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