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Three hundred years ago, Bastila Shan broke under torture and fell to the dark side. She turned her battle meditation against the Republic fleet during the assault on the Star Forge, causing the deaths of thousands. Only Revan’s intervention stopped the slaughter.
He appealed to the bond between them: her love for him, and his for her. In the end, that love saved her. Love saved the Republic.
Theron knows the story. It’s a good story. Just enough ambiguity to be interesting, just enough of a moral lesson to satisfy the Jedi, just enough action and romance to satisfy the public. Everybody wins. Of course the victory didn’t last, because the galaxy isn’t that kind. Revan vanished, and Bastila raised their son alone.
Vaner Shan. Theron always thought it was a stupid name. If you’re going to name a child after their father, just fucking commit. Don’t be precious about it and scramble the letters like that’s going to fool anyone.
He feels bad for Vaner. The guy was the living embodiment of a happy ending that never was. His father’s name, rearranged as if that could ever lessen the weight of it, the legacy of two powerful Jedi who saved the Republic with their love—and he wasn’t anything special. No Force connection. No grand destiny. Just a person who lived and died.
On very bad days—mostly in foster homes two through five—Theron used to wonder what Bastila thought of Vaner. Did she regret having him? Was she disappointed in him?
… At least Theron’s name isn’t Caje, or, Force fucking forbid, Ejac. Whatever her regrets or disappointments, whatever their tense not-quite-relationship now, Satele did not name him anything unbearably terrible.
Satele did everything she could for him given her situation. Handed him off to her own former master, expecting things to turn out all right, because how couldn’t Theron be Jedi material? And Theron is—he’s grateful to Ngani Zho for raising him as well as he could for as long as he did, long after it became apparent that something was wrong, he is. It’s not Zho’s fault that Theron’s just—Theron.
Made his peace with that in foster home number seven, more or less.
Mostly less.
The point is, he came to the conclusion that none of it really mattered. He’s not Vaner Shan. Their situations aren’t the same. Just because they’re both the underwhelming sons of Jedi war heroes doesn’t mean Theron’s going to find any answers in Vaner’s life.
… In hindsight? He really, really should have kept digging. Into Vaner’s history—and into Revan’s. Personal answers or no, it would sure be nice to have more material to work with.
“My son was like you,” Revan says, voice deep and gentle. “Force-blind. Or so I hear—I never had the chance to know him. I wish, more than anything, that I’d known him.”
“That so,” Theron croaks. “You also wish you’d gotten the chance to torture him?”
“I assure you, those responsible will face consequences.”
“Somehow I doubt you would’ve cared if we weren’t related.”
“If we weren’t related, we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.” Revan shrugs. “But here we are.”
“Unfortunately,” says Theron.
“Is it?”
Theron tugs at the restraints on his wrists and raises his eyebrows.
Revan chuckles. “All right, that’s fair. In my defense, you wouldn’t set me loose if you’d captured me instead.”
“And if I were your son?”
“… I suppose we’ll never know, will we?” He looks wistful. Theron wants to punch him. Unfortunately, restraints. Even more unfortunately, Revan’s still talking. “I didn’t want to leave my family. I regret it, every single day. But it was … necessary. And now, if I can just—it might actually be worth it, in the end …” Revan trails off. Then he laughs, shaking his head. “Listen to me, trying to justify myself to you when you already understand. You know how this works. You were raised by the Jedi, same as me, same as your mother. For all their faults, and there are many, the Jedi know that sometimes, you have to let go of what you want most in order to preserve something greater.”
“Seriously? ‘We are not so different, you and I’? You pull this shit with all your prisoners?”
“Only when it’s true,” says Revan. He looks down and sighs. “Theron … I’m so tired of letting go. Detaching. Acting the part of a Jedi, when I’m … not. I haven’t been in a very, very long time.”
“Can’t relate.”
“I think you can. I think you know exactly what it’s like. Duty and desire are rarely aligned. It’s my hope that I can create a galaxy where there’s no need to choose. No need for us to tear ourselves away from everything we love in the name of saving it.”
Theron lets his gaze waver, then drop. “Sounds real nice. Pity your big plan is to kill a stupid number of people.”
Revan bristles. He shakes it off a second later, laughing indulgently. “You doubt that the ends justify the means. You don’t even know what I’m trying to do, here.”
“You gonna explain it to me, Gramps, or should I start guessing?”
Revan sighs, clasps his hands behind his back, and starts pacing. Theron feels slightly better without him looming. Only slightly, though. “Are you familiar with antimatter?”
“I’m a spy, not a physicist,” Theron rasps irritably. He knows damn well what it is, but Revan does love the sound of his own voice, and giving him the opportunity to hear more of it will give Theron more information to work with. Hopefully.
“When antimatter comes into contact with normal matter, they annihilate each other. Both are consumed, and release all their mass as energy—which can then theoretically be put to use.” He smiles. He’s so damn proud of himself. “I intend to put this principle into practice on a galactic scale. A single, pivotal battle—a moment of annihilation—will give me the chance to end this conflict, permanently. All I have to do is bring them into contact.”
A pivotal battle. Pubs and Imps. Make them kill each other off—what, like that’s not exactly what they’ve been doing since the cold war turned hot? And putting energy to use—how? For what? Theron could just ask, but as forthcoming as Revan’s been so far, as much as Revan is playing the family ties angle, he doubts Revan would actually lay out all his plans if asked point blank.
If offered a chance to lean on their connection, though … He doesn’t care if Revan’s being genuine. All that matters is that Revan thinks Theron wants that connection. Someone to rely on. Someone to learn from.
Theron smothers the urge to start laughing hysterically. Everything’s a weapon, up to and including his own mommy issues. Fucking hells. “Darth Marr and Grandmaster Shan are smarter than that,” he says, putting just the tiniest hitch before his mother’s title. “They wouldn’t commit to a battle they didn’t think they could win.”
“They don’t have to commit to anything,” Revan says. “They just have to be in the right place at the right time. And I can make that happen. Much like you, here, now.” He turns, moving in closer, and Theron stiffens. Revan smiles again, like he’s trying to be reassuring. “I’ll be honest—I didn’t expect you to get involved in all of this, much less pursue it so far. I underestimated you. Call it lingering Jedi arrogance. We—they—are far too willing to believe that ordinary people are incapable of achieving anything noteworthy. But you … you’re anything but ordinary. You’ll do whatever it takes. Burn your bridges. Work alongside Sith. That takes guts. Conviction.” Revan gives a rueful chuckle. “Moral flexibility.”
Bad. This is bad. This is not the direction the conversation was supposed to go. Theron watches him, implant helpfully indicating that his own stress levels have just spiked even higher.
Revan’s smile doesn’t change. His eyes do. The reassurance twists into satisfaction before the whole expression melts into skin-crawlingly sincere concern. “Oh, Theron. It’s not your fault they turned on you. Believe me, I know what it’s like. I know how they think—I was one of them, once. They can care; it’s not like the dark side destroys their ability to care. It’s just that there are more important things than the people they care about, and the dark side makes it so, so very easy to justify—”
“Being a manipulative asshole? Yeah, I fucking noticed,” Theron snaps, and then he clamps his jaw shut and exhales through his nose. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t—
—But let him see Theron not thinking about it, let him know how much it hurts because then he’ll believe he has Theron figured out—
—because Theron can use that.
Revan regards him with something uncomfortably close to pity. “It’s not your fault,” he says softly. “And in case you were wondering, no, Lana Beniko and the Emperor’s Wrath have not been secretly working for me this whole time to deliver you here. I know you’ve figured out their real strategy—you’re a spy; you know how this works. I know you’re still trying to complete your mission. But I also know that it still hurts. Being used. Having your choices taken away.”
“You’re no better than them. You said as much yourself.”
“Ha. You’re right. I’m not. I manipulate and lie. Jedi, Sith, the SIS, me, you, we’re all liars. But given the choice between liars who see you as a tool to use, and liars who see you as something worth protecting … I met your mother, Theron, right after I was rescued from the Emperor. She didn’t tell me about you. I can’t blame her, but I had to learn that you existed purely by accident. And it was—I felt like the galaxy was mocking me. I never got to meet my son. Your mother never bothered to know you. But there you were, living your life.
“Did you ever wonder why Colonel Darok requested you as his SIS liaison for the Korriban attack? I asked him to. I wanted … I wanted to know who you were. I should have expected you to realize something was off. Losing on Lehon was a blow, but—you were resourceful and clever and tenacious, and I have never been happier to lose. I was so proud of you, Theron.”
Theron stares straight ahead. The ceiling is truly fascinating.
Revan leans over him, reaches out, hesitates. Then he touches his shoulder with a sad half-smile. “Theron … you’ve fought so hard, for so long. I don’t want to fight you. I never wanted to fight you. We’re family. I want—I want that to mean something. I can’t promise I’d be any good at it—it’s not like I’ve got much experience. But I’d like to try.”
Theron swallows.
“I’ll let you think about it,” Revan says, giving his shoulder a squeeze.