Work Text:
The sun sets over Tython as the procession starts. The Jedi High Council leads a chorus of voices in a mournful dirge to honor their fallen heroine. As Theron Shan stands among the crowd of mourners, meant to be paying his respects, he feels like he’s drowning in a sea of fear and uncertainty. His mind finds one terrible, devastating truth to focus on:
Emrys is dead.
Emrys Bridger, Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order. The youngest member of the High Council and to hold the title of Warden of the Order. One of the most powerful Jedi in recorded history. It’s almost unbelievable that she would be killed in such an impersonal way as being blown up, but that’s what everyone told him happened. Darth Marr’s flagship was attacked at the edge of Wild Space. A few surviving Republic troops have publicly said Emrys had given the order to evacuate just in time, but she and Darth Marr never made it off the ship before it was destroyed. As of now, one standard week later, no one has claimed responsibility for this act of war.
Theron can’t decide which is worse— that Emrys is dead, or that no one has the courage to come out and say that they caused her death. He wishes someone would, if only to give him a purpose. If he knew who was responsible for snuffing out her light, he’d make them wish they were never born.
Reflecting on this thought, Theron almost laughs. He barely knew her. Yes, they shared some intimate moments, and he cares more than he wants to admit, but after Ziost, he had been so racked with guilt he couldn’t accept her offer of a new life at her side. He focused on his own suffering— and ignored hers. What right has he to go out and seek vengeance on her behalf? Surely her crewmates want that honor for themselves?
He looks up to the second level of the rotunda of the Jedi Temple, where the High Council stands along with the Barsen’thor’s crew. Her band of misfits, brought together by a shared sense of duty and respect for one incredible woman. They all wear the same expression— pure grief. Even that strange feminine hologram looks like she might cry, if she were capable of shedding tears.
As Theron brings his attention away from Emrys’ crew, another person catches his eye. A hooded figure, head bowed and mouth turned down in a mournful frown. Her blonde hair peeks out from beneath her hood, but these things aren’t what make the spy stare. In the glow of the candle she holds, Theron can see her eyes, yellow irises rimmed with red, characteristic of one who follows the Dark Side.
Lana Beniko.
Almost as soon as Theron notices her, she blows out her candle and leaves the memorial. On impulse, Theron follows her as she sneaks down one of the side hallways that branch off from the rotunda. She quietly opens a door leading to an outdoor walkway with a view of the waterfall side. When he’s sure they’re alone, Theron calls out to his former ally.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
She stops. He speaks again.
“You know how dangerous it is. The consequences if you’re caught….”
The Sith begins to turn around, her gaze still trained on the stones beneath her feet. Theron takes a few cautious steps toward her, and softens his voice as he asks a burning question.
“Why risk it?”
Lana still doesn’t meet his eyes, but she removes her hood. Theron will never tell her this, but he swears he sees a single tear run down Lana’s cheek, and hears a soft sniffle before she whispers her answer.
“She was my friend.”
Theron’s expression softens in sympathy, and he feels his own eyes start to well up for the first time since he heard the news of Emrys’ death. But the moment passes when they hear static from a comm channel, and plasteel boots tromping towards them.
“There’s a patrol coming,” Theron warns. “You’ve gotta go. Where’s your ship?”
“Near the river,” Lana answers.
“Come on, I know a shortcut.” Theron closes the distance between them and beckons Lana to follow him. She raises the hood of her cloak again and keeps pace with him as he leads her briskly across the abandoned terrace. He spent a few weeks on Tython just before leaving the Order, and much of his time there was spent exploring the wilderness and shirking his studies. Theron’s muscle memory leads them down a hallway covered in shadow— the perfect escape for anyone who wanted to go unnoticed by a temple full of people who notice everything. The passage leads to a secluded balcony right next to the waterfall. Theron stops when he reaches the balustrade and turns to face Lana.
”Can you find your way from here?” he asks. Lana joins him at the railing and looks down to the bottom of the ravine, where the waterfall meets the river. Judging the distance she’ll have to Force-jump, no doubt. In a quick second, her expression changes from concern to determination. Even in grief, Lana Beniko remains the most confident person he’s ever met.
“I believe so. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Theron demands. “Ever.”
Lana smirks at him in her annoying way. “Why so eager to see me off, Theron? Really, I came here to see you.”
“What could we possibly have to talk about?”
“Emrys.”
Theron’s breath catches at the mention of her name. Shock shifts into rage as he looks at the Sith Lord. Judging by her face, anger isn’t what she expected from him. His voice is hard and tight when he spits out his reply.
“You want to reminisce? What’s the point of that? Nothing we do or say will bring her back. She—“ Theron’s breath catches again, and he struggles to hold his emotions in check. He feels them building in his chest as he breathes deeply. Clenching his fists, he speaks that unspeakable but grounding thought.
“She’s dead.”
“What if she isn’t?”
Theron looks incredulously at Lana. Denial is the last thing he expected from her. But when she continues to speak, the spy thinks it’s less denial and more delusion.
“I felt great ripples in the Force, just after Marr’s flagship disappeared,” Lana begins. “It was the Emperor’s death, I know it. And I know Emrys was there.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Theron asks.
“Do I really need to explain the Force to you of all people?” Lana barks at him. “I just know! She and I have a bond— I would have felt her death! She’s out there somewhere, she killed the Emperor, and she needs help!”
“You’re crazy!” Theron matches her tone, hushed but harsh. “If the Emperor were dead, Satele would have said something. Our task force is still operational, why would she hide that from them?”
Then the jealousy breaks through. “And as for this ‘Force bond’ you say you have with Emrys, it’s impossible. You barely even knew her. Maybe you were friends once, but Rishi was a long time ago, Lana.” Theron takes a calming breath before he continues. “Just make it easier on yourself. Let her go.”
“I know what I feel Theron. She’s alive out there. And against my better judgment, I make you this offer: Come with me.“
“What?”
“Come with me to Wild Space,” Lana explains. “Help me find her. Her presence in the Force is… muted. Blocked, somehow. That tells me she’s trapped somewhere. Held captive. Waiting for you and I to bring her home.”
Theron is taken aback. He watches the Sith Lord’s expression. Her sincerity shines in her eyes as she holds his gaze, waiting for his reply.
In his heart of hearts, Theron wants to believe Lana. He knows the Force is real, and the instincts of most Force-users can be trusted, but at the same time, Theron doesn’t trust the Force. It’s done nothing but fail him over the years. It ruined any chance Theron had at a childhood, or a family. It divided the galaxy into two factions that will never tire of killing each other. And it took Emrys away. That bright star he would have followed anywhere has been snuffed out, and Theron lets his bitterness and grief win as he gives Lana his decision.
“If you want to get yourself killed on a wild bantha chase, be my guest,” he snarls. “But leave me out of it.” Theron turns and starts to walk back toward the memorial, but Lana’s voice stops him.
“Very well,” she says, “but please, take this.”
Theron turns back around and sees Lana offering a comlink to him. An Imperial model he’s heard rumors of, but never seen. Long-range communication, completely untraceable. The SIS has been trying and failing to develop the technology themselves. The fact that Lana would offer this to him almost makes him reconsider his decision.
“If you change your mind, you can contact me with this,” Lana offers one last time. Theron sighs and accepts the comlink to appease her.
Or so he tells himself.
Lana smiles with sadness in her eyes as she pulls herself up onto the balustrade. “May the Force ever serve you, Theron Shan.”
The Sith Lord launches herself off the balcony towards the waterfall, disappearing into the mist. Theron watches her descend for a few seconds, then looks down at the comlink in his hand. The spy in him wants to take this straight to Director Trant and demand to be reinstated, but, keeping with the pattern of the last week, his emotions win out and he tucks the comlink away in the pocket of his jacket.
It might come in handy one day.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coruscant, Three Standard Years Later
Theron staggers into his apartment and drops his messenger bag on the floor. Ever since the blockade ended, Director Trant has had every analyst working to the bone finding every little piece of intel about Zakuul they can get their hands on. Despite the talks of a ceasefire in the Senate, Saresh hasn’t toned down her public rhetoric fanning the flames of war, and that means the SIS can’t let up, either.
Theron’s never been more exhausted in his life. Sick of war. Sick of his job. Almost sick of living.
Yikes, Theron thinks. I need a drink.
As he pours himself a generous glass of his preferred vice, Corellian whiskey, he hears an unexpected beep from inside his messenger bag. Theron goes back to where he dropped it and digs out his datapad. The screen is lit up with a new message.
An encrypted message.
Theron recognizes the encryption immediately. Only one other person knows it. They developed it together while in hiding from his crazed ancestor, in order to protect themselves… and someone else.
Knocking back the rest of his whiskey, Theron connects his datapad to the data terminal in his bedroom. His fingers move deftly over the keys, making the familiar strokes to decrypt Lana’s message. When he finishes, an image appears on the screen. It looks to be a vault of some kind, heavy metalwork and dim lights. A Zakuul Knight is guarding something— a block of carbonite with a person inside it.
As Theron zooms in on the image, his breath leaves him. His hands shake as he focuses on the frozen person. Her familiar silhouette, facial features…. He runs to his bedside table and digs through the drawer until he finds what he’s looking for— a holoprojector with a single image saved on it. He sits back at his data terminal and flips the image on, eyes racing back and forth between her face and the one in carbonite.
Could it be?
The caption under the image confirms his belief.
“Hate to say ‘I told you so’”
Theron can’t help but laugh when he reads that, Lana’s smug voice ringing in his head. Then he starts to cry as he looks at his holoprojector. Emrys Bridger’s face looks serenely back at him. He took this image from her SIS dossier right after he returned from Yavin IV, to keep a little memory of her with him. His tears intensify into sobs he realizes what this message means.
Emrys is alive.
Alive and on Zakuul by the looks of it. Trapped in carbonite by Emperor Arcann. Theron takes one last look at Emrys’ holoimage, then flips the holoprojector off and tucks it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He goes back to his bedside table again and pulls out one more item— the comlink Lana gave him on Tython.
Theron wipes the tears from his eyes, pats the pocket where she sits, and presses the button on the comlink with renewed determination. The war with Zakuul may be nearly over, but a new fight is about to begin. And this time, Theron is eager to do his part.