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The reception room bustles with more people than Qatya has seen in one place off a battlefield in…well, in a year. Now freed from the official speech, the crowd disperses slightly - some few of the military officials taking their leave, likely to return to their ships or commands to begin the tiring process of filing all the datawork Revan’s appointment as Supreme Commander necessitates. The politicians are quick to move into their own groups, jockeying for favor and position, and as Qatya watches, Revan is very quickly swept up in that current, Alek following at her side. She’s uncomfortable, that much is obvious to anyone who knows her well enough to see beneath the robes and the mask - between the promotion and the size of this gathering, it’s not a surprise. Qatya can’t blame her.
She doesn’t expect they’ll stay long. These sorts of things are for politics, mostly; the Chancellor had a point he wanted to make about Revan, and now the rest of the gathering will be at least half the fallout of that, and half…whatever the Senate was discussing at its last meeting, probably. And between the fact that Revan and Alek both want to visit the Temple, Alek’s general distaste for politics, and Revan’s visible tension…
She’s glad for that - there will be work to do. Revan doesn’t mind dispensing orders but hates datawork, meaning Qatya will likely need to take on the bulk of it (and sometimes, she really is tempted to remind Revan to be grateful they’re friends), and Jenn will need debriefing, and the leave requests managed, and- well. She shakes her head slightly, disrupting the thought. Best to at least wait until they’re on the speeder towards the Temple before she starts filling out forms in her head.
Kavar would tease her for it, she thinks absently, a little amused, slipping away from Revan before the Senator for Taris can rope her into what promises to be a lengthy lecture on why Taris really should be the Republic fleet’s next target. There are still some officers lingering, she might be able to draw one of them into a conversation-
Her gaze catches on a few figures near the back wall - robes and tabards and cloaks, familiar shades of beige and brown and white. She’d noticed there were Jedi present to observe the promotion as soon as she was ushered on stage, of course, but now that she’s closer, away from the glaring lights and the holonet drones, she can see them more clearly. Of the few Jedi present, most are watching Revan and her burning-star aura, that deep weight of her power drawing them in. One isn’t. Kavar’s eyes are locked onto Qatya herself, even as she weaves through the crowd, offering vague thanks to the people who congratulate her on the promotion, and he doesn’t move to follow his fellows, seemingly comfortable leaning against the wall and observing.
For a moment, Qatya hesitates - she’s fairly certain most of the Jedi here are here because they’d like to enlist, that Kavar is likely here to report back to the Council, and a member of the High Council shouldn’t be seen speaking to one of the Revanchists, especially not her - she’s already the sapien face of the war effort, in some ways, even though she’s had a minor rank and makes no public speeches. The soldiers that serve under her love her as much as they love Revan, however, and the Vengeance is leading the charge to what few victories they’ve managed. It isn’t just that she suspects the Council would scold Kavar for being caught on camera with her (it’s much more difficult to temper the anger and frustration she feels towards them these days, and with every fighter pilot she sensed die around Duro she wants less and less to try), but that being caught on camera would cause scandals, and Grand Master Sunrider would have a lot of work to do to smooth that over.
Well. Does she care? She hasn’t seen her master in a year, and she’s missed him almost as much as she’s missed Atris. It isn’t just her girlfriend…former girlfriend…she’s wished to have with her on the Vengeance, a support she could reach out to after battles.
…it’s just one conversation.
Qatya nods at another senator and picks up momentum in that way she’d quickly learned after deployment, the way that gets people moving out of her path, and makes her way over to Kavar, exchanging quiet greetings with a master and padawan pair who stop her just before she reaches him. They have questions about how to join up, and she takes a moment to take their names and send them several forms they’ll need to fill out to be added to the roster. It’s much less official in some ways than joining the military as a soldier would be, but Cressa fast-tracked their applications months ago. She explains as much when the padawan, a young togruta girl, asks, and gives them both directions to a landing pad with a shuttle that can take them to the fleet, once they’ve received an assignment from Revan.
Well. From her, more than likely. But better to let the fiction that Revan still does most of the datawork stand, considering her new promotion.
They thank her and offer her twin bows when she finishes, and she returns it, waiting for the two of them to make their way from the reception hall before she turns and crosses the last of the distance to lean against the wall next to Kavar. He looks tired, she thinks, studying him for a moment, but so do they all. There’s a war on.
“I’m not surprised the Council sent a former shadow to be their eyes on Revan,” she says after a moment. “It’s good to see you.”
“You don’t need a shadow to keep an eye on her,” Kavar says, and she snorts softly, accepting that truth for what it is. Revan has always been a presence, on and off the battlefield, and that’s only grown as her reputation has. Every single person in this hall is aware of her. They can’t help but be.
“Cressa let us walk into this blind,” she says instead, and turns her gaze on the reception hall, flickering over the crowd. “His idea of making a point, I’m sure. His opposition will be well and truly cowed by the implication that Revan’s on his leash.”
It’s…a harsh way of saying it. Maybe an un-Jedi-like way. But it’s true - even a politician acting for the good of the Republic wouldn’t place someone else in his own position of power if he didn’t think he had her loyalty, or something similar enough to not matter, in the end. The Chancellor is Commander-in-Chief of the military, after all.
The thing about that is that Revan is a force as much as she’s a person, and Qatya thinks she might be starting to understand that. Might be starting to realize and reckon with the same terrible knowledge Qatya herself has had since those first bonds started to form when she was a youngling and a crechemaster sat her down and spoke to her about control and paying attention to how her actions affected those around her. Some part of her, deep down in her chest, is a little bit afraid of what Revan might do when that realization coalesces into understanding and action.
Cressa, for all that he’s a politician and a damned good one, doesn’t quite understand what he’s working with.
Kavar sighs, and in the sound she hears some of her own thoughts, even if their training bond remains quiescent between them. “If he thinks Revan’s on any sort of leash,” he says, shaking his head, “he’s a fool. The Revanchists are hers, not his, and she isn’t his creature. She’s not anyone’s.”
“So she isn’t,” Qatya murmurs, and flicks her fingers and a little tendril of aura at a holonet drone that drifts too close to them. Its operator seems to take the hint when it rocks sideways and drops half a meter, and turns it away to go seek out some other story. She sighs. “...General Petheir. It’s a formality - I won’t have my own command, and I’ve already been managing space battles for Revan when she and Alek are on the ground. But it wouldn’t look good not to promote me, and Revan would’ve done it on her own the moment she got her hands on a datapad anyway.”
She lets out a little laugh at the thought. Revan, actually seeking out datawork, instead of having it foisted on her when it needs her signature and codes? Not terribly likely.
When she looks back at her old master, he’s smiling, something warm and familiar that eases the tension she struggles to let go of, these days. “You’re doing good work, kid,” he says, and only Kavar would still call her kid after that presentation. “General,” he corrects immediately, a little sheepish. “It’s a big responsibility, but you’re clearly ready for it.”
Just like it always does, his praise settles something in her - some of the jagged pieces in her chest where the loss of so many men aches no matter what she does. Maybe even settles some of the long, cold nights in hyperspace, alone in her bunk, unable to relax enough to meditate.
“We do what we must,” she says after a moment. “This isn’t what I imagined for myself - but it’s the path I have to walk. And for all the loss, we are protecting innocent people; I think the Republic would be on the edge of collapse by now if we hadn’t intervened. This is important work. I just wish the Council would see it.”
It’s more bitter than it used to be, that complaint. She’d told Kavar she understood, back before they shipped out, and she did, but- it’s harder to, now. Now that she’s seen it all with her own eyes. Now that she’s listened to more of Revan’s speeches, maybe.
Kavar catches and holds her gaze, very deliberately, dark eyes serious and intent on her own. “The Council knows the cost,” he says, and she can sense the resignation and frustration alongside the acceptance, flickering in and out of his half-shielded aura like motes of dust in a sunbeam. “We do. But we can’t go to war. Something…something else is stirring, Qatya. If we leave, there won’t be anyone left when it decides to strike.”
Qatya blows out a long breath through her lips, a strand of hair stirring and settling back against her face as she does. Out in the crowd, Revan frees herself from the Tarisian Senator, only to be immediately absorbed by another group of politicians; Alek hurries after her with a half-bemused, half-resigned expression on his face. He looks like he’s calculating something, probably something related to the way Revan’s shoulders are so straight her spine might be made of durasteel.
“And what happens if the Republic is lost because of your inaction?” she asks quietly, without the accusation that so often drips from Revan’s mouth when she speaks of this. “Kavar, staying behind to protect the Republic against some unspecified existential threat doesn’t matter if the Republic is destroyed by the very obvious one tearing apart its borders.”
Kavar shakes his head again. “Why now? After thirty years, why are they striking now?” he asks her - a rhetorical question, but also an answer, in part. “The obvious threat isn’t the only one. And I’m not even sure it’s the most dangerous.”
“I know,” she says, and she does, the Mandalorians clearly have some other motivation. It can’t just be their new leader, because rumor has it he picked up the mask almost immediately after the previous one was killed. They could have regrouped under him and taken the Republic by storm before the Jedi ever recovered from losing Ossus. “But ignoring the obvious threat doesn’t make it disappear, and- they’re still doing a hell of a lot of damage.” And so are they. Sacrifices are necessary in war, Revan has started saying, like a mantra. Qatya doesn’t like it.
But it’s winning them battles, and they can’t afford any more losses.
“Fuck, I know that,” her masters says, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident, and that softens her slightly. “I know. I’ve already lived through one war, and this is no better. It’s not you I don’t trust,” he adds, more quietly. “It’s not even Revan.”
Qatya wishes she could put her head in her hands, but even if the drones aren’t close enough to record their conversation, she isn’t enough of a fool to think she isn’t still being watched right now. Besides, across the hall, Revan is in the process of making an incredibly ungraceful exit, and while the look on Alek’s face is all apology and sincerity as he smooths over ruffled feathers, she’s sure Revan’s absence will mean she herself is drawn into the conversation soon. Especially if there are more Jedi here looking to enlist - they aren’t likely to feel comfortable approaching her when she’s with Kavar.
“I trust you,” she says finally. “But when I’m out on the front…master, it’s difficult to trust the rest of the Council.”
Sorrow and resignation mixed together curl through the edges of his aura and drift across his face, but he doesn’t waver when he answers her. “I am the Council,” he says, and for a moment she closes her eyes against the way that aches. “We’re united on this.”
“Kavar…” She doesn’t want to be at odds with him. But it feels, increasingly, like the Council has failed the Order in this, even despite their long game, and she isn’t certain how she’s meant to reconcile that. She has never felt there to be a dissonance between him as her master and him as a High Councilor; now, there’s a chasm there, and it hurts. “I’m sorry. I know I’m asking you for something you can’t give, and that’s unfair to you. I just…”
“I know,” he says tiredly, drawing a smile across his face. It’s twisted with the same sadness she feels, the same acknowledgement of their situation. “And I do understand, even though you might not believe it. But neither of us are going to change our minds, are we?”
“You’d be disappointed in me if my conviction was that weak,” Qatya murmurs, and takes a long, steady breath in, releasing it in increments. She has duties to attend to, and preparations to make, and the Council will be waiting for Kavar’s return. She may see him again when they return to the Temple after the reception, but some part of her doesn’t truly believe that - this feels like a farewell, in a way, more than their last conversation before she shipped out had. Disquiet whispers at the edges of her mind, settles uncomfortably under her skin; she’s always intended to come back. She will come home, when this is all over. “...thank you, master. I hope, when everything ends…I’ll still have made you proud.”
“Always, Qatya,” he promises, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder with one hand. “Always.”
Their time is up, after that. Her name is called, beckoning her into other conversations, and she only has time for a quick farewell and a bow before she has to leave Kavar behind, as much as she doesn’t want to. He gives her a nod of respect, and when she next looks over at his spot against the wall, he’s gone, vanished as if he was never there - off to report back, she’s sure. With Revan having left for now, there’s little else for him to observe that the Council can’t hear back from other sources.
The sad little smile on his face as she walked away lingers in her mind, like a warning or a premonition - but Qatya has never been a Seer, and this is an omen she refuses to let come to fruition.