Work Text:
Trilla had a rather unusual fascination for Cal Kestis.
The first time she met him, the Padawan was just like any of Bracca’s rats: dirty, scared and insignificant. She had sensed his latent Force connection as soon as she had laid eyes on him but Trilla had decided it would be fun to play with him, cat-like. To see if he would cower or face her. Cal went for the second option, proving himself a fool, just like anyone from his dying Order. Only pure luck had him surviving. And thus the hunt had begun.
The second time they met, a defiant spark had kindled in the boy’s eyes. That’s when Trilla decided she would make him hers. Hers to bend, to break, to command. As they fought in the depths of Zeffo, it wasn't difficult to imagine him standing beside her: the Second Sister and the Eleventh Brother, a force no one could weather.
When Cal escaped again, she became furious but soon after discovered that taunting him was delightful. Delightful and incredibly liberating, she found out, as she poured her hatred for Cere in every word she spit. Despite everything, that betrayal still hurt. And it hurt even more knowing that her former Master was now breeding a new Padawan to do her bidding. To use as a weapon. To guide. To nourish and love and-
No. Only a fool would think that Cere cared. Trilla had found out she didn't first-hand.
So the Second Sister prepared. She prepared for when she would meet Cal again: the Force she would wield and the words she would use to win him over, physically and mentally… And then they sent the Ninth Sister to kill him. The Inquisitor had been ready to explode in her rage, but the order had come from above. For once, she had to clasp her ire down, render it to submission. In its empty place, a new feeling had arised unexpectedly: fear. A new kind, even. Because in fact, she was very much accustomed to the fear for herself. While waiting for Cere to return. When captured by the Empire and then every time the torture droid left her cell. She was always afraid, always expecting for the order to return to Nur to come, a journey that would destroy her completely. This kind of fear was different: not for herself but for someone else.
So Trilla was quite relieved when word came that Cal had not only escaped but also killed the Ninth Sister. Good riddance. But the news came also with a warning: she had only one last chance to capture the Padawan. Failure wouldn't be admitted. She returned to work, trying to trace where the Mantis’s safe harbour was. Meanwhile, as she tinkered with her tools and deployed the Imperial Intelligence to find Cere’s ship, her thoughts run wild. She knew very well she wasn't supposed to, but she couldn't help but replay every conversation with Cal in her head: his drive, his naivety, his unrelenting will. The Order might be dead but the Jedi lived on. Scattered and hidden and sometimes broken, but their noblest ideals persisted. She wondered if-
No. Only a fool would defy the Empire. A brave one, but a fool nonetheless.
When Trilla finally found his hideout, she had to steel herself before landing on the uncharted green planet. She followed him inside the Zeffo’s sanctuary. And found something she would never expect to find: a Holocron with a list of children sensible to the Force inside. Finally, her chance to prove her loyalty had come. Of course Cal wouldn't let her take it so they clashed once more. It occured just a second for doubt to seep in, though: as their sabers were locked, a sudden thought crossed Trilla’s mind: we will kill them. I will kill them and torture those younglings as the Empire did to me.
The Second Sister lost her focus and Cal used her moment of weakness to push her away with the Force with one hand, while attracting her weapon with the other. As Trilla fell on the ground, the boy went taut, then started trembling. A flash of pain ran along his face: she could feel that echo too, biting her skin, digging, breaking, hurting-
She chased the sensation away with a mighty stroke of will, gobbling it down. She took the Holocron as he fell to his knees, captive of her memories, imprinted on her saber. She took the Holocron and fled, even if she made it seem a grandiose exit. The truth was that she felt like crumbling. The truth was that she had had a chance to finally finish him, an enemy of the Empire, but she couldn't. Trilla didn't even know why she cared. Or maybe she did but was too much afraid of voicing that feeling. Because once it was voiced, someone would come to destroy it, along with all that was left of her.
She hadn't imagined Cal would come after her once more, right to Nur, a place of pure darkness. But of course he came, that stupid code of his, of the Jedi: he wouldn't let the younglings die, he wouldn't let them suffer as he wouldn't have let her suffer-
Trilla embued all of this pain in their final battle. She poured all of her hate and pain on him because she had realised one thing: she didn't want to see him an Inquisitor. Only death would have saved him. Would have saved her .
As a red saber cut through her chest, Trilla, for once, isn’t disappointed in her failure. As she goes down, she can only hope. As she falls to her knees and gets one last look in Cal’s eyes, she realizes it.
On a second thought, he would have saved me.