Private Candleflames in the Dark

[William Thule]

"You are already more a Jedi than most could ever dream to be, Andromeda."

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but the weight of the conflict in the Core - and in himself - drove it away. He squeezed her hand back, reassuring, at once all too conscious that he held her hand in the same grip a noble might before offering the back of it a kiss. Yet he only brushed a thumb across her knuckles before letting go.

The urge to pull her closer, to wrap his arms around her and reassure her, welled within him like a wrecking, aching warmth. He pushed the feeling down.

"As far as I am concerned, I only help to place the finishing polish on your training. You were well on your way already. Sometimes, when we are knocked down, we just need a hand to help us back to our feet so we can keep running."

They both needed to take their mind off of this. A day off of training would make no difference now, especially since they likely would not arrive in time. He did not think he could go back to bed and simply drift off now.

"Come, there's a few rooms on the ship I have not shown you yet."

Bare feet padding across the cold metal deck, he led them down a corridor and turned into the section full of training rooms, but stopped well before he reached them. He palmed the access panel and the door hissed open, revealing rows of seats and an enormous screen.

"A holotheatre. There should be a snack or two still in the back here. I don't often have time to watch but sometimes when I find sleep difficult I put something on. It is a welcome distraction. I think I may sit here for a while, if you wish to join..." he opened up a cabinet, glancing at the inside where a row of snacks sat. He was not sure if any were expired, or if they even could expire. He glanced over to her. "Unless you'd prefer heading back to your room."

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda had been prepared for a gentle reminder -- that a Jedi must not give in to fear, that she had much to learn before she was ready for her trials -- but instead she received a thoughtful and generous answer. That he thought she was closer to her goal than she realized made her feel a warm, squirming mix of pleasure and pride. "Thank you, Master." She allowed a beat, then with a smirk: "If I'd known punching you in the neck was all it took to get my wings, I might have tried it sooner," Andy said with a sheepish grin. She squeezed his hand once more in response to his subtle movements; it felt like a friendly handshake now more than a lifeline.

Whatever the feeling in her chest told her.

She let him go and paused to wring out the rag in the sink, hanging it to dry before she followed him out of the galley. Behind him, in that momentary privacy, she hastily tied off the sash of her dressing gown.

The ship had been impressive before now, but when he walked her into the holotheater, Andromeda's eyebrows lifted. Something about it seemed ostentatious, even more than the buttery linens, the robot chef that could craft all sorts of food, the ship big enough to do cardio training by running in almost-laps. "Did you say snacks?" she asked, moving over to join him by the snacks cabinet, peering at the selection inside. "Master Thule -- " She hesitated a moment and glanced sidelong at him. " -- it's none of my business, and you should say so if I'm being impertinent, but -- I'm curious about this ship. And you."

She picked up a packet of something she didn't recognize on the pretense of studying the ingredients so that she didn't have to maintain an uncomfortable eye contact as she was being a shameless nosy parker. "Are you -- " She paused a moment; Andromeda wasn't exactly sure how to put the question. No choice but to batter through the awkwardness. " -- the thing is, this ship seems so different from any that I've been on since being with the Order. Is it because you're some kind of royalty?" That seemed like the most likely option. Of course, it was possible that he had stolen it, but that seemed incongruous with his being a Jedi Master. Andy had considered researching Master Thule using the holonet in the library back on Zakuul, but something about it felt dishonest and disrespectful.

The silence between them felt quite loud; to cut it, she held the crinkling package out to him. "I've never heard of this. What is a snit-spore snack?"

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

"It's a type of dried mushroom," he glanced at the package, taking it in his hands. "But surprisingly sweet."

Pulling open the packaging, he pulled out one of the snit-spores and popped it into his mouth. More like a sugary chip than anything else. Slightly more earthy. Jawas reportedly loved these things.

His gaze drifted back to brown irises and the little scar between her brows. He stared at her for a moment in silence, chewing and thinking about his answer to the other question, then sighed and walked past her to pick up a datapad connected to the theater's display. Thule supposed he could not hide this forever.

"I am not royalty. Not exactly."

Thule gestured aimlessly with the datapad.

"Empress Teta is my homeworld. My family is part of the Tetan nobility. And has been for... hundreds of years I suppose. I have an estate on the planet, near Cinnagar. The precise title is baron," he looked at her, onyx eyes flat, "But please don't call me that."

He handed the bag of snit-spores back to her, then went and fell into one of the oversized chairs. For once, he kicked up his legs on top of the back of the chair in front of him.

"It has its perks. This ship being one of them. But I haven't been back to Teta in years. The title and my finances have been a constant source of disagreement with the Council. Well," Will frowned, "It used to be. Here," he handed her the datapad too, "Any of these interest you?"

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

The Padawan listened, peering momentarily into the bag of snit-spore snacks until he abruptly turned and walked away with it. His confession seemed to be almost as shrouded in reluctance as her own protracted tale of woe. She stood up and carefully shut the cabinet doors as he went on. A baron. She didn't know much about nobility, but the way he said it -- and asked not to be called it -- made her think that it was complicated. If he was part of a noble family, that could explain it.

Every family was complicated in their own way, rich or poor, titled or not, happy or unhappy.

Somehow, the revelation that his life was not without its limitations and complications made Master Thule more relatable. She took back the snit-spore snacks and followed him over to the row of seats, sitting in one next to him as she looked into the bag. Andromeda gave the contents a suspicious sniff and then, with a little shrug, took one out and took a bite. She used the time chewing to consider a response.

"Are you allowed to be -- you know, what you said -- and a Jedi at the same time? Is that what caused the arguments?"

Andromeda admittedly knew very little about politics at the upper echelon of New Jedi Order power hierarchies. From her seat, it had seemed like each of the Masters had had their little fiefdom, their favorites, and that was that. The Senate had been making noise about the proper role of the Jedi for months, but that seemed like an external conflict. But perhaps it explained the way things were going for the Alliance. Ejected from the Core, on the run in their own territories, and now facing an existential threat.

It seemed to her that there were more important things to worry about than Master Thule and his title and whatever money is family had. But she supposed that was an easy thing to say when she had neither a title nor finances. Andromeda crossed her legs at the knee and took the datapad, balancing it on her top knee and touching the controls.

As she perused, she subtly offered the bag back to Master Thule, shaking it softly to get his attention. "Would you prefer I not ask you about things like that? Personal questions," she amended. There was no such thing on Irvulix V, where everyone in the village lived in each other's pockets. But she wasn't there anymore. She had to get with the times. She spared a confidential glance away from the datapad toward him before looking back down. "What's this one?" she pointed at a holofilm called The Return of the Jedi. "Did they go somewhere?"

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

Thule snorted softly and took a chip, "Not exactly. But it seems too apropos given the present context, perhaps," he leaned across and flicked the datapad to the next recommendation, eyes widening and a sudden panic spiking as the datapad asked if he wanted to resume watching Mrs. Heartbeat season 2. Chagrin etched his features. Ah. Guilty pleasures. He ate the snit-spore and gave a shrug of his eyebrows.

"Er. And yes. I can be a baron and a Jedi at the same time, though some factions disagree. There is historical precedent. Thousands of years old, but... still precedent," Thule placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, trying to relax - uncaring what other recommendations came up on the datapad. Let her see. "They were called Jedi Lords and sought to be both Jedi and just rulers. I think it's an admirable goal."

He watched the enormous theater holoscreen through half-lidded eyes.

"You can ask if you want to. Personal questions," he murmured, "I have spent too much time to myself before Zakuul. After..." he frowned, "well. It doesn't matter. I have enjoyed your company, Andromeda. So ask what you wish."

The arms distance he'd put between them seemed like such a futile gesture now. He tried to be the noble Jedi that others seemed to think he was, but how could he be when he felt this way about...

His gaze slid sidelong to her.

But there were tenets, a code. It would be wrong. If she even felt the same way.

A muscle in his jaw ticced.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda had the dubious benefit of having, until comparatively recently, been entirely ignorant of the existence of a world outside of Irvulix V. She had educated herself since then, but the awful truth was that even the most studious of students, delving into history and nothing else, would not have the historical knowledge and almost idiomatic shorthand that came with growing up absorbing it from education and culture and simply living in the galaxy that history had wrought. And Andromeda, bless her cotton socks, had had much more to do than read history. So she knew the highlights -- or, more accurately, the lowlights. The failures. The collapses. The wars that killed billions. The failures in the light that had allowed the dark side to take the upper hand, with disastrous consequences.

So, in all honesty, what Master Thule described didn't sound bad to her -- even if she was just some rube.

"For all the lessons they teach us at the Temple about being on our guard about the seductive and corrupting influence of power," Andromeda mused, glancing over at Thule momentarily. "There must be something to be said about having someone in a position of authority who tries. The Jedi of whatever time period have never been perfect, but for their faults, I don't recall reading that they failed because they were seeking personal gain. Perhaps they were too -- rigid, I suppose, or dogmatic? -- but not corrupt."

She frowned and looked back down at the datapad. The next title billed itself as an explosive adaptation of the best-selling Lady Velvet novel, 'Love as Hard as Beskar' which Andromeda quickly brushed past. She scrolled in silence for a moment. "This one looks neat," she said, holding the datapad out to Thule. It was a documentary about how astromech droids were made. She felt a weak twinge of something, like a cringe. Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, or bonding over a snit-spore snacks, but she couldn't be bothered to indulge in the impulse to make apologies for such nerdery. The truth was, Andy was interested in all manner of knowledge. In the best of times she felt thirsty for it; at the worst of times she felt stupid for lacking it.

"Don't tell me you've seen it already," she said, mock-serious.

That thirst applied also to knowledge about Master Thule, of course, but it seemed a bad repayment on his generosity to pepper him with questions -- What were you doing before Zakuul? What does a baron do? Do you still have a family on Empress Teta? What are they like? What happened to the Jedi Lords? What gave you that scar on your chest? How in the great green galaxy did your abs punch me back that time? Do you regret taking on the universe's most annoying padawan yet? So she contented herself for the moment and settled into the comfortable seat.

"I've enjoyed it, too, you know," Andromeda ventured after another snit-spore snack. "You were right that it's been hard work, but not just the training. You're easy to talk to when I can stop worrying about tripping over myself. I never felt like I could talk to someone before -- a senior member of the Order, I mean." She paused a moment and handed the snack bag back to him over the broad armrest between them, then hugged her knees to her chest. "Thank you, Master Thule."

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

The bag crinkled in his grasp.

"Of course," he replied, lips a thin smile. A dozen other thoughts came and went in the blink of an eye, though he spoke none of them. "Power corrupts. That is why the Jedi were forbidden possessions. The more you have, the more you stand to lose."

Onyx eyes focused on her then, intense and auguring, as she sat with bunched knees on the chair beside him. Legs lithe in the artificial light. Hair dark and unbound. Sitting beside her, he could smell the barest hint of jasmine on her skin.

"Is there anything you fear losing?"

The voice whispered telepathically in her mind.

His voice.

He should not have done so. Another misstep.

The Jedi shifted in his seat, the fabric of the chair soft against the bare muscles of his back. He should have stopped to get a shirt. But perhaps he did not want to. Maybe he wanted her to see him and his litany of scars. Maybe he wanted to be known.

"I have not had to face what you have. Growing up. Your head must still be spinning with the vastness of the galaxy," he offered her back the snacks without taking one. "The documentary does look intriguing," he lied, sensing her barely contained eagerness to watch it, "Put it on. These recline, you know."

Maybe the documentary would afford him some sleep.

He pushed a button on his chair and the seat tilted back, leg rest coming up with a slow muted whir.

"Why does it interest you?"

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda looked over at him as he explained why some Jedi found the concept of Jedi Lords objectionable. Some of that detail didn't quite absorb because when she looked, her eyes met his. That in itself wasn't unusual. They spoke often during her training. She tried to respect him by looking him in the eye, to be sure he knew he had her attention. But usually they were in a training environment.

And clothes.

She felt -- not uncomfortable, exactly, and not guilty, precisely. She hadn't done anything wrong. Neither one of them had done anything wrong. But in that moment, when his eyes held hers even after he had fallen silent and she had not responded, she felt the way she felt the first time Baig's ship had lifted her off Irvulix V -- like she was in danger of falling a very, very long way. The sensation made her giddy then and now. There was something deeply fascinating, something unfathomable, in Thule's eyes; they felt somehow unguarded, for the first time she noticed. Anromeda couldn't look away.

And she didn't, until she heard him whisper a question, and her eyes dropped to his mouth. But it hadn't moved -- had it? Andromeda had heard him distinctly, though. She finally looked away, but the sensation of vertigo -- experienced in her core, rather than her brain -- didn't abate. What do I fear losing? she asked herself. "I thought the luxury of having nothing was having nothing to lose," Andy said, in a voice that sounded like a joke. But the humor rang hollow there. "I suppose if I look deep down, it's -- this. The potential I have to become a Jedi. The connections I've made since I joined the Order. It's not all been smooth sailing, but it's what I have to my name."

He had leaned back now, and Andromeda's eyes drifted, settling on the circular scar on his chest. It felt like it was almost daring her to ask about it, or empathize with its bearer. Andy was concerned -- whatever it was, it must have been a grievous wound, maybe traumatizing. Maybe it was bothering him still. She wanted to lift him, the way he had lifted her about her own scar. Beauty in broken things.

Instead of speaking, a tremulous hand reached out, unbidden, and --

Andy caught herself, seizing instead the bag of mushroom crisps on the armrest between them in a spasmatic lurch. Suddenly blushing, she busied herself with a close inspection of the texture of the snacks. She straightened and cleared her throat. Yeah, act casual now, fool. "I --uh -- I have a droid. Captain Baig gave him to me. I've been just about able to get him fully functioning, but his circuits gave me some trouble. He shuts down at the slightest provocation. I thought it might give me some insights." A beat. "Besides, so many things have droid brains. It would be good to know a little more than nothing about them."

"And you, Master?" She sought to put distance between herself and that awkward lurch towards him. "Not -- about that," she said gesturing toward the screen. "I mean, are you ever worried about losing one or another, or -- I don't know. Having to choose between them? Jedi and baron? What people want or need, and the will of the Force? How do you know the difference?" Andy looked at him again, this time not flinching away when their eyes met. Her own pupils made micromovements, as if searching his eyes for reassurance that it was something that she could learn in time.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

"I do. What you ask is the age old question. Ask twenty Jedi what the will of the Force is and these days you might receive twenty-one answers. When so many think themselves right, how are we to decide?" He shook his head, stretching out his hands into the air in a wide gesture, "Impossible," he settled them beneath his head again after smoothing back his hair, "You must follow what you believe is right. And you must not waver or turn aside when it becomes difficult."

Thule noted the way her hand reached out and paused before grabbing the bag from him. He could sense something deeper beneath her curiosity. Lips firmed in a line.

And when things became complicated? When the clean lines of light and dark blurred with brown irises and half-open dresses? When he felt a desire for what he knew would be forbidden? What then?

"But I do fear loss. I have already lost Teta to the Empire. And most of my friends in the order. And my last padawan. I suppose what I fear to lose most now would be..."

His breathing slowed, chest stilling as he reclined, hands still behind his head. Thule met her searching gaze and his own did not waiver. Not for an instant. Not in this.

"You."

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Some pieces of the puzzle tumbled onto the table. They weren't in place, yet, but Andy could at least see the shapes.

Master Thule had lost a Padawan before. He had lost friends. He'd lost his entire homeworld to the enemy. Andromeda's mind raced as questions tumbled out of her consciousness, piling up in her mind. She managed, barely, to restrain herself from spouting them off carelessly. Her eyes lingered on his for a long time, suddenly shining in the dim light. Andromeda had spent weeks admiring William Thule as a mentor, appreciating him as a teacher, occasionally enjoying his company as -- if not a friend, then at least a friendly acquaintance. Coworkers, maybe, in some sense. She hadn't known, hadn't been able to see the loss he was carrying.

Now, she empathized with him. It wasn't pity, but she did feel sorry for his plight. Pity was reserved for those who had not the means to resolve the challenges that faced them. She knew that didn't describe him. "I had no idea," she said quietly, and she rested a hand on his forearm. "Empress Teta... of course." Andy took a shaky breath, squeezed lightly. There was nothing else she could think to say; a platitude -- don't worry, we'll get it back -- would ring hollow to both of them.

And his apprentice. That explained the way he looked at her sometimes, she thought. The intensity of his gaze, it had to be concern, didn't it? Is it too soon? she asked herself. Only he could answer, and she couldn't bring herself to ask. What if he said yes? So concerned was the padawan about this that she nearly blew right past what he said about losing her.

Nearly.

"I wish I could tell you not to worry," Andy said honestly, meeting his gaze again. Her countenance reflected confidence, if not bravado. Perhaps because she was trying to reassure Master Thule, and not justify herself. "But you've taught me well, and I will keep learning and growing. I won't go down without a fight. I -- can I ask, what happened to your last apprentice?"

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

"That... is a longer story," Thule tried to smile but it did not quite reach his eyes, "For another time. Now, I believe we have a fascinating documentary on astromech production to watch."

He reached over and hit the play button on the datapad. Music blared over the speakers and the holotheater came to life. The soothing, clipped tones of a Core worlder began narrating about astromechs. Thule supposed if he had been a starfighter pilot he might be more interested. Instead, his gaze became half-lidded, and his breathing slowed.

The minutes ticked by as he sat in the chair, thinking, with her next to him and the smell of jasmine still lingering. He dared not fall asleep, for he knew not what he would dream.

* * *

The next day, word came that from Alliance High Command. The Death Star was destroyed and Atrisia held, but the loss was catasrophic. Both the ANV Tython and Organa were destroyed in the engagement. Thule closed his eyes as he read those words, unable to read any further for a long moment. A silent tear tracked down his cheek and his eyes stung. He sat with the news in his quarters for a long while, knowing in the Force that his friend Kivat was dead. That was why he had been unable to sleep the other night.

There was no reason for them to continue to Atrisia now except to help with the repair efforts.

Thule stripped out of his clothes and stepped inside the sanisteamer. He placed both palms flat on the wall and leaned. An ache carved through him, cold and biting, and squeezing at his heart until he thought it might burst. The blast of hot mist and air washed over him and he let them scrub away his tears and his pain. Heavy breaths eased into something more controlled. When he stepped out and toweled off, he looked at himself in the mirror. The whites of his eyes were red and his features looked a stubborn mask. A thin veneer of calm.

Taking a deep breath, Thule got dressed and went to break the news to Andromeda.

The next four days passed with some sporadic training, but Will's heart was not in it. They grew closer and closer to Atrisia. Toward evening, an alert chimed in the cockpit. He lurched into the chair and studied the alert. Sensors detected a distress signal. It would take them several days away from Atrisia. Rebuilding efforts would likely be well underway by then. Will closed his eyes and made the decision.

The truth was, he couldn't bear to go to Atrisia now. Now when there was hardly anything left of the Order. He punched in the coordinates for the distress beacon and let Andromeda know.

Just 72 more hours with her. Alone. Then they would pick up the survivors, if there were any, of this distressed ship. He didn't know how he felt about that. Why did he feel jealous?

* * *

"Initiating docking procedures," said the automated ship's system as it brought them in alongside the floating wreckage of what may have once been a light frigate, but now only half remained. It seemed a military ship, but oddly Thule had not seen any sigils indicating to who it belonged, nor did it have any active IFF beyond the distress beacon.

And there was something else he could feel from the ship. Something darker.

The derelict hung in space, floating, half of it blown to pieces. No operable engines that the sensors could detect, but they did pick up active life systems. The ship was pressurized.

The Pegasus hissed as it docked with one of the frigate's airlocks.

"Stay close," Thule unclipped his lightsaber and glanced at Andromeda before they entered the airlock, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

The news from Atrisia was a one-two punch. The destruction of the Death Star III saved millions, maybe billions of lives. But thousands were dead in the wake of the battle, including thousands of Alliance personnel dead. The ANV Tython and the ANV Organa were destroyed. Two of the largest weapons in the arsenal of the Galactic Alliance, gone in a single day.

Andromeda Demir was no expert in military strategy, but she found herself wondering how the Alliance could walk away from such a blow, from a victory so costly it might as well have been a defeat. Master Thule seemed to take the news personally, and in the context of what he had shared about himself, it was only natural. Liberating Teta from the grasp of the Empire was never going to be easy. Without the Tython and the Organa it seemed and even more remote possibility. It would take Herculean optimism not to be discouraged by this troubling turn of events. But it seemed like more than that.

In the days that followed, Andromeda trained with Master Thule when he could and on her own when he could not. She was barely getting burned by the drones, even when she kicked up the difficulty level. She ran circuits back and forth along the ship's elongated horseshoe every morning and on the ship's gym's treadmill set to an incline, building stamina every day. She spent the time between training and meals meditating, allowing herself to ruminate on the nature and mystery of the Force, though -- admittedly -- in those quiet moments, she occasionally allowed her mind indulgent vagaries to other mysteries, most notably one William Thule. That night had not repeated, though -- until the news of the debacle at Atrisia -- things had felt easier between them, somehow. She felt less like a social neophyte and burden, and he felt to her like a man whose flesh and blood and heart were not unlike her own: stronger, perhaps, but fallible, prone to bruising and breaking.

She did allow herself a few minutes each day to catch up on the documentary, too, because she had closed her eyes for just a moment that night, only to wake up with her head on the armrest, enjoying the warm, faintly woody spiced smell she had come to identify with Master Thule. Thanking the Force that she hadn't drooled in her sleep, she made her apologies and excused herself to retire to bed.

But she still wanted to learn about how droids were made.

The distress signal unsettled Andromeda. Of course she wanted to help, and if there was gander and they could help, then they must. She didn't want to trouble William with it. He had probably considered all the angles by now, and he had cares of his own now. But wasn't it a bit convenient? A distress signal, along one of the routes to Atrisia, which the whole galaxy must have known by now would be attracting every Jedi and Alliance ship. It could easily have been a trap. And of course it was impossible to know until they boarded the distressed ship.

Andromeda meditated. Always in motion was the Force, and the glimpses of what she saw were ambiguous, clouded in shadow. The only constant was a feeling of foreboding.

* * * * *
​

Andromeda's lightsaber was already in hand. She stood near the docking ring, examining the status readout on the little panel. "Seals are good," Andy informed Master Thule, glancing over her shoulder at him. "There's breathable atmosphere." For now. The Padawan unhooked a breather from the small cabinet next to the door, then another, which she offered to Master Thule. She clipped the mask to her tunic's neckline so it would be handy in event of a crisis and thus, duly prepared, she stepped into the airlock.

As she waited for the airlock to cycle, Andromeda opened herself up to the Force, opening herself to its wisdom and its warnings. She could feel Thule's presence there, clear and strong, but there were other signatures she could feel in the Force, whose intentions were not yet clear.

"I sense... great danger, Master," she said breathlessly.

The airlock cycled and they found themselves at the entrance to the distressed ship. And distressed did it look indeed. The emergency lighting was on, bathing the corridor in an eerie crimson light. Sparks flew from a damaged panel near a doorway where one half of the door was shuddering open and shut rhythmically, while the other was jammed halfway open.

Andromeda couldn't see anyone. Yet.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

"Yes. Stay close."

Thule clipped the rebreather she handed him into a pouch on his utility belt, then trod deeper into the bowels of the ruined frigate. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the lightsaber as he ducked under fallen conduits torn from the ceiling with the force of some impact. They passed two turns before they encountered the first bodies.

"Imperials."

They wore the black uniforms and insignias of the Empire. Thule's blood ran cold. And he thought that they must needs turn back, but the darkness grew oppressive. Would he abandon his enemies to float off and perish in the depths of space? No. Someone had activated a distress beacon. Law, both Galactic common and the statutes of the Alliance, demanded that he stay and render aid.

At least five corpses and dismembered limbs lay scattered across the corridor like fallen leaves. Thule bent beside one and checked the body. The wounds were clean. Cauterized.

"A lightsaber did this," Thule looked over at Andromeda, trepidation growing.

Another Jedi? Or something else...

The darkness seemed thickest ahead, just patch a hatchway whose automated door continuously tried to close, thwarted by the corpse laying in its path. Overhead, half the overhead lights were fried and the others flickered occasionally with the dwindling power.

William pushed the door open, grunting with the effort, then stepped into a room that might once have been some sort of command center, arranged like an amphitheater. Console and desks lined the floor in a half circle, while at the far end a broken viewscreen would have broadcast details of the battlefield or intelligence. Down at the floor, standing before the viewscreen, stood a figure armored all in black. Thule's eyes noted the lightsaber staff in the figure's hand and the symbol of the Dark Side Elite emblazoned on a shoulder pauldron.

His breath quickened and he sent out a wave of reassurance to Andromeda in the Force.

Do not falter.

The figure turned around on them, exposing a breastplate scarred by a half-dozen blaster scorchmarks.

"Finally. Come to rescue me... Jedi?" Harsh laughter issued from beneath the figure's helmet, then he activated his saber staff one end at a time and the bars blazed crimson. "I knew one of you would be foolish enough to respond to my distress beacon."

Thule frowned, adopting a defensive stance, then activated his own lightsaber. The curved hilt shimmered to life and he held it down and away at his side. "Stay with me," he murmured only loud enough for Andromeda to hear.

The Dark Sider swept his saber staff across the ground in front of him, scoring the durasteel deck and sending up a spray of molten shards.

Thule advanced slowly, keeping a close eye on the distance between them, then he leaped forward and closed the distance. His body accelerated to inhuman speeds with the Force, Thule's form blurred and he was suddenly in front of the Dark Sider. His lightsaber thrusted and parried in a whirlwind of testing strikes. The crackle of their blades a cacophony in the silence of the empty command center.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

The Padawan crouched next to a corpse, touched for a pulse, and shook her head immediately. He was already cold. She carefully pulled his eyelids shut and murmured a brief prayer from the burial rites back home. May thy maker forgive what can be forgiven. She didn't know these people. Their uniforms suggested that they were Imperial personnel, which made them enemies. But she wanted to believe -- to hope -- that redemption was possible for anyone, including Imperials. It was not for her to decide that.

But perhaps not for whoever had butchered these people.

The savagery seemed to have been done for the love of the game, not for any purpose. Andromeda agreed with William's assessment of the wounds. She supposed a plasma cutter of some extraction could have done it; she'd seen enough accidents on Irvulix V around the plasma beam mining tool before it had become irreparably damaged. But now? In a time of war?

Odds were better that it was a lightsaber.

They soon found the perpetrator. It was as she -- and probably Master Thule -- expected: a trap. They couldn't just leave it to draw in another well-intentioned but unsuspecting ship. Dozens of Jedi were probably racing to Atrisia now, and some number of them would likely pass within range. So they had one option: spring the trap.

"Stay with me," Master Thule said, and she felt a warm internal glow in the Force.

Assurance that they would be all right. They would have to be. She gave him a resolute nod.

"Always," she said, solemn and binding as a vow, pouring similar energy into the connection between them in the Force.

They moved as one. Thule, almost blindingly fast. Andromeda, with all due haste, descending the stairs of the amphitheater briefing room smoothly as she opened herself to the Force. Guide me, she sought moments before she joined. The Dark Sider sensed her, brought up his blade in a backward parry, somehow using the same movement to thrust his blade towards Master Thule. Andromeda darted forward again -- thrust, thrust, riposte -- and she ducked under a sparking wire's end while Master Thule pushed the adept back. Andromeda saw the chance, took it --

Manipulating the wire was easy; the Dark Side menace noticed too late -- or not at all -- and let out an enraged shriek as the live end of the wire grazed his neck. His retaliation was a swift rebuke: a wave of pure, rage-fueled kinetic energy blasting at Andromeda. The Padawan drew on the Force, rooted herself in its serene power, and staggered back two steps, tumbling back over a fallen bench rather than being slammed into the broken combat information panel as he must have intended.

She blinked the spots in her vision away and clambered to her feet, looking for a way to get back in the fight, her face a mask of grim determination. Her little forehead scar a divot as deep as her worry and concentration.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

Thule grit his teeth as a blast of energy knocked Andromeda away. The urge to run to her side and check on her welled in him, but he knew it would be the wrong choice. He needed to trust in her, in their training, and in the Force. To focus on the battle at hand.

He flicked his wrist out, indigo blade sparking off one end of the Elite's weapon as he drew attention back to himself. Then they danced across the amphitheater floor with blows nearly too fast for the human eye to follow in a swirling array of crimson and silvery-blue. The Dark Sider was fast. Even faster than Thule. And controlled his saberstaff as if he'd spent his entire life wielding the weapon, whipping one end then the other toward William's face, then his head, then his legs.

The exchanges with the double-bladed weapon kept Thule on the defensive. He thought he saw an opening and struck, a simple, economical downward stroke aimed to cleave the staff in two. But as his blade struck the metal he knew he had miscalculated, for his plasma blade did not sunder it. Instead, it whited out and fizzled into nothing.

Thule's heart dropped as he realized his error.

Cortosis hilt.

Then the Dark Sider was on him. Thule leaped backward, avoiding a blow aimed to decapitate him, and felt the heat of the plasma sear too near to his throat.

Desperate, he called on the Force and wrenched at the artificial light surrounding them. Without the rays of a star or a reactor, he could not bend more dangerous forms of light like cosmic gamma rays, ultraviolet, or x-rays to burn through the armored Dark Sider. But he could still manipulate the light just enough to give him a moment.

He held up a palm and the light shimmered around his form, distorting until he became invisible.

The Elite drew up short for one heart beat as Thule circled to his left, trying to give time for Andromeda to enter the fray.

"Fine. Play your games, Jedi. I'll just kill the female."

The Dark Sider turned to engage Andromeda and in that moment, Thule sprinted forward. His boots pounded on the durasteel. The Dark Sider half-turned toward him. Too late. Thule slapped his bare hand on the Elite's visor and let the Force flow through him.

"Look away, Andromeda!"

Light erupted forth, blindingly brilliant enough to overwhelm even the polarized lens of the visor it was pressed directly against. The Dark Sider let out a scream of rage, then Thule felt a sudden pain flaring white-hot in his stomach. He glanced down and saw the glowing end of the saberstaff's emitter pressed to his stomach. A torrent of agony colder than Hoth engulfed him, then he fell backward off the blade and everything went black.

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda watched, disbelieving, as the two men struggled. The streaks of colored light were evidence of almost unbelievable movement. She darted forward, drew back, stumbled over an uneven bit of deckplating. Idiot, she barked internally. She got to her feet again, watched as Master Thule went to rend the Dark Sider's lightsaber with his own, felt a momentary wellspring of hope. The man had mastery over this odd double-ended lightsaber; if Master Thule could deprive him of that advantage, then maybe, just maybe --

There was a flash of light and the blade disappeared. The room was dominated by the crimson light of the Dark Sider's blades, and Master Thule's dark robes all but vanished. Andromeda squinted, seeking for him, and for a moment she was struck with the awful certainty that he had become one with the Force, vanished at the moment of death. A cold sensation gripped at her chest, but before despair could set in, she remembered his lesson. Don't look. Don't think. Feel. Trust the Force.

She reached into the Force and she could feel him there. Alive. A trick with the light?

Andy had no time to consider it; the Dark Sider was advancing on her. She thumbed her blade and the vivid blue-green illuminated her face in a mask of gritted teeth and confidence that she tried to feel. "Just you try," she answered in a snarl, bringing her blade up in preparation to strike. And several things happened all at once.

Without the warning, Andromeda would have been dazed. As it was, even looking away, she could see the searing light through her eyelids. The Dark Sider screamed his rage and she looked up just in time to see the Dark Sider make a jerky movement. His blade disappeared and Andromeda thought that Master Thule had managed to destroy the lightsaber somehow. But then -- that cold grasp in her chest seized around her heart as Master Thule staggered, then tumbled, revealing the full blade once more.

She didn't know when she started moving, didn't know what possessed her. All she knew was that she had to end this, to save Master Thule and herself, to save any further Jedi or Alliance personnel that might come along. The calculus was simple. She made the choice. She accepted the responsibility. Andromeda's blade slashed downward on a vicious diagonal, moving like a hot knife through butter. It was just like that time on the landing pad on Irvulix V and nothing like it all at once. The Dark Sider came apart, the top of his torso, sliding left and down without the benefit of an intact spine, muscles, or vital organs to keep it upright.

The malevolence in the Force lifted immediately; Andromeda hardly noticed. She disabled her lightsaber and jammed it into her utility belt, not pausing even to clip it properly. "Master Thule?" She demanded, dropping to her knees beside him. It was hard to tell where he was injured; the dark robes in the dim light didn't show blood. But when she pressed her hand to his midsection, it was hot and slick with his blood. "Master! No no no no no." She took a deep, albeit shaky breath and took hold of his tunic, tearing it open from where it had been pierced by the saber.

"Stay with me," Andromeda ordered, unclear beyond the subtle movements of his chest indicating breathing whether he was with her at all. Fingers fumbled in at her belt, and then she paused to wipe the blood on her leggings before trying again. Stop the bleeding first, she remembered from her first aid training. Stop the bleeding. Andromeda's shaking hands peeled the backing off a patch of synthflesh. She pressed down hard to ensure the seal, hoping that the Jedi Master would respond.

Andromeda brushed stray hair from her face, smearing blood on her forehead. She stood, then crouched and scooped up the Dark Sider's lightsaber. Tucking it back into her belt to study for later.

On Irvulix V, Andromeda had heard stories of mothers lifting heavy machinery to save their children, of wives lifting boulders to free their husbands. She had never had reason to doubt it, but she surprised even herself by crouching and, in one awkward movement, hauled Master Thule's body over her shoulder. She could almost hear her spine creak in protest. But then she remembered herself, opened the floodgates to the Force, which strengthened her, and she used as much telekinesis as she dared to shift him, then began to make her way awkwardly back to Master Thule's ship. "I've got you," she grunted, hoping it was still true.

It seemed like hours, the trek back to the ship, along the corridor to the medical bay. She tried to ease Master Thule onto the bed, but he was jostled. The lights on the ship seemed harsh compared to the darkness of the trap ship, and in the garish bright she could see so much blood. Andy tried not to dwell on it, crossing over to the autodoc computer. It insisted on doing an diagnostic scan, which she thought was damned stupid, because it was obvious what was wrong, but the machine wouldn't even offer treatment options without. "Do it. Do -- stanging do it," she cursed, tapping the screen impatiently, leaving a bloody fingerprint there.

The autodoc whirred into motion, and Andromeda went to the other side of the bed, taking hold of Master Thule's arm, as if to anchor him to this mortal plane. You must be all right, she implored him through the Force.

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

He faded in and out of consciousness, recalling only snapshots and feelings. Pain, mostly. He should have been able to shut it out, to tamp down the pain with application of the Force. But the crushing weight of sorrow bore down on him. The cascade of despair overwhelmed him, of the loss of so many of his friends, of all he had had to do in the name of the Alliance, and of how none of it seemed to matter before the constant relentlessness of the Dark Side. The disruption to his concentration made winning the fight on the frigate all but impossible to achieve by himself.

Maybe part of him longed to die on that frigate in the middle of nowhere, struck down in one final battle.

It would be an end to the suffering.

Instead, he awoke in the medical bay of the Pegasus.

He tried to sit up and felt a searing lance of pain from his midsection. Thule clasped a hand to the swathe of bandages covering his stomach and grunted.

"Computer... how long have I been out?"

"Good morning, Jedi Master Thule," replied the automated voice of his ship, "You have been unconscious since your return from the distress call, 76 hours and 29 minutes ago."

"Three days?" he collapsed back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, an emotionless shade of sterile white. Thule closed his eyes against the glare of the overheads.

"I will alert Padawan Demir that you are awake."

Padawan Demir. She made it out. And by the looks of it she saved him. He crushed the heel of a palm against his forehead. Padawan. What would he do with her? He couldn't keep training her, not in his current state. But what other training did she need? She knew all the basics. His training had been more of a... refresher. A polishing. To prepare her for what came next.

But what did it matter.

"How far are we from the nearest Alliance system?" he asked the computer.

"The Alliance no longer exists, Jedi Master Thule."

His blood froze.

"What?"

"The Decree of Dissolution broadcast yesterday at 1800 hours."

His throat constricted.

"And the Jedi Order?"

"Disbanded."

Thule bit the inside of his cheek. The pain did not stop the stinging in his eyes. The overhead lights blurred wetly.

"Gone," he rasped. "All gone."

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda had spent the first twelve hours sitting by Master Thule's bedside, eyes alert for any changes. The autodoc had gently suggested that her presence was not, strictly speaking, necessary for the health of the patient. She didn't budge, not until the needs of her body overwhelmed her determination to stay. She had stepped out after order the droid to alert her if there was any change to Master Thule's conditions. It felt strange to give the droid orders, when it was not her droid to command, but if the droid was bothered it didn't say so.

After a stop in the 'fresher to answer nature's call, which she extended for a sanisteam shower upon catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, smeared with blood, Andromeda had changed into fresh clothes, eaten two ration bars, and brought a canteen of water back to the medical bay to resume her vigil.

She slept a little, but she might as well not have. Every time she woke her eyes went to Thule's chest to confirm to herself that he was still breathing.

A few hours later, the droid informed her that Master Thule's condition is stable, but there is no way to know when he will regain consciousness.

"But he will, right?" The droid regarded her with unfeeling, unblinking photoreceptors. "Won't he?" she demanded.

The droid's answer did not satisfy her. But he was out of immediate danger, for now. She could attend to other obligations. "I'm going back to the frigate," Andromeda told the droid, as if it was keeping track of her attendance. "If William -- that is, when Master Thule -- comes to, if it's before I come back, please tell him I'll return."

She ran a sensor scan of the frigate and gave it a thorough once-over in the Force. She sensed no life anywhere. The stink of the dark side had dissipated. Still, she was wary going back. She brought a flashlight and her lightsaber and crept through the ship as quickly and as quietly as she could. The bridge was a similar story as the rest of it, with lightsaber-scored corpses and carnage as far as she could see. Andromeda disabled the distress signal and, on a whim, ejected the ship's data core. Maybe there would be useful information on it.

She returned to the Pegasus and cycled the airlock, then locked it.

Andromeda settled into a rhythm. She began the day with a high-intensity workout in the gym, followed by two punishing rounds of training with the drones, then a hot shower. She broke her fast in the medical bay, watching Master Thule, willing him to open his eyes. After cleaning up from her breakfast, Andy meditated -- sometimes at Thule's bedside, sometimes elsewhere. She checked on the plant and checked the long-range comms to see if there were more messages, studiously ignoring the messages that he had received beforehand. Some respect for his privacy would be appreciated, she thought.

She did chores, although he had never assigned any to her. She needed something to keep her occupied. She organized the storage pantry, the first day by alphabetical order, the second day by category, the third by calorie content. Andromeda cleaned the refrigerator and the cooktop in the galley and did some laundry. The blood came out of his clothes and hers, but naturally the gash remained. In the evenings, after another two rounds with the drones, a sparse dinner, and washing and brushing to prepare for sleep, Andromeda sat with Thule. On the second day, after the laundry, she had a task to keep her occupied: repairing his tunic, though she didn't have any black thread.

"I hope you like blue," Andy told Thule, surprised at the hoarseness of her voice. Then she realized she hadn't spoken since she had inbterrogated the medical droid. How long ago had that been, anyway? She took a drink of water and licked her lips. "I'll bet you won't even notice. Five credits. It's a bet." She tried to ignore the droid slowly rotating its head to favor her with its photoreceptors. She wanted to assure it that she was not losing her mind, but that would only have confirmed its suspicions.

She ended each evening vigil with a little bit of Irvulixian medicine of her own, the same one applied by her mother with every scrape and burn and cut. Andromeda pressed a kiss to her fingers and then laid them gently on William's brow. Maybe it didn't do anything. Probably it didn't do anything. But she was ready to try anything. And she would settle into the uncomfortable guest chair in the medical bay and read until exhaustion pulled her into a dark, deep sleep.

The fourth day dawned much the same, although somehow darker. The emergency broadcast of the collapse of the Galactic Alliance had come through as she was cleaning her dishes from dinner. Andromeda had known it was likely coming, after the loss of the Alliance's two behemoths, but hearing the words was like a blow to the stomach. The grief and uncertainty had preyed on her, and for once, she allowed herself to indulge it. It took her mind off Thule, to the extent that it was possible. It disturbed her sleep, so when she rose on the fourth morning, it was from an even less restful sleep. She carefully folded the almost-mended tunic and set it on the nearby table, and went to change for her workout. She had just finished her second round of training with the drones when the ship's intercom chimed.

"Padawan Demir: Master Thule has regained consciousness."

She pulled Master Thule's scarf from her eyes so that it draped around her neck, her pulse hammering in her veins. Forgetting that she looked like hell, sporting a few fresh burns on her arms and one on her side and a very disheveled ponytail, she sprinted to the medical bay, nearly sliding past the door in her stocking feet. "Master Thule," Andromeda breathed, relief pouring out of her in the Force, a borderline giddy grin on her face. "Thank the Light." She went to the side of the bed immediately, instinctively resting her hand on his chest. "Don't try to get up too quickly. How do you feel?"

William Thule​

 

[William Thule]

"I have been better," William admitted, smiling wanly at the sight of her face, trying to pretend as though the collapse of the Alliance did not crush the last remnants of his drive to fight on.

The warmth of her palm against his skin, fingertips stippling his chest, felt more soothing than a patch of bacta. He reached up and placed his hand atop hers, squeezing gently.

"The ship tells me you saved my life," his voice came in a hoarse rasp through vocal chords that managed to stay steady despite the pressure of despair constricting them. "Thank you."

He lay there for a moment in silence, staring into her soft umber eyes. Sweat beaded her brown and errant strands of her dark hair clung to her face. So, she continued to train even with him unconscious. Good.

"I-" he paused, brows lowering just a hair, "Is that my scarf?"

Thule snorted softly, and shook his head, then his grip on her hand tightened. "Help me to my feet. There's something I need to do."

Standing with her aid, he found his footing. Somehow, the very act of being upright again brought new strength to his limbs. He straightened his spine, gritting his teeth against the pain. "I'm sure you've learned by now about the Alliance. About the Order. It's gone. But I'm not going to let your dream slip away, Andromeda."

Reaching out with his mind, he found where his lightsaber had been stored on a counter in the medbay and pulled. The hilt floated swiftly across the room before smacking into his palm. Another surge of energy coursed through him at the feel of the hilt, familiar in his hand. He would need to retool it for encounters with cortosis in the future. He would not make the same mistake twice. Should he ever get the chance. But now... now he needed to set something right. Something. The only thing he could truly control in a galaxy that was crashing down around them.

"You have earned this, by your training when you joined the Order and facing down a Dark Sider, by the courage you displayed in seeking to atone for your deeds, by the weeks of harsh training with me, and by saving my life and facing down an Elite alone. I will not say you have nothing more to learn, but I have done all I can. Kneel, Padawan Andromeda Demir."

He ignited his blade and it crackled to life in the sterile chamber. He stood there a moment, bare chested and swathed in bandages, her kneeling before him sweaty and unkempt and wide-eyed, then he placed his lightsaber over first one shoulder, then her other, "Rise, Andromeda Demir, Jedi Knight."

Andromeda Demir

 

[Andromeda Demir]

​

Andromeda's hand went to her chest, where the forgotten scarf hung. "Oh -- yes. I was training with the drones. Blindfolded, like you taught me. Do you -- er -- want it back?" She hesitated a moment. "Let me wash it for you first. I've been training a lot with it."

When he tried to get up, Andromeda resisted at first. "I think the thing you need to do is rest, Master -- I'm sure the droid would agree?" She cast a glance at the droid, who appeared to have developed a selective deafness, and when Thule insisted, she relented and took his hand, helped him to his feet. "Just -- let's not overdo it, Master."

"I'm sure you've learned by now about the Alliance. About the Order. It's gone. But I'm not going to let your dream slip away, Andromeda."

She glanced irritably at the droid. "I -- yes, Master. I heard the broadcast. I was hoping to tell you that myself when you were back up on your feet." She paused a moment, looked up into his face. "I'm sorry, Master Thule. I know you've given your life to the Order. It -- it cannot be easy." She wanted to prompt him, to assure him that they would carry on in some other form. He was in no state to be crusading on his own, now. Not that he seemed to be terribly interested in her efforts to keep him resting.

He's had one mother, she reminded herself. You're his Padawan.

Except that she wouldn't be for much longer. "You have earned this, by your training when you joined the Order and facing down a Dark Sider, by the courage you displayed in seeking to atone for your deeds, by the weeks of harsh training with me, and by saving my life and facing down an Elite alone. I will not say you have nothing more to learn, but I have done all I can. Kneel, Padawan Andromeda Demir."

She knelt at his instruction, wondering momentarily what he had planned -- maybe he needed help with putting on his shoes? -- but when his intentions became clear, the miner's daughter looked up at him with wide eyes. She felt overwhelmed by the moment. It was not as she would have imagined -- he, half-dead from a grievous wound and mourning the passing of his former would; she, wired from a lack of sleep, sweaty from training, uncertain about her future -- but it was beautiful in its own way.

Andromeda didn't look away from him as he brought his blade down toward one shoulder, then the other, and bid her rise -- "Rise, Andromeda Demir, Jedi Knight." A single tear escaped her eye, racing down her cheek before dripping from her chin and finally disappearing into the black fabric of her training tank-top. She took a shaky breath and smiled tightly up at Thule -- tightly, guardedly, because she was contending internally with the heady mixture of emotions from this powerful moment.

"Thank you, Master," she said. "I -- I will endeavor to be a credit to your teaching."

William Thule​