Remembrance of Things Past

Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance.

It was rarely that Tionne Thanewulf regretted her words; a proud, dignified woman she was never even questioned whether her argumentation had shaken the very foundations of the person she had spoken with. Verbally both reckless and versatile, the redhead often ignored emotional repercussions of debates she so zealously immersed herself in. Still, failing to convince the other side always left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, especially if the person she argued with was somebody of great importance. And Barton Henning certainly was. The power he honed was the essence of her own existence, the sole remedy to that one flaw Force had bestowed upon her. She needed him like wroshyr trees needed light of the sun; without Barton’s invigorating touch, the Knight would wither as any mortal when harm would come her way. With fragility carefully wrapped in layers of cynicism and relativism, Thanewulf was a tender flower with stalk easily broken in turbulent winds. But not many knew this; apart from her apprentice and Master, other fellow Jedi had no cognizance of this blemish, for practical and tactical reasons alike.

‘’Thanewulf.’’ was the sole word the ginger-haired Jedi uttered into the comm in the airlock, when prompted for some sort of identification. A part of her believed the door would never open after she identified herself, as Henning would never let her aboard his ship after their last conversation. Thus she nervously tapped her foot against the steel floor, heavy sole echoing against the cold, metallic surface. In a matter of second, the answer came.
‘’Come in, Knight Thanewulf.’’ the voice sounded, followed by a hiss of depressurizing doors that parted before Tionne’s very eyes. Silently, the Jedi slipped inside, gripping the bottle she was carrying even harder. Her palms sweated, threatening to release the sleek container as she progressed down the corridor, heavily relying on the Force to locate the Healer. Her senses shoveled through heaps of thick metallic plating that divided different sections of Knighfall until they finally latched onto a vibrant, but torpid signature. One feeble touch against the controls opened the door at the end of the corridor; Tionne stood in the doorway, clad in a pair of black cargo pants and a black tank top contrasting her pale complexion greatly. Freshly washed hair framed her freckled face; lips parted, but no words came out of her mouth. The room was dark, with the sole light being the sparkle of stars coming from a small window on the opposite wall. The Knight exhaled, making her presence notable.

‘’I missed the sunset on Coruscant. So I went to see it. And it is as beautiful as it was aeons ago.’’ she managed, finding no better words for the moment. Her conscience propelled her to take another step inside, but shackles of pride buried the Knight in place.
Motionless, she waited for some kind of approval of her presence on his territory.

Henning turned in his sleep. The white vest he wore clung to his skin, sweat-damp, whilst a coarse nerf-wool blanket tangled around his legs. He slept on his side, head resting in the crook of one arm, for lack of any pillow.

...crouched low, they watched as the clones began to count the dead. The temple-steps were almost lost beneath the heap of corpses. From a distance, Barton could no longer tell who had been thrown on the pyre, and who was yet to be accounted for. His eyes sought familiar things – the rune-marked robes of the librarian, or the distinctive features of those masters who were not human – but the darkness of night, the smoke and scorches of battle, turned each body into an inhuman lump. The dry, burnt air made his eyes water and he blinked away the tears. He barely even saw the trooper moving towards him and failed to react until a blaster bolt lanced out through the darkness, hissing into the space he had occupied seconds ago-

“Nngh!”

With a start, Barton was awake and sitting up, his weight on one elbow as his weapon hand twitched for the lightsaber it knew wasn't there. The sight of a figure in the bunk doorway forced his mind to focus in an instant, his heart still thudding in his chest as the echoes of dream-emotion faded.

“..Tionne? How...”

Seeing him wake made something inside Thanewulf twitch; instantly, she assumed coming here was a mistake to begin with. Certainly, there were far subtler ways of apologizing than barging in on someone whilst he sleeps.
The Knight bit her lip inwardly, eyes scraping against the darkness of the floor. With doors closing automatically behind her, the two of them were left in relative darkness.
''Your pilot...let me in.'' she spoke softly, chasing any of her trademark crudity away. The tone of her voice was supple, laced with geniality that graced her gender. It was a face Tionne showed rarely.

''I guess you forgot to forbid him to let me ever thread these halls... I probably deserve to be ejected out of the airlock sometimes...'' the redhead continued in a self-scolding manner, the faintest of chuckles leaving her mouth. A faint headshake ensued, as she remembered why she was here in the first place. With eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light, Henning finally became visible in his bunk bed.
''I brought you this... I figured you might need it.'' the Jedi finalized, lifting the bottle in the air slightly, then advancing a few steps to the side of his bed and placed it on the minute crate that served as a nighttable. Whyren's Reserve - the label said.

Barton looked at the bottle and opened his mouth to speak, though had no idea what to say. Perhaps it was the after-effects of waking so suddenly, but everything felt surreal. It didn't help matters that there was something ethereal about Tionne Thanewulf, in spite of her sometimes sterile manner. She loomed over him in the darkness like an apparition from some pleasant dream, as if her being there was perfectly normal.

“Thanks,” Barton murmured as he disentangled himself from the bed, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I'm, uh... Coruscant? Really?”

''Aye. I was all out of tobacco.'' she offered, true reason for her voyage to the Empire's capital still hidden. Above all, it was a security test, an experiment to see whether a person with her capabilities in the Force could slip past guards around Imperial city. All of the people that knew her, all of those who could potentially identify her were now dead. With all records of remaining Jedi erased, the Empire knew not that Thanewulf had survived. Her attitude even left the Inquisitor abashed.

Clasping her hands behind her back, Tionne leaned against the wall opposite of Barton's bed, eyes skimming across the universe that lay outside of the durasteel walls. The sheer vastness of vacuum sprinkled with stars and planets made one feel so insignificant compared to the celestial majesty of the galaxy. Whilst in deep space, even the light of the most faded stars was appreciated.

''Still feels like home, believe it or not. The Imperials could never take away that sunset - they could exile all the aliens, destroy buildings that signified the Republic...but they could never decrease the lustre of Coruscant Prime. It was there long before they came and will be there long after they are gone, eventually.'' the Knight discoursed, shifting her gaze to Henning. Minute droplets of sweat glistered on his shoulders like morning dew. The redhead was familiar with the land of dreams, for she has threaded it for over a quarter of a century, with landscape woven by her former apprentice. Likewise, it was something the Knight did not want to be reminded of.

''Rough night, huh?'' the Jedi asked casually, finally managing to detach her gaze from him.

Coruscant was a lot of things, to a lot of people. Galactic centre, the hub of the wheel that everything else turned around. It was a flawed gem now, but one the Empire flaunted nonetheless. To Barton, it was home, though he had not set foot in the eternal city for over twenty-five years.

“Long way to go for some smokes and a sunset,” Barton observed groggily, as he thumbed sleep from the corner of one eye. In spite of the surge of panic he'd felt upon waking, his whole body was weary and heavy.

“Think I'll save this for a... special occasion,” he said, tilting the bottle of Whyren's Reserve's on its edge, examining it with a brief, uncertain glance. Henning wasn't a big drinker, but his crew deserved a pat on the back; they'd be grateful of a little luxury. Barton got to his feet then, arching his back with a satisfying crk-crk-crk of bone. “But I could do with some caf. You want a cup?”

''What can I say? Small things make me happy.'' she replied simply, still withholding herself from voicing the true reasons of her visit. Such matters, however, could easily be discussed over coffee. A part of her was glad Barton had offered her a cup; it would give her something to do with her hands, after remembering how he turned down her appreciative touch just a few days ago. The residual feeling from that unfortunate moment still loitered within her, gnawing at her very soul, but all the Knight tried to do was to thank him for what he had done, in the most sincere way she could.

''The Whiskey is over two hundred years old. I got it from my grandfather on the day I became Knight. It's a miracle how he managed to hold onto it, given his passion for everything alcoholic.'' the redhead briefly commented, watching Barton head for the door.
''Yeah, I'd like a cup too, if it's not a problem...'' Tionne pleaded, a petite smile stretching her lips.

A definite feeling of deja vu hit Henning as he paced bare-foot to the caf machine. It rattled and gurgled before dribbling out two cups of something hot and black, the smell of which made Barton's eyes widen. He left both cups free of milk and sugar, simply because there wasn't any on board. Henning took a sip right away. It was better when it was too hot to taste.

Back at the crews quarters, Barton handed over one of the two misshapen metal mugs then sank back down onto the bed. The ship had started venting the humidity out of the room, though there was still something about the air that gave it a sense of unreality. Perhaps it was how... composed she looked, whilst he sat in a pair of creased shorts and an undershirt, an outfit that didn't compliment any of the roles he played: doctor, captain or Jedi.

“...You sure you want to be handing that over to me?” he asked over the edge of his mug, with a nod towards the Whyren's Reserve. “Have to admit, I'm a little ignorant when it comes to liquor... I doubt I'd give it the appreciation it deserves.”

''I'm pretty sure. If I knew you were keen on alcohol, I would not have brought it. Besides, I needed a reason to come over anyways.'' she stated openly, voicing her thoughts of the moment. As surprising as it may have seemed, admitting the truth was the only true way of fortifying foundations for a long-lasting friendship, a friendship she yearned to establish with Henning.
''Still, when a girl comes over with a bottle in the middle of the night, most men would consider themselves lucky. My grandfather called it ''room service.'' the Knight said, augmenting her disposition with a feeble chuckle. Bringing her cup closer to her mouth, the Jedi grazed the rim with her lips, absorbing the potent scent emanating from the dark surface.

''I'm sorry about how I acted back there. I don't usually push people around like that. It's just... I've seen the last of Healers slain. The excitement of seeing your kind still existent spiralled my hopes up. Selfish hopes...to be exact...'' she broke off, only to draw in a small sip of coffee - ''One of the reasons I froze myself was the demise of all Healers. There was nobody who could attend to my wounds, especially the one on my back. It was done by a lightsaber.''

Tionne swallowed saliva, then peered down into her cup.
''I helped him find the crystal for it.'' the redhead added bitterly, letting out a detested snort.

There weren't many kinds of conversations that demanded to be held in the middle of the night, but Barton thought this was one of the exceptions. If Tionne needed someone to listen, he could listen. The caf was already spreading warmth through his body, almost canceling out the cold of the metal grating beneath his feet and the ventilator pushing new air into the room.

“We do what we think we have to do... and sometimes, hindsight makes fools of us.” Here, Henning gave a small shrug and found himself staring down into his mug too.

“Did you ever meet Barriss Offee? Good woman,” he said, after a time, a pensive bent to his voice. Barton lifted his eyes, to look at Tionne directly. “People said she was the one to go to, to learn how to really be a healer...” His gaze falling again, Barton shook his head faintly. “I remember hearing on the Imperial news that she was going to be executed... for conspiring to poison the water supply on Felucia. I never got to meet her... that's something I think I'll always regret.”

The mention of Barriss maimed out a smile from the Knight. She pushed herself off the wall only to amble the short distance that brought her to Henning's bed; she sat down beside him, setting the cup on the floor beside the bunk for the time being. Her eyes found their way to his, but the Coruscanti still stayed a respectable distance away.
''Of course I met her. She was the one to diagnose me I was unable to heal myself in the Force. Since that day, Barriss had given me life back numerous times during the beginning of the Clone Wars. They assigned to me to more covert missions because of this healing flaw, but I managed to get injured nevertheless. My apprentice always butted into trouble.''

The smile on her face slowly faded as remembrance of past times overwhelmed her. Her hand extended down and the cup found itself wrapped in her palms once again.
''But such are Corellians. If it was not for his superb flying and mental trickery, I would have smacked the hell out of him long time ago. His flirting alone deserved a few flaps on his rear, but he would have probably liked that.'' the redhead concluded, pursing her lips.
''What about your Master?'' she inquired curiously, locking her lips with the rim of the cup, her gaze warming as initial tension was slowly wearing off.

At the advent of the Clone Wars, Barton had been only a handful of years into his teens, yet his memory of the temple and its inhabitants was clear as ever. He tried to fit Tionne Thanewulf into that mental image, but he could not see her, had obviously never been given the chance to encounter her. Henning found himself imagining what she might look like now, if carbon-freezing had not preserved her youth, and could only picture Serena Laran's stern, lined face looking back at him. How did the last remnants of the Jedi turn out to be a whole bunch of redheaded women...?

“What about your Master?” Tionne asked, cutting short Barton's train of thought. It was a valid question of course, but Barton hesitated to answer. He felt cold and emotionally detached from all memories of her.

“Olana Chion,” he said, at last. “Somber woman...”

The redhead just snorted at the mention of Chion; everybody in the Temple were well acquainted with her difficult personality. A jealous, bitter individual, Olana was another extreme of distrustful person, even paranoid at times. While the reasons of her rebellion were egocentric, Tionne was distrustful of the system for other, more objective reasons. Somehow, she never thought the Council would allow Chion to take a student, let alone such a gifted one.

''Yeah...she took some things far too personal, in my opinion. And she let it influence her later on, cloud her judgement. But I'm hardly the perfect Jedi, so I guess I should not speak...'' the Jedi trailed off, hiding behind her cup for a moment or two. The weight of truth pressed against her chest momentarily, propelling her to speak of her own time as the Knight of the Old Republic. Henning at least deserved some sort of explanation why she fled into carbonite, instead of meeting her doom with the rest of her kind.

''I'm not without a stain, Barton. The sole reason why I froze myself was...I had better chances surviving through such an experiment than fleeing the Inquisitoriate. Cowardice at its finest.'' she stated self-mockingly, diverting her gaze away from the Healer in shame.

His head tilted to one side, Barton studied Tionne as she avoided his eyes, her shoulders sagging forward a little. As the pillars of the Jedi Order crumbled around her, it could hardly be seen as sin that she had sought refuge in the cold, emotionless void provided by the freezing process. In the instant she had been sealed away, all the world would have come to a standstill and every pang of betrayal, every knot of anger, would have been smothered in unyielding carbonite.

“No one is perfect, Tionne. I ran... I was just a boy then, but I understood what was happening, and I ran as fast and far as I could.”

''Aye, I understood too...long before it happened.'' the Knight began, the clarity of her gaze slightly diminishing as she reminisced; her thumb idly passed over the rim of the mug, gently caressing it.
''I was in the Outer Rim when the slaughter at the Temple happened. Together with my apprentice. Thankfully, we never operated with Clone troopers too much, so we were alone. But news spread fast. I've nurtured many contact with friends and foes of the Republic alike - it was often frowned upon by the Order, but it had proven useful when the Purge began. Number of allies decreased exponentially nevertheless.''

Her eyes refocused on Henning, lips curving into the faintest of smiles. A hand over his shoulder, landing to grip his collar bone once or twice in a dainty squeeze of support.
''And yet we are both here. We both grew up amidst the Temple walls. It is ironic that we survived by defying what those walls stood for. Although, my grandfather once said - If you run, you only die tired.'' she stated dryly, then removed your hand.
''What do you remember of those days then?'' the redhead curiously inquired next, flipping a loose lock away from her face.

An old saying of Olana's came to Barton, then: discretion is the better part of valour. A woman who had never believed in the reckless, act-first think-later attitude of Anakin Skywalker, she would have said that running from the guns of the turncoat clones was not cowardice but necessity. To her misfortune, she – like so many others – did not realise the deception she had suffered until it was too late. Barton took a sip of his caff, the cup now almost drained.

“Before, you mean... or after the fall?”

A finger found its way into the bundle of copper locks, merely to scratch a slightly itchy scalp. The cup was set down as soon as it was emptied; Tionne rested her chin on her knuckles while her elbow pressed against her knee. With body half turned to Henning, her smile broadened.

''Well, you have to start somewhere, right? Who's classes did you attend as a youngling?'' the Knight quizzed, trying to milk out at least some vague information on his training prior to exile. With his kind being the most rare of all Jedi, a gift unsurpassed by even the miraculous Force-techniques of Plo Koon and other Masters of the Old, Barton should have received special attention even in the earliest of his days.

“Well...” Barton ran one palm back across his own close-cropped, dark hair. “I learned a little, wherever I could.”

His eyes went to the door of the quarters, as if he expected one of the crew to appear in the doorway. No one was coming, of course – but the fact that he had not been entirely honest, or even a little bit honest for that matter, on the issue of his upbringing made Henning wary. They didn't ask, and he didn't share, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity which would bubble over one day, inevitably.

“Pity I've never been good, or brave, enough to teach anyone else,” he added, turning one hand over to examine his palm with a rueful smile. “I'm sure there's more than a few others who could put this sort of thing to better use.”

It ached to see one have so little faith in themselves. Certainly, overconfidence was a trait generally frowned upon,a trait a Jedi should not nourish, but the other extreme was also uncalled for. At times like these, encouragement was more than welcome.

''You are wrong, my friend. Your skill is not something that can be learned. At least not to the extent that only feels natural to you. That's why its so precious.'' she said, finger extending to gently touch the creases on Henning's palms, once. Tionne canted her head to the side, eyes searching for his.

''Besides, you can only teach when you come to terms with what you are and what you stand for. A teacher has to believe in himself, in his method, in his goal. And you don't seem too certain about being what the Force intended you to be.''
A sigh ensued, interrupting Tionne's meek voice.
''But I understand. Each of us is placed with a burden, life posing as nothing but a test if we can carry it or not. I understand...'' she trailed off, words transforming into a soft whisper.

At her touch, Barton's fingertips twitched, curling inward. A small frown creased his brow as he looked sidelong at the redhead.

“What do you think the Force wants you to be?”