Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
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"You, Revan, are the single greatest warrior of this age, and any battle we fight will bring me honor."
Canderous Ordo
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There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no fear; there is power.
I am the Heart of the Force.
I am the revealing fire of Light.
I am the mystery of Darkness
In balance with Chaos and Harmony,
Immortal in the Force.
Je'daii Order Code
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"Do you believe the Mandalorians will attack the Republic again if the Mask is found?" Revan asked.
"Depends who finds it," Canderous answered candidly. "Some of the clan leaders want nothing more than to avenge our defeat. Others would rather try to rebuild our society. We were great warriors before we started conquering Republic worlds; it's possible we can restore our honor without violating the treaty terms we agreed to."
The terms I forced you to accept, Revan thought. It was ironic that Canderous was sharing all this with the architect of the Mandalorians' greatest defeat. Almost a decade earlier, Revan had been one of the few willing to take action against the invading clans.
But he was not the same person he was back then. He no longer clung to the simplistic ideals of right and wrong or good and evil. He understood better than anyone that dark and light were intertwined in strange and complex ways. And on some primal level, he knew this was all somehow connected to his visions of a dark, storm swept world.
The Mandalorians had the potential to be a very real threat, but his visions had convinced him there was something far more dangerous lurking beyond the borders of known space.
The fate of the entire galaxy might rest on the repressed memories trying to break free from the prison of his own mind, and sending a hostile Republic fleet to scatter the clans wouldn't get him any closer to unlocking the truth.
Westeros, Crownlands
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Raevan Targaryen
Kingswood was plunged into utter darkness, illuminated only by the glow of countless stars and a crescent moon. The silver glow, however, was too faint to penetrate the canopy of trees, which formed an almost impenetrable wall. Raevan closed his eyes, shutting out his remaining senses, and reached through the Force to the world outside.
His mind stretched for miles, then dozens, ignoring all animal life, searching only for people. Very specific people. That evening, he received news from Willas that an entire merchant caravan from the Reach traveling along Rose Road had been attacked by bandits.
Of the over seventy people, two managed to escape: one of the guards and the merchant's daughter. The rest were either killed or captured. Such an attack, so close to the capital, the center of their House's power, was unacceptable. It damaged their good name and undermined their authority. Moreover, Raevan was certain that no ordinary bandits were behind it.
His father had been sending Arthur to lead troops to exterminate any marauders in the region, not wanting another Laughing Knight. It was better to nip the problem in the bud. Even if there were marauders hiding in these woods, they wouldn't be in such large groups. And this one must have numbered several dozen men.
He saw the fingers of their enemies in this. The question remained, however, which ones. Was it one of the lords, or perhaps someone from outside? Myr? Volantis?
His father planned to send Arthur out in the morning to catch them, but such a search could easily take days, even weeks. Kingswood was more populated than one might think, for while not as vast as the forests of the North, it still stretched for hundreds of miles in every direction, concealing numerous lumber villages and even two or three normal villages along the road itself.
Instead, he suggested he would deal with the problem himself. Not only did he perceive it as a personal attack on him, but someone was also trying to destroy the reputation of their House, which he had spent years building.
It was also a chance to test, without inhibition, his ever-increasing control over the Force and the numerous new abilities that had come back to him. However, it was one thing to know and remember how he used these abilities and another to put them into practice.
He began mapping the area in his head. It was easier at night, as practically no one traveled at that time. The villagers and lumberjacks were already in their huts, and the bandits must also be in their camps. Or camps.
He systematically searched the forest from perimeter to perimeter with Force until he found what he was looking for. Three clusters of people, several miles apart, forming a triangle. They were located in the southern part of Kingswood, less than 45 miles from his current location.
He felt his blood pumping and his excitement rising. Revan was many things, but above all, a warrior. He had spent most of his life fighting in one way or another, and he missed it immensely. He might live in peacetime, but he only truly felt alive in war. With his purpose in mind, he set out without hesitation. The night was short.
To anyone standing nearby, he seemed to vanish into thin air. He ran as fast as Force and his body would allow, dodging trees and bouncing off them, performing acrobatics that a normal human would be incapable of.
That's why he couldn't imagine life without Force. The period when his memories were erased and his bond with Force was severed was undoubtedly the worst of his life. And although he didn't feel that way at the time, when he later regained his memories, he could only look back on that period with dread.
In his case, having his Force taken away was worse than having his sight, hearing, or any other sense taken away. It took him fifteen minutes to get there. He needed to rest for a while, though, as using the Force to strengthen his body for extended periods was still difficult. His body had to slowly adjust and adapt.
The camp, perhaps 200 feet away, was silent, but as many as eight sentries, a third of the bandits, patrolled its outskirts. Using the Force, he enhanced his eyes, allowing him to not only see in the dark but also see much better and more clearly than normal.
A few things immediately caught his eye. Discipline. The sentries were actually standing guard instead of sleeping or drinking. The camp was also far too orderly to be a bandit camp. And the weapons these men carried. Chainmail, brigandines, swords, axes, and good-quality bows were scattered on racks by the tents. These weren't the weapons of bandits but of soldiers and mercenaries.
He reached out to the nearest sentry and grabbed him in a telekinetic grip, knocking him unconscious and pulling him toward him, careful not to attract the others' attention. When the man was before him, he immediately saw that he wasn't from this part of Westeros. In fact, he was either Dornish or a Free Cities resident from southern Essos.
Now that the man was unconscious and in his hands, he could calmly probe his mind, something he had become quite good at. It seemed that defending every inch of your mind against the immortal Sith Emperor for centuries could teach you how to attack the minds of others.
However, digging into someone's mind for specific information could be incredibly time-consuming. Instead, after weakening the man's mind, Raevan simply woke him up. He opened his eyes, but they were glassy and unfocused.
In the stillness of the night, the sounds of combat would carry to the other camps, alerting the remaining mercenaries. So he decided to deal with these ones quickly and efficiently. He reached out with the Force to the remaining sentries, crushing their hearts, and then gently lowering their bodies to the ground.
Then he entered the camp, as silent as a ghost. Then he reached out with the Force toward the sleeping mercenaries, repeating what he had done to the sentries, or simply snapping their necks. All this took only a few minutes. Wasting no time, he did the same to the second, slightly smaller camp to the northeast.
Finally, he stopped near the main Second Sons camp. Sixty-nine mercenaries, including 13, were patrolling the camp. He completely bypassed the guards and crept into the largest tent, which was supposed to belong to the group's commander.
He did the same to the man inside as he had to the first guard in the first camp. But he learned nothing more than that the commander of their company, the Second Sons, Mero, had been sending them out for several moons at a time over the past few months with orders that when they had enough of them, they would begin plundering travelers just before the grand tournament in King's Landing.
For what purpose? He didn't know anything, except that it concerned some large contract for the company. However, there was one thing that could prove valuable in some way. Namely, Volantis had begun recruiting soldiers from among the slaves, promising freedom to anyone who volunteered.
This was all the more disturbing because it suggested an impending war. The question was with whom? It couldn't even occur to him that it could be the Seven Kingdoms. What interest could Volantis possibly have in a war with Westeros? It would be too costly for them.
But he couldn't shake a gnawing unease, especially since he felt like a blind man on this damned planet. Any attempt to see into the future was thwarted by the Force swirling around the planet.
From all this, another thing arose. Their ears in Essos were held by Varys, and it was from him that most of the information about what was happening there came.
And creating a standing army from freed slaves was no small matter, and they had to talk about it in all the Free Cities and even in the ports of Westeros.
Moreover, it was information his father would certainly have wanted to hear. The fact that Varys hadn't informed him was suspicious, to say the least.
"What game are you playing, spider?" he whispered to himself with a hint of irritation. How he hated politics; it reminded him of the worst side of the Republic. The only thing he had in common with politicians was that he was good at killing them.
He had to return to his father as soon as possible and speak with Varys. He felt something was brewing, and it wasn't good for the kingdom.
He left the tent, leaving the man alive, oblivious to everything, then grabbed the nearest two guards in a telekinetic grip and snapped their necks without blinking.
He then thrust his hands forward, palms facing each other, focusing his mind and Force, and then reached out for all the mercenaries except the commander, all at once.
A moment later, with cries of surprise and fear, dozens of men rose 20 feet into the air. They hovered for a moment, but the moment he connected his hands, they struck the ground with a force that shattered their bones and crushed their bodies.
Raevan fell to one knee, gasping for breath. This kind of exertion was taxing in his current state, especially since his body wasn't used to it. The same applied to his mind, which also needed to push its limits.
He allowed himself a moment of rest, then, with one last glance at the ruined camp, returned to the commander's tent and grabbed the unconscious man, throwing him over his shoulder. He then set off on his return journey.
There were perhaps two or three hours left until dawn, and tomorrow he would be facing his first round of foot duels. He could only pity the unlucky man who would have to face him at the very beginning.
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He spent the rest of night in intense training, but it wasn't physical training; it was rather a hardening of the mind and control over the Force. He levitated in the air a meter above the ground, and dozens of books orbited him like planets orbiting a star. Each at a different pace and in different directions.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, and black spots appeared before his eyes. His brain raced, trying to manage dozens of tasks simultaneously. His success was only possible thanks to the Force flowing through him, empowering every aspect of his being.
The path of the Je'daii, the First Order, and the balance between the two sides of the Force was fraught with thorns and obstacles. Despite practically hundreds of years of "life," he was far from masterful. The path of a true master of the Force required more than maintaining a balance between the light and dark sides.
It was more like mixing two colors of paint to get the right color, except you weren't mixing them with a brush, but two rivers of color crashing into each other, and you stood in the middle, trying to blend them in the right proportions. Control was everything. Control over the Force, control over your emotions, and above all, control over your own mind.
And all abilities required different proportions of the Light and Dark sides. Sometimes you took a whole lake of one and a drop of the other. And both fought you relentlessly. In his own opinion, the Light Side was even more dangerous than the Dark.
With the latter, you knew you had to beware of her, but you could lose yourself in the Light Side even more easily than her counterpart. She offered peace and harmony, but when taken too far, these transformed into passivity, apathy, and detachment from reality, often ultimately degenerating into pride and a sense of moral superiority that rivaled the most arrogant of the Sith. Revan saw this with his own eyes.
He had walked both paths more than once, and his soul had once split into two distinct parts, serving entirely the Light and Dark Sides of the Force. Would it be arrogant of him to claim he knew them better than anyone else?
Perhaps. But his experience of the Force was unique, one of a kind, offering him knowledge unattainable to others who had not shared such experiences.
He took a deep breath, then another, and held his hands out in front of him, palms facing each other. A moment later, purple discharges began to dance between his fingers.
First one, but then others followed, and then they began to jump between his hands. A moment later, they transformed into a solid beam flowing within one, emitting a low reverberation.
He must have remained in this position for a long time before his concentration was interrupted by a vigorous knock on the door. The Force Lightning vanished like a snuffed candle flame, and the books orbiting it trembled slightly. He reached beyond himself with his senses, recognizing his guests.
He paused in his training, reached out with his mind, and unlocked the door. Then he deftly dropped to the ground, and one by one the books swirling around him found their places on the shelves and racks.
"Come in," he said loudly, inviting them inside, and a moment later the door swung open, revealing his uncle Ned and Robb, his cousin, standing there. Raevan slowly walked to his desk, reaching for a jug and a goblet, pouring himself water with sliced citrus, having previously cooled it with cryokinesis.
Having quenched his thirst, he sat down in his chair behind the desk and then gestured to the seats in front of him for his guests.
"Uncle Ned. Robb. "Please, sit down," he invited them with a smile, looking forward to this conversation not only because he had common interests with them but also because he missed conversations with honest, straightforward people.
They both responded with small smiles and then sat down.
"Your Highness." Uncle Eddard greeted him.
"My prince," said Robb.
Raevan shook his head vigorously. "Enough with these titles. They belong in public... We are family, so in private, I ask that you call me Raevan."
They both nodded and smiled again. But he could see they were nervous. The royal court was significantly different from Winterfell. Every word spoken and every gesture carried meaning, and within an hour they could be on everyone's lips, usually exaggerated.
"Water, wine, or ale? Something stronger? Or maybe tea? I have many to choose from. I received a gift from Prince Bu Han, a new, incredibly rich collection of flavors and aromas," he suggested, pouring himself another cup of chilled water.
"Wine is fine. But no more than half a cup," replied Uncle Ned, and Robb nodded.
"Arbor Red or Gold? Or maybe Dornish Red?" he asked, pointing to the bottles.
"Arbor Gold would be fine, nephew."
"Aye, I've never tried it," Robb agreed.
So he unsealed a bottle of 20-year-old Arbor Gold, dating back to his mad grandfather's reign. He filled their cups halfway, but not himself, as he didn't like alcohol himself and generally avoided it.
"We didn't have time to talk in front of everyone yesterday. However, I understand that you have what we wrote about?" He turned to Lord Stark as they enjoyed the cold wine.
Eddard nodded. "Aye. Five barrels. That's how many were delivered to White Harbor before we left. Hundreds more are ready at this moment probably, though," he replied, then frowned. "Shouldn't we include the king in this conversation?"
Raevan shook his head slightly, then smiled faintly, "Father has given me full control over this endeavor. I will inform him of the specific details of our agreement once everything is finalized."
Father and son exchanged glances, and Uncle Ned finally shrugged. "If you say so. Even better for us. You share the same blood as we do, after all."
He smiled broadly in response. "On that we agree. And in my opinion, both our Houses would benefit from it. And of course, above the people, the kerosene will soon illuminate all of Westeros."
He placed it on the desk in front of them, then looked at his uncle. "Do you have it with you?" he asked, to which Eddard nodded.
"Yes, Jory has one barrel outside the door." Then he stood up and moved to the door.
"Good," he replied with a satisfied smile, waiting for his uncle to bring in his man.
Jory held a small barrel in his hands, capable of holding about 20 liters of crude oil. Placing it on the table, he left the chamber with the words, "My Prince, my lords."
With these words, he rose and walked to the drawer against the opposite wall, from which he picked up two oil lamps. One is elegant and richly decorated with gold and silver, the other is made of the simplest materials.
He then unsealed the barrel, revealing a thick, dark brown substance inside. Good. His plans could now gain momentum.
"This is the future, gentlemen. Oil from animals and plants is quite expensive and difficult to obtain on a large scale. With the entire Seven Kingdoms will be lit up, and I'm not just talking about houses. I have plans to put lamps in the streets."
He didn't even mention what he planned to do with the asphalt that would remain after distillation. He might not have dragons or Valyrian road-making methods, but he knew how to create roads that would last for generations without needing repair.
In the Core Worlds of the Republic, asphalt was no longer used for road-making, while on many worlds it was still done, perfecting the techniques over the millennia. He wanted all major cities to be connected by these roads within a few years.
"I see the merit in your idea. The Lords will certainly spare no expense in obtaining both lamps and this new oil. The same probably applies to the aristocracy and merchants of the Free Cities," his uncle admitted, but with a thoughtful frown, he added, "I don't know how the smallfolk could afford it, though."
"The price of the lamp and oil might be too high for them," Robb agreed, joining the conversation. "Besides, we won't be able to extract the amount you need."
Raevan dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it. The North isn't the only place where deposits are found. I have a similar agreement with the Martells. And there are other large deposits in the Riverlands, and if necessary, I will consult with Hoster Tully."
That was true, except for the Riverlands. They had deposits, but he had no intention of reaching an agreement with the Tullys. In a few years, when their power was consolidated and he returned to his prime, he intended to annex the Riverlands entirely as his House's lands, regardless of the consequences.
"However, we'll discuss the details with Uncle Aemon during the tournament and the festivities. There will be plenty of time for that," he added, to which his cousin chuckled lightly.
"You're a cunning cousin. Both we and the Martells are blood-related to the House of the Dragon, and since there are more sources of this raw material, you can dictate the terms. Not to mention the distillation methods... It seems you hold all the cards."
Raevan smirked and replied, "I like to keep things under control, that's true. But I don't want you to lose out on this; I want the North to benefit from this, as well as from my other plans and inventions. After all, the blood of the Kings of Winter flows in my veins."
"Hmgh," his uncle cleared his throat. "Speaking of Stark blood. We have a gift for you. For you and the twins, actually. It's waiting for you in their room, along with the rest of your cousins."
Raevan frowned and reached out with his Force in that direction, immediately picking up the presences of both the twins and Rhaenys, as well as his own cousins.
But beyond that, he sensed the presences of several animals, eight in fact. Dogs? Or rather, wolf pups? But before he could try to sense anything more, one of the animal presences reached out to him.
Force resonated around them, trembling as if this meeting were special, carrying far-reaching consequences. Raevan felt their minds touch, and then something clicked, as if locking into place.
A Force Bond had formed between him and the small creature, and though it had only just been formed, it was as strong as Beskar.
Raevan, ignoring the surprise of his guests, rushed for the door, bursting through it, and dashed toward the twins' chambers. He stopped in front of the door, feeling the mind of the small being on the other side lightly scratching at the door as if it was trying to get out and reach him too.
He opened the door carefully, so as not to injure his bonded animal. Everyone inside, both human and animal, turned their gazes on him, but he paid no attention.
Instead, he was completely focused on the small, furry pup with snow-white fur and crimson eyes, who had lunged at his leg, sniffing it and trying to climb it.
He leaned down and took the little wolf in his arms, and when their eyes met, he knew he had found a lifelong companion.