This was difficult to edit into an entertaining short, as some of the important context is missing. Lathril is a Jedi Knight character who follows that class’s story arc before coming to the Eternal Alliance, and Darth Merce is, well, a Darth, and son of Kyolath. This might’ve been a poor choice of posting order, but I had this polished up while Lathril and Darth Merce’s earlier adventures are still in exposition form only.
Also of note: though in the (ultra) fan fiction version, Keelath is from Azeroth (World of Warcraft), I decided not to take so many liberties with other settings and used Talmenor instead here. His past life remains basically the same.
Author’s Note
Lathril kept his hands folded in his sleeves and his head bowed as the lift brought them away from the Enclave. When the lift docked and the door slid open, Kyolath didn’t immediately exit. He stood staring silently out across the Odessen compound.
Lathril felt he had better say something. “I’m… sorry for the disruption, sir. It won’t happen again.”
Kyolath glared at him, or so Lathril guessed; it was impossible to tell behind that Mandalorian helm. “You knew there would be Sith here and that you would be expected to work with them. Why did you come if you only intended to start fights?”
“With all due respect, sir, he started the fight with me–”
“And you had to answer in kind, like a child?”
The remark left Lathril speechless, and Kyolath stormed from the lift, or so it seemed to Lathril with his heavy, clomping boots. The Commander was hard to read, always steeped in a calm that felt unnatural… almost droid-like. Yet Lathril knew the old bounty hunter was capable of great violence, so he tread carefully, quietly following after Kyolath.
“True strength is knowing your limits,” growled Kyolath. “Knowing your limits is knowing your weaknesses, with true humility. I don’t expect Darth Merce to have learned this lesson yet, but you are a Jedi. It is practically part of your code. What is your excuse?”
Lathril blinked hard. He wanted to protest, argue that Darth Merce was the one who had overstepped, but he also thought Kyolath was right.
No, felt he was right, through the pit in his stomach: the burning ember of shame Merce had reawakened there.
Lathril took a harsh, steadying breath, and Kyolath turned to him, but the Mandalorian said nothing. It was Lathril’s silence to break.
“…I have none. My reasons would be just that… excuses.”
“Why did you come here, Jedi?”
“To fight against the Eternal Empire, sir.”
“No.” Kyolath cut him off. “Why did you come here? There are other resistance groups, even other divisions in my Alliance. Ones where you would not be subordinate to an Imperial or to the Sith.”
“Because…” Would this man, with his Sith advisors and his Sith son, understand a premonition? Not all such people did, often preferring to only see what they could sense with their mortal eyes. But his commanding officer had asked him a question, and Lathril would answer it truthfully.
“It’s…foolish, maybe,” Lathril admitted. “Unlike some of the Jedi, I know of the history of my family. Our names were often chosen for our ancestors. Mine, in part, came from the great hero, erm, Ser Keelath. Taking his name was supposed to give me some of his courage an-and conviction.”
Kyolath said nothing.
“When I saw your name on the holo, I… had a sense it was like destiny,” Lathril went on. “Even if you bear no relation to him, or to us, it seemed more than lucky chance.”
“So you signed up with no more information on this operation other than my name.”
Lathril looked down with a sheepish nod.
“Huh.” Lathril couldn’t tell if it was laugh or a scoff. “And what do you know of this great hero Keelath then?”
“He… lived a long time ago, sir. He fought off Dark Siders who nearly overtook his planet. I come from his direct line, or… one of them. Through Evelos, Alesric, Tyreesus–”
Was that a tremor in the Force just then? As if something he had said had rattled or shocked the Commander. Lathril put a hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, just in case.
“Did you know of him?” Lathril dared to ask. “Or is your name merely coincidence after all?”
“Oh yes, I knew him,” Kyolath growled after a pause. “And did your family history tell you what happened to him, in the end?”
Lathril felt confusion cloud his senses, and the slight read he had had on Kyolath’s mood dissipated. “I always assumed he passed away happily with his family, sir. It was well known how close he was to them.”
Kyolath went oddly silent again, then he turned to look out at the compound. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice too quiet for Lathril to tell if it was laden in emotion or not. “Then your family lied to you. He succumbed to the Dark Side and passed on.”
“I highly doubt that, sir,” said Lathril, struggling to keep calm against a sudden spike of anger. “Even if he did, how would you know? He was my ancestor, not yours.”
“I’ve…” Kyolath faltered, and his words rang oddly like a lie against Lathril’s senses, as much as he didn’t perceive any direct contradictions. “…studied the histories. We are related by blood, but distantly. My name is not a namesake however; I came to it on my own. I would not want to be associated with the Keelath Sunwalker.”
The admission took Lathril aback, even as he felt the usual glow of having been right in his premonitions. The Commander seemed somehow sore about the connection though, and for the first time, Lathril sensed a tangle of emotions under the man’s strange, muted calm. He would have to tread carefully.
Kyolath spoke again. “Yes, I knew your name, Sunwalker, when I saw it on the transport’s logs. I am not surprised you are Jedi. It runs in the family, so Darth Merce has proven.”
“So we are related,” said Lathril, his stomach twisting in an uncomfortable knot of disgust.
“That bothers you.” It was statement, not question.
“He is Sith. He represents every Jedi’s fear: that we might fall to darkness,” Lathril explained lowly.
“Huh. That seems counterproductive, given that you believe fear itself leads to the Dark Side,” Kyolath quipped.
Lathril stubbornly said nothing.
“Nevertheless, fear — or whatever you want to call it — does not excuse your actions today.” Kyolath’s voice and demeanor went back to cold, and Lathril had the sense he’d just missed something about the man: something important. “I won’t break your pride by demanding you apologize to a Sith, but I do expect you to repair the damage caused to the Enclave.
“You will also speak with Darth Merce personally, and I expect the two of you to either come to an accord, or I will have both your sworn statements on my desk you cannot work together and will avoid the other from now on. Even if that means no more visits to the cantina when you’re off-duty.”
Lathril swallowed and looked up at Kyolath. The Mandalorian helmet was as implacable as always. “That is acceptable, sir.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because I would have expected you to follow my orders regardless…”