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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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"Savior, conqueror, hero, villain. You are all things, Revan… and yet you are nothing. In the end, you belong to neither the light nor the darkness. You will forever stand alone."
Darth Malak
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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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Smoke rose all around, fire burned, and cries rang out, filled with pain, anger, fear, and a whole range of emotions.
Around him, multicolored lights sliced through the air, and explosions erupted in the distance. He could hear his own calm breathing through his mask, which also seemed to filter most of the sounds and flashes.
He was on a vast battlefield, and before him stretched barren wastelands with metal structures rising far into the horizon.
Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, perhaps even millions, clashed not in close combat or even with bows and crossbows, but by firing multicolored lights at each other, which he had seen fired from weapons called blasters, among other things.
And not only that. Great machines swept across the battlefield, and the laser beams and missiles they sent were even more powerful, creating explosions of fire larger than any dragon could have ever managed.
High above, the air and clouds ripped through the air and clouds, metal machines he now knew were called fighters clashing in aerial battles. Everywhere he saw destruction and death unlike anything Westeros, or indeed his entire planet, had ever seen.
After a moment, he realized that, as always, he had no control over his body when a low but charismatic voice emerged from beneath his mask, carrying the hypnotic charm of a distinguished orator or a great general. It was a voice that captured your attention and compelled you to listen.
"Meetra, take the third squad and capture the fortifications defended by House Kast forces in the west. I will attack on units under Taungs command. If we break through in these two places, we will take the rest in our hands, and victory and the planet will be ours."
A medium-height young woman with brown hair, dressed in Republic armor and a charcoal cloak with a hood pulled up, nodded slightly. "As you command," she replied, then waved her hand and headed for a nearby transport. Nearly two dozen similarly dressed people followed her.
Although "people" was the wrong word in this case, as among the Jedi were many creatures of strange appearance, some straight out of a nightmare.
He stared at the departing transport for a moment, then raised his bent left arm in front of him, and from the device on his wrist emerged a hologram of a bald man in Jedi armor and robes. Malak. "Brother, move. Remember to leave the Admiral alive."
His gaze fell on the battlefield; he waited for the right moment, reaching out and delving into the Force. The multicolored laser beams and missiles flying towards him were absorbed by the invisible barrier of compressed Force surrounding him.
He reached to his belt and unclipped a silver metal tube, about 3 centimeters in diameter and thirty centimeters long. Then, with a single thought, he activated the switch hidden within. From the tube shot a purple pillar of plasma over a meter long.
He stared silently at his new lightsaber for a moment. For the first time in battle, he would use a purple blade, abandoning his former blue color to symbolize his transformation.
He didn't know if he could still call himself a Jedi, for during this devastating war, he had repeatedly drawn upon the Dark Side of the Force, striving to find balance. This new blade was to symbolize this.
Not his downfall, as the Council members would likely call it, but an attempt to rediscover an ancient path that both the Jedi and the Sith had lost in time.
Determined, he reached out to the Force and, as if drawing in air, gathered it within himself, strengthening every muscle fiber, tendon, bone, nerve, and even cell. Then he shot forward like a projectile.
To the passing soldiers, he was a mere mirage of black and purple, practically imperceptible, but to their enemies, the Mandalorians, he would become an avatar of death.
Right in front of the defending enemy forces, he thrust both his arms forward, using both his momentum and pure telekinetic force to send a wall of compressed air over a hundred meters wide toward them, striking the enemy's front lines.
Hundreds of broken bodies shot into the air as if struck by a rushing rancor, striking the enemy's farther ranks and falling on their comrades, deepening their losses.
Shouts of joy and despair rang out from his allies and enemies alike. "It's Revan!"
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Westeros, King's Landing
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Raevan Targaryen
He awoke drenched in sweat and panting as if he'd run around the Red Keep several times. He sat up, trying to regain his composure and organize his thoughts and what he remembered from the dream, or rather, his memories.
He had been dreaming about them for as long as he could remember. At first, they were just isolated images of places and people, or other beings. Then memories began to return, snippets of knowledge from another life, from a world he not only didn't recognize but that was vast and entirely different.
At first, he dismissed it all as dreams or simply a wild imagination, but as it turned out that the knowledge returning to him was not only true but far beyond that of the maesters, he began to realize it was real.
His father and Grand Maester Aemon, his several-times great-uncle and the man for whom he was named, spent hundreds of hours trying to analyze and understand his dreams. And though at first they believed these were dragon dreams or a manifestation of greensight, ultimately their theories were downright crazy.
Raevan knew the truth. He and Revan were one and the same. And though his knowledge of the secrets of the Force was considerable, he suspected he still hadn't seen even a tenth of what he had in his previous life. Perhaps thanks to the Force, he could be reborn in a new body, a new life, and a new world.
Finally, in his dreams, he saw Revan and other masters of both sides of the Force accomplish great things, often terrible, but nonetheless great.
He rose slowly from the massive oak bed and walked to a table against the opposite wall, on which stood a marble bowl of water.
Above it hung a richly decorated mirror, made not of myrish glass, but of glass of much higher quality and durability, which he and his granduncle Aemon had created with the aid of his returning knowledge.
He splashed his face with cool water, then snapped his fingers, using his currently limited knowledge of pyrokinesis to light the candlesticks hanging on the wall.
The room immediately lit up, banishing the darkness that had reigned moments before, revealing his reflection in the mirror. Bright purple eyes regarded him intently. The eyes of his father and Rhaenys. The rest of the House of the Dragon had a more violet hue.
His features were a mixture of Targaryen and Stark, as if his father and Uncle Ned had been mixed. His brown hair, inherited from his mother, reached his shoulders. But the truth was, Revan's face was staring back at him. This was exactly how he had looked as a Padawan, just before his knighting.
He sighed heavily. For not only did he look like Revan, but he also thought like him. The older he grew and the more he remembered, the more often, instead of thinking about the kingdom or the projects he had pursued with his granduncle Aemon and his father, he found himself pondering strategies for war with the Mandalorians or plans for conquering the Republic with Malak.
He was flooded with thoughts and longing for Bastilla and their son, for his friends and companions. He was a prince and seemed to have more freedom than most of the planet's population, yet he still felt caged.
Looking at the night sky and the countless stars, he felt that this was where he belonged. This world was too small to contain his ambitions and plans. However, this was his fate for now, and he had to make the most of this second chance.
Sighing heavily, he began to wash himself in the basins, then dressed in some of his most comfortable clothes, all in Targaryen black and red, of course, with a subtle touch of sapphire in honor of his mother.
Then he made his way to the exit of the chamber. He gestured with a finger, and a hidden mechanism in the door clicked, unlocking it. Opening the door, he saw the sleep-deprived faces of his own guards. Lawrence Snow and Jonathan River were members of the Raven Guard, his own private unit who guarded him and carried out his orders. Although, since his knowledge of the Force had begun to return, it was mostly the latter.
He looked at them with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you there was no need for you to guard the door?" he asked with a slight sigh. He preferred they get some sleep so he could use them for other tasks during the day.
Larence shook his head, slightly embarrassed. "Forgive us, Prince, but your father has ordered that until he revokes it, at least two of us are to be with you at all times."
He sighed inwardly, "Of course he said that." One of Rhaegar Targaryen's greatest virtues was his love for his children, but it was also accompanied by an overprotective nature, surpassed only by Raevan's mother.
"Follow me then," he ordered, then started down the hall towards the main staircase. He glanced at Jonathan. "How are your boys? Have they recovered?" he asked.
The man nodded and then replied in a voice filled with gratitude. "Yes... Thanks to you, my prince. We did as you said and administered the medicine you gave us, and we managed to bring down the fever. I don't know how we can repay you."
Raevan stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder. "All I ask in return is loyalty." He then looked at both men one by one. "You and the others are my people. I chose you myself, and if you need anything or have any trouble, you come straight to me. Do you understand?"
They nodded and replied, "Yes, my prince." Understood."
Satisfied, he moved on. If his memories of his past life had taught him anything, it was that true loyalty couldn't be bought, for there was always someone willing to pay more. He won the Mandalorian Wars as much through his tactical genius as through the respect and loyalty he earned from the Jedi and Republic soldiers who followed him.
He stopped just before the stairs and pushed aside one of the stones on the wall, slightly darker than the rest. A mechanism ground, revealing a narrow passage, only a person's width wide. He grabbed a torch hanging from its handle and, with a flick of pyrokinesis, lit it. Two guards followed him, thus avoiding the patrolling guards and the bustling servants who did most of their work in the early morning hours.
Though the hidden tunnels formed an incredibly tangled web, he navigated them easily, having traveled this same route many times before. Raevan stopped suddenly, then pushed one of the stones again, opening a passage out of the keep and into a spacious dining chamber.
There was no one inside yet, only the breakfast tableware set out. He walked over to the twenty-foot-long mahogany table, which was surrounded by over a dozen chairs, and sat down in his usual spot. Larence and Jonathan left the room to stand outside.
While Raevan waited for the rest of his family, he decided to meditate, a practice he had been doing more and more often over the past few moons, ever since his knowledge of the Force had begun to return to him.
Although he had previously had visions of using the Force as Revan, he had never known how to access it, how to redirect it, or how to use or even control it.
But four moons ago, something clicked for the first time, and he was able to use the Force for the first time after his rebirth. For a sleepless night, he dreamed of the tortures he had experienced as a prisoner of Vitiate.
Then he realized that the Force had always been there, empowering his body, mind, and talents, but something, probably himself, was blocking it from him.
He opened his mind and slowly immersed himself in the calm ocean of the light side, allowing it to fill him to the brim. He felt an immediate sense of peace and tranquility, though somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, he sensed the storm of the dark side, waiting only to be summoned.
But he knew he wasn't ready. He needed more discipline, more practice, and above all, more self-control. Valyria wasn't built in a day.
He was pulled out of meditation as the chamber door opened and Rhaenys and Daenerys stepped in. While Daenerys was radiant from the early morning, his sister looked as if she had been forcibly yanked from her bed, bags visible under her purple eyes.
But when she saw him, she practically ran to him and started tugging on his ear. "Raevan, you little shit. We were supposed to meet at the training ground at dawn. I looked everywhere for you, and you hid here?"
"Hey, what for?" he gasped, wrenching himself free from her grasp, accompanied by Daenerys's laughter. He jumped to his feet and moved away from the irritated Rhaenys, remembering that he could indeed have casually agreed to a morning sparring session.
Although they had an exceptionally close relationship, his sister had the distinctly fiery temper of his family, which he often felt, though perhaps less often than Aegon, who had a knack for getting under her skin.
Raevan held his hands up in front of him, trying to calm her, but her momentary temper had clearly passed, for she took his arm and led him to his seat, sitting down beside him and looking at him hard.
"After breakfast, we'll go straight to the training ground," she ordered.
He just smirked. "Are you so eager to end up on the ground again?"
The look Rhaenys gave him could have frozen the shores of Dorne, but she said nothing. They both knew perfectly well he was better. Only the kingdom's finest swordsmen, such as Arthur, Ser Barristan, or Jamie, were better than him, and even that would change once he fully matured.
That is, of course, when we don't take into account his Force augmentation, for by then he had transcended the mortal realm, but for now, his control in that regard needed work.
The fact was, however, that even before his 15th name day, there were few swordsmen in the kingdom better than him. His knowledge of lightsaber forms began to return early, as soon as he first began training with a sword.
And not only that, but behind the forms, the experience of countless battles, both victories and defeats, began to return. More than once, it seemed as if his new muscles remembered what his previous body had endured.
Of course, the lightsaber combat forms were different from those taught to him by Arthur or Barristan, but all he had to do was adapt. He knew that within a year or two, he would win 9 out of 10 duels with them, and that was without using the Force.
Revan hadn't achieved mastery of all seven forms for nothing, though it was the seventh form – Juyo, that he excelled in, and which he modified on his way to achieving true balance between the Light and Dark Sides. Kriff(damn), what he wouldn't do to be able to hold one of his lightsabers in his hand.
Soon, the rest of his family began pouring into the room. Aegon followed closely by his grandmother, who flashed them a radiant smile. Then his father and mothers appeared, and right behind Lyanna Stark, the sleepy twins, Visenya and Daeron, his youngest siblings, tumbled in.
Soon, the dining hall was filled with the buzz of conversation and laughter that Revan's memories had taught him to appreciate in this life. His father engaged in a lively debate with his granduncle Aemon, and Ellia merely watched, shaking her head with feigned resignation. Daenerys, seated opposite him, was whispering with Aegon, who glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, a smirk etched on his face, so Raevan assumed they were gossiping about him.
He met the gaze of his grandmother, who was also watching their family contentedly. Raevan smiled at her, glad that the moment had come in her life when she could be truly happy, without his grandfather's shadow hanging over her.
He felt a sudden nudge in his side. Glancing up, he saw his younger brother's smile, a few teeth missing. Daeron and Visenya had celebrated their sixth name day only a moon ago and were a real nuisance to the servants and guards at Red Keep.
Uncle Benjen said they were even wilder than their mother and loved to play pranks on everyone, not always harmless ones, which usually ended in scolding from Lyanna or Ellia.
"What's up, little one?" he asked, sensing his brother was up to something.
Daeron only smiled wider. "Rev, I need to tell you something in your ear."
Unconvinced, he leaned to the side and waited. Daeron whispered something, but so quietly he couldn't hear it. "What? Speak louder."
"We need your help. I mean, me and Vis." his brother shouted, drawing the others' attention, especially their mother's, whose eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Raevan sometimes wondered if their mother could read minds. But he was certain she could sense the intrusion into his own mind.
He looked at his brother with sigh. "I said 'speak louder,' not yell. Daeron looked embarrassed, and Visenya gave him a sheepish look.
His brother glanced at his mother, who was watching them from the side, then whispered, "We found a little kitten. We need you to help us bring him inside and hide him from Muna (mother)."
Raevan sensed something was wrong; Force herself was practically poked him in his mind that the twins were hiding something from him, but seeing their pleading, large amethyst eyes, he couldn't refuse them.
"Agreed. But not right after breakfast. I promised Rhaenys that..." He didn't get to finish, as their sister, who had clearly been listening to their conversation the entire time, leaned over him toward Daeron and interjected, "Rhaenys will help you bring the kitten inside, of course. Did I tell you how I found Balerion?"
He just rolled his eyes. He'd heard this story a thousand times. Of course, Rhaenys saw it, and she nudged him in the side, just below the ribs.
Of course, Daeron and Visenya, both indignant, began whispering to each other. Raevan sighed silently and turned to Rhaenys. "You know they're up to something?"
She only laughed, pinching his cheek to his irritation, as she had done since his youth. "Even so, it wouldn't hurt to help them, would it?" she replied, to which he didn't even want to reply. Rhaenys could be such a child sometimes.
At that moment, the door to the chamber opened, and servants began pouring in with light dishes, distributing them efficiently and leaving.
They all ate in silence for a moment, sated by their initial hunger, but after a few minutes, his father turned to him and his older brother. "Aegon, Raevan, there will be a meeting of the Small Council at noon. We must discuss the tournament and the celebration of your sixteenth name day, Aegon."
They both nodded, then he looked at his father questioningly, "Do you know anything about Viserys? When can we expect them?"
"In the moon, perhaps less," Rhaegar replied. "Varys informed me that he and Arianne have left Myr and are already on their way to Sunspear. From there, they are to arrive with Oberyn and Doran on the same ship."
Ella's eyes lit up, and the same could be said of Aegon and Rhaenys, for they hadn't seen any members of that side of their family in over a year. Oberyn, Ellaria, and the children had travelled throughout Essos, while Doran had practically never left Sunspear.
His father's gaze fell on him again after a moment, this time filled with obvious pride. "In the letter, Doran also expressed a desire to speak with you about the new irrigation system you and Granduncle Aemon had designed."
Revan glanced at the old man sitting next to his father, and he smiled faintly. Aemon was probably the wisest person he had met since his rebirth, perhaps in both of his lives.
His advice was always insightful and valuable, and he possessed a rare ability to read people. Not to mention his sharp mind, despite being almost 100 years old.
True, Revan had many ideas, and most of his designs were simply reverse engineering from his own knowledge and more advanced technology and science.
However, it was Aemon who helped translate these ideas into practical applications. Raevan was a specialist in robots, machines, weapons, and ships. He knew how a blast furnace should work, but he couldn't construct something so primitive without assistance. He left such things to his great-uncle.
Tell him to design and assemble a robot or a ship. With the right materials, he could do it even with current knowledge, but a glassworks. That's not his thing.
"I can't wait," he replied to his father. "I think with his full dedication, we could irrigate most of Dorne within a year."
Aemon nodded, adding, "And with all the lords of Dorne involved, even within 8-9 moons."
His father smiled with satisfaction at these words. Despite the tense situation in the kingdom since the rebellion, their family's position had begun not only to stabilize but to strengthen. This was a result of both Rhaegar's skillful policies and Raevan's genius and knowledge.
Compliments about him and Aemon flew from the lips of the rest of his family, but Raevan was watching Aegon for signs of jealousy.
His brother must have been jealous, but he didn't show it, smiling at him along with the others, and the smile was genuine, he was sure. He wasn't as close to Aegon as he was to Rhaenys, but they were brothers, and each would walk through fire for the other.
Raevan didn't envy his brother. Everyone saw him as the lesser brother, less skilled with a sword, less brilliant, and even less popular.
His inventions made life easier for the smallfolk and brought profit to the lords, which automatically made them see him in a different light. In some parts of the Seven Kingdoms, the smallfolk called him Raevan the Blessed, as if all his knowledge came from the Seven.
"Father, what about that thing we talked about yesterday?" he asked, throwing his father in front of a speeding train, but he hoped that in the company of his mother, his anger would spread to everyone.
Rhaegar gave him a pointed look, then cleared his throat, trying not to look at his second wife. "Well. If you think you're ready, I'm not going to forbid you."
"Forbid what?" came his mother's voice, deceptively calm, but Raevan, like his father, felt the chill creeping through them.
"It's nothing important, my dear. We were discussing one of Raevan's plans," his father assured her, but it was too late, and Lyanna Stark already smelled blood.
"Rhaegar, surely I have the right to know what you and MY son are planning?" Lyanna demanded, giving them both a cold look.
His father looked at him again reproachfully, as if to say, 'I know what you did,' but Raevan merely shrugged slightly. If they were going to go down, it would be both of them.
"Lyanna, our son has decided to participate in the tourney in Aegon's honor," Rhaegar replied, bracing for an outburst and searching for Ellia, who, with a small smile, looked away.
Everyone at the table froze, waiting for the outburst, which never came. Instead, his mother stood up and walked up to Raevan, hugging him from behind, kissing his head, before finally saying...
"Good. I'm sure my son will destroy the entire competition." She then turned her face toward the door. "Can you hear me, Arthur? My boy will defeat you."
Then she took Raevan's face in both hands and looked him straight in the eye. "You'll do this for Mom, right, Rev? You'll kick Arthur's ass and everyone else's?"
Raevan couldn't see what was happening, but he wasn't about to complain. He was afraid his mother would forbid him from competing, but he hadn't expected such a completely different reaction, even in his dreams.
He nodded, "Of course, Mom. Especially for you," he replied, apparently right, as a wide smile broke across his mother's face.
Then she looked sharply at his father and added, "And you, Rhaegar Targaryen, you better pray nothing happens to him."
Raevan grabbed the bridge of his nose and began massaging it, feeling a headache creeping in. He truly loved his family, but sometimes they were such a pain in the ass.