Revered and Reviled

Malak entered the room where Revan was waiting. Six of the Mandalorian captives were chained to the wall. Revan was standing in the center of the room, masked as usual, but completely unarmed.
"Are you ready for a lesson, my student?" she asked calmly.
"Yes, Master," said Malak, trying to match her tone.
"You are dismissed," she waved the guards away.
The guards bowed, and left the chamber. Revan paced back and forth, contemplating the prisoners.
"Master?"
Revan nodded, indicating that Malak could ask his question.
"These are footsoldiers, are they not, Master? Where are the leaders that we captured?"
Revan laughed, a hollow and ugly sound. "I have disposed of them. They had nothing useful to tell us. Their absence, however, is invaluable to us."
Malak looked at the prisoners, defiant and terrified, on the wall. "Forgive my stupidity, Master, but I don't understand."
Revan gestured contemptuously at the prisoners. "Rank and file. They were dead when they were captured, they just haven't stopped breathing yet. Release some of them, and they will carry wild tales of the torture that their companions were subjected to, even without seeing it. And more ominously, they won't know what happened to their leaders. All that knowledge, all that power, gone forever. Every Mandalorian clan that loses a leader in battle will have to pick a new one, and that new leader will be crippled by lack of wisdom and experience, and worse, the realization that if they fall in battle, the same thing will happen to the next leader. Eventually, Malak, they will run out of talent and training. When was the last time blind skill won a war?"
"We will defeat you, Sith Lord! And the Republic! Mandalore will spread – "
"Shut up," snarled Revan impatiently, and used the Force to choke the Mandalorian into unconsciousness. "Where was I? Ah, your lesson." She drew back one of her outer robes, and drew a long knife.
"Are we going to torture them, Master?" asked Malak, trying to keep his voice steady and emotionless. "Surely they have no knowledge worth the effort."
"They will probably die," said Revan carelessly. "But I have no intention of wasting my breath asking them any questions. This is a lesson, not an interrogation." Suddenly Revan laughed. "Oh, the knife! It's not for them, Malak." She pulled off her mask and set it aside, ignoring the shocked and rude comments from the Mandalorians as they realized that she was a woman. Revan pulled back her sleeve, and stabbed herself in the forearm with the knife, twisting the blade so that it would make a good wound.
Malak stared, wide-eyed, as did the prisoners. There was no sign on Revan's face of the pain she must be suffering. She drew out the blade slowly, and watched blood drip from her arm.
"There are two ways we can use the Force to heal ourselves. First, we can open ourselves to the Universe, pleading for assistance. When we do that, we touch the planet, the wind, the sky, every living soul that we can reach, asking for help." Revan shrugged. "Useful. A little slow, sometimes. And then, there is the other way." Revan looked at the prisoner who had commented on her sex. She reached out, and drew his life force into her, forcing his essence to heal her wound. His screams ripped through the chamber, and Malak was very glad that the interrogation chamber was soundproof. The prisoner sagged back against his chains, barely alive. Revan held up her arm. The wound was completely gone, and she flexed her fingers to prove that no damage remained.
She held out the knife to Malak. "Your turn. Oh," she smiled, "let me clean that off first."
"That isn't necessary, Master," he said calmly, and took the bloody knife from her. There was a spark when they touched, but neither acknowledged it. He took the knife, stained with her blood, and rolled up his sleeve. He could sense fear rolling off the prisoners. Their helplessness, so soon after their taste of victory, must have been particularly galling to them. He drove the knife into his arm, ripping into his own flesh with unexpected savagery.
"You flinched," Revan observed.
"Forgive me, Master."
"Get it right next time."
Malak pulled out the knife. The lesson wasn't about using the Dark Side of the Force for healing. It was about control. Malak closed his eyes and concentrated. There were only five prisoners left after he healed himself with what was left of the one Revan had used. Five chances to control himself before Revan lost her temper.
Revan watched him for a while. The lesson was very hard for him, possibly too hard. She walked up and pulled the knife from his hand before he could start again. "You're not very good at this, are you?"
Malak sank to his knees, shaking. "No, Master, I am not."
Revan sighed, and looked at the last two prisoners. One was half-dead, the other almost mad from terror. She cleaned off the knife carefully, and returned it to its sheath. "Malak, go and see where the scouts from the Tammuz Sector are. They should have reported back by now."
"You aren't angry with me, Master?"
"I think you've punished yourself enough for now. We will work on this lesson another time. Go."
Malak stood, and looked ruefully at his ruined robes.
"You know, if you wore red, or black like I do, you wouldn't have that problem," Revan smiled.
Revan replaced the mask before he opened the door to leave the room, and watched him walk away, past the prisoners in their cells and the guards. The bloodstained robes would give rise to the wildest tales, especially since he had no visible wounds. Revan smiled.
She turned back to the remaining prisoners, and waited for the door to close before she drew the knife again.