Author's Note: Written on a whim to explore an aware!Revan-scenario and/or Bastila's fears of one.
As a minor note, this takes place before/without Bastila's reconciliation with her mother on Tattooine.
There is no emotion; there is peace...
Bastila would not show fear.
She had not shown fear against an intact Revan - how much less was there to fear from Revan's shade? To think otherwise was sheer irrationality.
There is no emotion...
There were no signs the conditioning had not held. From every indication the healers had given, there wouldn't have been enough left in that fractured skull to reconstruct the personality without any interference, much less with an entirely new identity imposed upon the regrowing mind.
Besides which, she surely would have sensed something through the bond if anything remained of the old Revan -
The Force visions aside, of course. Those were fragmentary memories divorced from any context, damaged files recovered from a destroyed datapad. They meant nothing. That was, they meant everything, but nothing with regard to Revan...
There is no emotion...
What was this flustered nonsense? She had no rational reason to be afraid. Darth Revan was dead. There remained a body - one whose mind and memories the Jedi controlled. Perhaps, far in the future when it diverged enough from its implanted inclinations to be a person of its own, it might even be called a decent human being.
(Before there had ever been a Darth Revan, there had been a body raised by the Jedi, one whose mind was filled by their dogma and whose memories were of nothing other than their tutelage. What had it become, once it diverged enough from its implanted inclinations?)
Why was she worrying like this?
Because that which had been Revan did not act like a blind fool. Because Revan - no, not Revan, only Revan's shade - already had diverged from the narrow role imposed, and might diverge still further. Because she caught looks in those clear eyes that bore less resemblance to the staring emptiness she had found when her shaking hands had peeled off the Sith Lord's mask, and more to the sharp intelligence what they must have held before that collision with the bulkhead had robbed Revan's body of everything Revan was - looks that never lasted long enough for her to inspect them at greater length. Because sometimes she didn't know whether Revan's shade made the proper, Jedi choice because it was what the conditioning had instructed that pale shadow to believe, or because Revan knew she was watching.
Because sometimes she woke from restless sleep filled with seething, screaming resentment of all the hypocritical, self-serving, sanctimonious asceticism of the Jedi, and didn't know whether the emotion came from within or without - or which was worse. Because sometimes she found herself overwhelmed by bitter hatred of the way the Jedi at once used her for everything she was worth and held her back from taking anything for herself - and didn't know if those were her thoughts or a cognizant Revan's, and didn't know if she cared. Because she feared, in a place so deep inside her that not even Jedi discipline could touch it, that her bond to Revan had corrupted her forever, and the only thing more horrible than Revan being aware was for Revan to be unaware, and for what remained of Revan to be a good and perfect Jedi, and for her to be trapped inside her own heart with hungers she could never sate and desires she could never fulfill - alone, and forever.
No, she could sate them. She could fulfill them. But she wouldn't. Because she was a Jedi.
There is no passion; there is serenity...
Because she had to ignore the whispering at the back of her mind that Revan wasn't the only puppet. Because she had to ignore the memories buried deep within her own head - the girl who had never wanted to be a Jedi, the girl who had loved her father with a fervency any Jedi would disdain, the girl who had even that torn from her by the endlessly capricious whim of the woman she loathed. Because if she didn't ignore the daily-increasing urge to rip off the Jedi conditioning and ask herself who Bastila Shan was, she would never stop screaming.
She walked a tightrope over an abyss, and she feared looking down not because she feared the height, but because a part of her suspected she would discover that there had never been a tightrope at all.
That she was falling, that she had always been falling, and that only ignorance kept her from the knowledge of her fall.
In her worst nightmares, Revan knew, had known all along, and was merely waiting for her to discover the truth - was waiting for her, and waiting for her with open arms.
In a kinder variant, she woke up just as she discovered this, and could pretend she had refused the offer. But, if the dream went on for longer, she always walked forward, into that welcoming embrace, and -
The worst part of the nightmare was that it wasn't a nightmare at all.
Through victory, my chains -
Her only option was to be a proper Jedi. If she could not manage that through strength, she would manage it through ignorance. Ignorance of her doubts, of her weakness, of her fears, of her struggles, of her desires, of her dreams, of her past, of anything save her own faith in the righteousness of the Jedi and the harmony of the Force -
(- and of the knowing look in Revan's eyes.)
There is no ignorance. There is knowledge.