Star Wars work in progress You Became to Me

[polgarawolf]

Thirty-seventh part of a work in progress
Title: You Became to Me (as suggested by avari_maethor)
*Pairing: Mainly Anakin/Obi-Wan with some mention of Padmé
Rating: Maybe a borderline PG-13/R (?) here
Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely boys from Star Wars, more's the pity! What I do have is an extremely contrary muse that refuses to shut up and leave me alone . . .
Summary: This is the one thing Darth Sidious never saw coming: a minor incident of collateral damage with repercussions that can potentially utterly undo all of his schemes
*Author’s Note: 1) Please see most of the previous author's notes and warnings.
2) The boys are finally getting some alone time. Some might consider this (and most of the following three chapters) more of an interlude, once past the first scene . . .


Mace Windu has been transported to a realm so far beyond mere shock that he is vaguely surprised at how well he is still able to function.

The Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, Palpatine of Naboo, was really the Sith Lord Sidious. And he has been killed by Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Speaking of which . . . Anakin Skywalker is a being from Sith prophecy, the Sith’ari.

And Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Chosen One of Jedi prophecy.

Meanwhile, Qui-Gon Jinn has somehow survived murder to become a - a Force spirit (?).

And Dooku of Serenno, last of the Lost Twenty - he who had once been Master Dooku of the Jedi Order, until Sidious took advantage of his pain and vulnerability over Qui-Gon’s death to turn him until he became Darth Tyranus of the Sith - has been redeemed from his fall by his love for Qui-Gon Jinn and has also transcended death to become one of these . . . Force spirits.

And these two . . . Force spirits are now the self-proclaimed leaders (though Mace is not entirely sure if it follows that they are both also Grand Masters now. Is it even possible to have two Grand Masters at once? He’s quite sure that this question is one that has never been raised before, in the entire history of the Order) of the Jedi - or the joint heads of the New Jedi Bendu Order, in any case, since according to both them and Obi-Wan and Anakin the old Jedi Order is so thoroughly broken that it must be replaced by something entirely new if the Jedi and the galaxy are going to survive the threat of what is coming. A storm that apparently involves war and the eventual coming of a power known as the Far Outsiders, whoever or whatever they might be . . .

But this coming galactic-wide storm is little more than a vaguest sketch of a threat, to Mace Windu. More immediate, more shocking, is the realization that the Jedi Order has, indeed, apparently been so broken for so long that it can be argued that its members, since at least as far back as the Ruusan Reformation, have not even truly been Jedi Knights, as Jedi as meant to be.

A fact that Master Yoda, the Grand Master of the Order, has apparently been hiding from the rest of them - not to mention actively supporting the existence of, by encouraging and even demanding the enforcement of rules that have twisted the Order and its members away from both the Force and their mandate, to support and to carry out its will, in the galaxy - in some kind of "conspiracy of silence" that has apparently involved all of the Grand Masters of the Order, going back to, at the very least, the first of the Grand Masters in the aftermath of the Old Sith Wars.

A conspiracy that has substituted things like the Jedi Code and the many other restrictions and limitations that have come to define acceptable Jedi behavior and psychology, the one proper methodology for the finding and raising of Jedi initiates (who must be below a certain age, or else they will be automatically rejected as too old and unfit for the training) and the only accepted paradigm for the taking and training of Jedi Padawans (with only one Padawan to one Master).

A conspiracy of unnecessary and wrong-headed laws and not only false but apparently also mostly downright harmful precepts that have led the Jedi away from the Force and strangled the Order with hypocrisy and corruption. A conspiracy that has dashed Force alone knows how many billions of dreams and doomed Force alone knows how many millions or more lives, the lives of sentient and Force-sensitive beings who otherwise would have been sheltered within the Temple and armored with the true teachings of the Order . . . including all of the many thousands - no, hundreds of thousands, surely, if not more - of Korunnai lives lost on Haruun Kal to both the Summertime Wars and to the several millennia of coexistence that the Korunnai have - because of their exclusion from the Temple and the Order, because of those false rules - been forced to endure with the many harsh vagaries of nature of a planet so inhospitable to life that it appears to be an oceanic world from space, since it is almost entirely engulfed in a sea of toxic gases brought to the surface by the planet’s constant volcanic activity - a sea broken only by the highest of mountains and raised plateaus, meaning that life can only exist on the few landmasses that reach sufficiently towering heights up into the atmosphere. Still, even in those mountainous sanctuary lands, where the air is thin enough to remain pure of the bulk of those heavier-than-gas toxins swarming the sea surrounding the planet’s lowlands, the gases and particles spewed up into the atmosphere in the constant if intermittent action of the many volcanoes manage to release enough poisons into the water and air to make the ecosystem dangerous even to the native life - and, all too often, deadly to outsiders. Though, as if to make up for the death of life elsewhere on Haruun Kal, the mountainous slopes and their jungles teem with aggressive living things - trees, berries, flowers, mushrooms, lichens, flower- and berry-bearing parasites, and insects that often wildly are sought the galaxy over, for their pharmaceutical and recreational properties.

Mace is well aware of the fact that he is the first and only of his people to ever be allowed to train within the Jedi Temple, in spite of the singularly shocking fact that all of the Korunnai (including all of the generally quite rare Korunnai-Balawai mixes) are able to touch the Force, roughly ninety percent of whom are also easily strong enough in the Force to gain entrance to the Order - did they but originate from any planet in the known galaxy other than Haruun Kal. The Jedi Order has long shunned the Korunnai for their traditions regarding the pelekotan or "jungle mind" - the face of the Force, as it is known on Haruun Kal, given the fact that a majority of the habitable Uplands (or Highlands, as the relatively habitable territories are also called) is covered with thick jungle, a continuous mass of dense vegetation broken up here and there by the trail roads and grassy meadows that are only temporarily cleared into existence by the movement of the nomadic grasser herds and permanently punctuated by the evergreen scrub that lets out onto the steep rocky slopes and the lava fields of the highest of the volcanic mountainous peaks - traditions that, to the Jedi, are far too obviously influenced by the Dark Side of the Force.

The only reason Mace himself was ever even allowed to be brought to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, as a child, had been due to the fact that he had happened to be orphaned while a team of Jedi researchers were on the planet, trying to conduct research that would either definitively prove or disprove once and for all the popular Jedi theory that the extraordinary Force-sensitivity of the Korunnai is due to the fact that one of the Order’s many "lost" transport ships had crashed on the planet during the Great Sith Wars and the marooned Jedi Knights survived by establishing themselves as the ruling Uplander clans. Well, that, and the fact that Master Yoda had been extremely curious about Mace’s reported extraordinary strength in the Force and had specifically requested that he be brought back to the Temple when the team - defeated in their efforts as much by the jungle, which does not give up its secrets lightly or easily, as by their own inability to adjust to the Force as it exists on Haruun Kal, saturated as it is with the natural violence of the planet’s ecosystem - returned home. Since he had been an orphan and there were no others of the Ghôsh Windu in the area where he and his parents had been living, to immediately claim him as a blood relation and so establish clan ties that would keep the Jedi visitors from Coruscant from being able to make a case for being allowed to bear him away with them, he had subsequently been taken (with nominal permission from a Korunnai clan elder whose immediate family had provided guides for the research team, so that the Jedi would not become lost in the jungles) and presented to Master Yoda, who had been so impressed that he had declared an exception would be made for Mace Windu and that the Temple would take him in as a youngling and train him as a Jedi, should he prove himself worthy.

Mace has always seemed to have more darkness within him, more passion, than his fellow agemates within the Temple. His training with Master T’ra Saa was a delicate dance, and without what amounted to years of pre-training from Yoda (not to mention continual access to Yoda and his wisdom) and the constant aid and support of both Dooku and Qui-Gon (both of whom quickly became good friends as well as mentors, helping him through several difficult periods of his life), Mace is not at all sure that he would have made through to his Knighting. Many in the Temple had not at all approved of allowing a Korunnai wilder into the Order, and many more had been discomforted or concerned by his particular combination of exceptional strength and excessive passion, while others still had been frightened outright by his ability not only to sense but also to accurately use shatterpoints. His control - legendary though it is, now - has always lain so close to such an obvious capacity for violence that the whispers and doubts had followed him from the crèche through his apprenticeship beyond his Knighting and all the way to the Council. Only at Yoda’s insistence had a seat been granted him within that august body, and only after years of steady work, grimly towing the line, not daring to step out of order even for the sake of his long friendship with Qui-Gon, when the Jedi Master had come before the Council bearing tales of a Sith warrior and claiming to have found the Chosen One in the person of a nine-year-old Tatooine slave - though to be perfectly honest, it had been more because of his own inability to believe that the Sith could have possibly returned without the Council knowing of it, beforehand, that he had decided against throwing his support behind Qui-Gon (a mistake that Mace has bitterly rued, every day since) - has he finally gained the acceptance and support of both his fellows and elders within the Order, even those who had once been the most vehemently opposed to allowing him to train as a Jedi.

And for what? To what purpose? Mastery within an Order that is so rotten that its Grand Master nearly allowed himself to slide down into death, after being faced with the truth of its (and of his) corruption?

Mace is frankly astonished at the serenity and wisdom, the compassion and the leniency, that Skywalker - No, Anakin. His name is Anakin and you should call him that! No more of this distancing! The boy has a name, and he has more than earned the right to be called by it! - and Obi-Wan have shown towards Yoda. If he had been in their place, he is not sure that he would not have simply allowed Yoda to either choke upon that Force compulsion for truth or else rupture his heart in the effort to force his way against it.

A fact that will most likely become problematic, at some point in the near future.

At the moment, though, it is difficult to gather enough clarity to truly care.

And so he listens, although most of his mind is otherwise occupied with his personal recollections of the Summertime Wars and their ending, with the defeat and capture of the lor pelek or "jungle master" (avatar of the pelekotan) and Upland Liberation Front leader Kar Vastor (and the still shockingly agonizing memory of the loss of Depa Billaba to the Dark Side, a loss that had, more than once, brought Mace to within a trembling hairbreadth of losing himself to despair and the beckoning fury of the bloodlust - no, the outright bloodfever - that the darkness of pelekotan inspired within him) while Yoda is welcomed back - with surprisingly open arms - by first Obi-Wan and Anakin (who, strangely enough, remarks that he will be honored to finally get the chance to know the venerable Master, as though Yoda has been so twisted by fear that the being Anakin Skywalker has known for the past thirteen years has not truly been Yoda at all) and then by Qui-Gon and Dooku, after which the diminutive Jedi Master actually finally admits (and tearfully - this seems to be a day for many tears, though Mace Windu is certain that he has never actually seen Yoda cry, before this day) that he has been in error about a great many things, and that he will strive tirelessly to support them in all of their endeavors to rebuild the Order in the image of the Order as it has always been meant to be - a true mirror of the Force, to gather in, reflect, and spread its Light. (The metaphor, when delivered in Yoda’s distinctly convoluted syntax, is so deeply buried that Mace most likely isn’t the only one in the room whose attention wanders at least somewhat away from the former Grand Master, in any case.) Yoda’s admittance of wrong is the only thing that really pierces through the fog of dissociation and hits home, and it is so painful that Mace purposefully draws back in on himself in order to avoid reacting to it. He will have to deal with the knowledge eventually, of course. At the moment, though, his state of mind is far too uncertain to try to do any more than assimilate the facts encompassed by that admittance.

Mace has spent the vast majority of his life learning to master himself - painstakingly teaching himself how to carve away the aspects of his personality that simply do not (or will not be made to) conform with Jedi norms or to otherwise redirect all such troublesome aspects of his character so that what is improper and unacceptable to the Order and his fellow Jedi will find a more permissible and useful channel, much as he has so successfully redirected his aggression and latent violence into Vaapad - and he is well enough aware of his limitations to know that he has already far exceeded the limits of both his strength and control, this day. Even the bare facts - divorced of all personal context and examined only but briefly, in terms of information pertinent to the composition and character of the Order and the Jedi, as a whole - are sharp enough that they can cut him now, if handled too carelessly or too closely. It is safer, by far, to withdraw as far as he can, now, from the reality of what is happening and what it will mean to him, personally, so as to delay allowing the whole of this total paradigm shift to fully impact his senses - at least until he is no longer surrounded by those who might be harmed by his loss of control.

So he is listening from a vast mental remove when Qui-Gon and Dooku speak of the need to reassure the Senate that, in spite of the changes that will be made to the Order, the Order’s loyalty to the Light - and to the ideals of democracy, which the Order will support and will see to it, this time around, that the Republic also supports, whether its Senators and many separate factions may entirely wish to or not - will remain unchanged. Most of him is so distant from his surroundings that little of what is being said touches him. He pays just enough attention to raise one questioning eyebrow when Obi-Wan announces that General Grievous is on Utapau and that the Order will inform the Senate of this fact but will wait for an order to pursue him rather than send anyone after Grievous immediately, in order to reassure the government that the Order has not gone entirely rogue. When Obi-Wan adds (without once even looking in Mace’s direction) that the alternative - of sending someone after Grievous immediately, without waiting for word from the Senate - unfortunately always seems to result in either one splinter group or reactionary movement or another declaring a personal holy war against any and/or all Force users and more needless death and disruption than the galaxy can afford, at this point in time, he promptly lowers that skeptical brow and allows the majority of his mind to drift away again.

When Bail Organa quietly remarks, some time later, that it has been just over an hour and a half since Commander Mark and the others departed the Council Chamber, and Dooku remarks that they should retire to the main arena so that the rest of the Order can be informed of what has happened and the changes that will be occurring within the Order, Mace simply silently reclaims Ki-Adi-Mundi’s holoprojector and, retaining his place beside Master Yoda, files in behind those five still noticeably luminescent figures (Bail sandwiched in between the obvious pairs of Dooku and Qui-Gon and of Obi-Wan and Anakin, as though to shield the man from outside influences) when they depart the Spire. He wonders, vaguely, how long it will take before that lingering glow of unadulterate Force energy begins to fade from the flesh of the three Jedi (and it is surprisingly easy, to think of Bail Organa as a Jedi, though the man has not even truly begun his training - a fact that most likely indicates just how badly the Organas had erred, in keeping Bail from the Temple in the first place). The glamour of that lingering glow has an affect that is something like the mind tricks that Jedi sometimes are forced to use to sway those with weak minds who might otherwise disastrously hinder vital missions. The potential repercussions of such an unconscious ability, if uncontrollable, could become . . . problematic. But Mace is not yet ready to think too hard on the future yet, and so his attention soon wanders to safer ground.

The knowledge that Palpatine had been the Sith Lord (and obviously a Master of the Dark arts) all along is almost shockingly easy to assimilate, now that he has gained some distance (and the altered perspective that necessarily accompanies that distance, which takes comfort in the knowledge that the long, difficult, and deadly search through that building in The Works linked to Dooku - though only through the considerably questionable information won by Quinlas Vos’ near-disastrous covert mission to infiltrate the Count of Serenno’s inner circle of Dark Side apprentices - out through the labyrinth tangle of Coruscant’s underbelly and up into not only the Senate District but 500 Republica Way itself, wasn’t just a wild gundark chase after all) from the actual events that brought about that revelation. Additionally, from this remove, it is oddly fascinating to Mace to realize that his perception of Anakin Skywalker as the Sith Lord’s personal shatterpoint has actually proved to be correct. And so he is hardly listening at all when first Qui-Gon and then Dooku begin speaking to the assembled population of the Temple - a painfully small assembly, given the fact that roughly two-thirds of what little remains of the Jedi Order (over a third of their already pitifully low numbers - the trained, active, and accepted members of the Order having only just numbered a little over ten thousand in the days before the outbreak of the war - having been claimed since the start of the Clone Wars, with the slaughter on Geonosis) is currently deployed from Coruscant, on various active missions dictated by the needs of the galaxy in response to the various embattled fronts.

Mace can easily recall being present at larger assemblies simply for the purposes of a class or special presentation, during his early years as an initiate in the crèche. He cannot, however, remember any other time when roughly three-fourths of the Temple’s population has consisted of initiates well under the age of thirteen, as is currently the case. A rather generously large three-fourths, for that matter. And most of the scant fourth remaining (aside from the members of the former High Council and a random and meager scattering of Masters, Knights, and Padawans who are on Coruscant only because they are either recovering from serious injuries or else are waiting to be paired up with new Masters or news Padawans, due to casualties taken in battle or unusual measures that have been taken as a result of the war, as is the case both with Asajj Ventress-orphaned Padawan Whie Malreaux and twice orphaned Padawan Tallisibeth "Scout" Enwandung-Esterhazy as well as it is so for Jedi Master and Chief Librarian Jocasta Nu, who has lost her apprentice not to death but rather to need, the athletic and talented young Olee Starstone having been reassigned to Master Bol Chatak in order to gain another active Jedi in the field, such increasingly desperate measures having become more common both as more and more Knights and Masters have been claimed - either by the fighting or the disillusionment that has driven far too many promising Jedi to break all ties with the Order as a way to protest against the Jedi’s part in the Clone Wars - and as more promising young Padawans, like Whie and Scout, return to Coruscant from the field bereft of their Masters and therefore unable to return to active duty) are either Masters who work in the crèche or the Archives or who have been retired from active duty too long to be expected to fight on any of this war’s various active fronts.

It occurs to him that the actual composition of the audience is a good thing, as a gathering consisting of a larger number of Jedi who have actually fought and suffered in the Clone Wars would likely not make such a receptive audience. The younglings of the Jedi Order, though, have long been disconcertingly preoccupied with an almost zealous adoration of the famous Kenobi and Skywalker team, and a body of stories more closely resembling legends sprang up around the partnerships of both Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi and the earlier pairing of Dooku of Serenno and Qui-Gon (though the fascination with the latter Master-Padawan pair has, unsurprisingly, flourished to a slightly lesser extent) in the aftermath of first Naboo and then Geonosis. Thus, the miraculous-seeming presence of all four illustrious Jedi (perhaps magnified somewhat by that strange glamour, courtesy of the enormous amount of Force energy still lingering upon and within them) works upon a majority of the crowd like a charm.

The assembly truly only begins to become restive - their aura of adoration (for Anakin and Obi-Wan) and respect bordering upon awe (for Qui-Gon and Dooku) and trusting acceptance (for the ruling High Council of the Order) beginning to shade towards uncertainty and to break apart in brief but strong flares of anger and fear - when Yoda begins to speak, not only repeating his admission of error but confessing outright to having knowingly (if not entirely exactly purposefully) enforced both a Code and a body of traditions long solidified into unspoken law that contradict many of the earliest traditions of the Jedi Order and are, in truth, so harmful in nature that they have undermined both the moral authority of the Order and the ability of the Jedi to actually perceive and obey the will of the Force (and therefore fulfill the Order’s mandate). When the former Grand Master of the Jedi Order formally announces that the Council of Twelve has been permanently disbanded and that he has not only resigned his post as the head of the Order but abandoned his claim to the title of Grand Master (a declaration that manages to catch Mace so far off his guard that he visibly startles, his head snapping around towards the seemingly visibly shrunken little Jedi, who looks so frail and small in front of the assembly that it is as if being forced to confront his many failures has somehow physically diminished and aged Yoda), the mood of the crowd suddenly turns.

There may be few among the gathering who have experienced the horrors of the Clone Wars personally, but those few have all felt that touch down to the depths of their souls, and for them it is devastating to discover that their losses and their pain have not only have been a part of an elaborate trap, woven and set by the Sith Lord Sidious to snare and destroy not only the Jedi Order but the Republic that it has long served and protected, but that their suffering has been exacerbated and allowed by the errors and failings of their leaders, their teachers, those who have been trusted implicitly to guide the Jedi and to shape the Order truly, in the image of the Force and its will, since the very earliest days, in the crèche. And in truth, young though the majority of the assemblage is, there is not a single being present in the arena who has not been touched, in some way, by the agony and the darkness, the unadulterated evil, of this terrible and bloody civil war. Yoda’s matter-of-fact recitation of his failings, his part in both allowing and worsening the errors that have culminated in the Order tumbling headlong into the trap of the Clone Wars - and only being yanked out of that trap, at what feels like the last possible moment, by what seems like the direct intervention of the Force itself, through the beings of Dooku and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and Anakin - seems the ultimate betrayal not just of trust, but of belief in the Light itself, in the ability of sentient beings to succeed in the attempt to obey the will of the Light by embodying the example of that Light in their own lives.

Mace doesn’t really hear what is said, next, because he is so distracted by the trouble that he can sense is coming. The crowd has become just as suddenly and violently ripe for riot as summer air for a thunderstorm. He can almost see the murderous anger, the outraged betrayal, as the crowd’s mood darkens and threatens like the brooding menace of a dark cloud on a sultry day. He is too busy struggling to meet this unexpected rage with calmness, to convince himself that he will not be a part of this - that he will not meet that anger with his own, that he would instead honor the oaths he has sworn even if the institution he has sworn them to is no more and was little more than a veil of thin-warn and rotten cloth, shiny with corruption, when he had pledged them. And it is a struggle, because in spite of all the distance Mace has managed to put between himself and his present surroundings, the threat of rage from the assembly is so powerful that it abruptly plunges him back into the midst of reality, stunned and gasping, shaking his head in a vain effort to clear it and seeing for a moment, just as clearly as if he were truly back there again, the execution arena on Geonosis and the roaring berserker beast that the audience there had become, for a moment, in the grips of an overwhelmingly primal shared bloodlust. If there is any lingering doubt, in the minds of any of the former Council members, as to how far the Order and the Jedi have fallen, the unexpected and blood-red rage of that assemblage doubtlessly provides enough undeniable proof to tip the scales of judgment for them. Mace is (shakily, since his mind seems to be trying to protect itself by fuzzing out around the edges - as if going blank under such dangerously volatile circumstances could possibly help!) contemplating the wisdom (and trying to calculate the probable outcome) of an attempt at swift retreat when it happens.

The change in Yoda’s expression - the shift from raw grief to weary resignation to wild astonishment - brings Mace back to full attention in time to see the Force kindle around Yoda’s small green form with the suddenness of a spark catching fire. As the ancient Jedi Master comes alight - not with the light of the Force as Mace has known it, but with something else, something so awesomely bright that it makes the memory of the Force as Mace has known it, before this day, look homely and comfortable and dim as a candle, when compared to a noonday summer desert sun - the crowd and everyone else (except of course for Obi-Wan and Anakin, Qui-Gon and Dooku, and the still shielded form of Bail Organa) who can see the former Grand Master become locked in the same pose, rigid and staring, as shocked and unbelieving as Mace as an energy much more akin to the power surrounding Obi-Wan and Anakin, as they were cleansing the Force of the taint, blossoms into being around Yoda’s bowed form. And then Yoda begins to speak, and all other thought flies away.

The words . . . the words have significance, but no form; sound, but no meaning. He could not follow them; he could not do anything else but follow them. Their power batter at him, shattering walls of reticence, caution, prudence, opening up spaces in his heart that Mace has hardly even known existed. As a building unroofed by storm suddenly seems small and full of light, its furnishings dim with dust and shabby in the open air, his mind and his heart alike look strange to him. Yet, as Yoda continues to speak those words he cannot quite hear, he feels cleansed. Mace is suddenly sure that he had not truly wanted to furnish his mind’s walls with such shoddy ideas, or the chambers of his heart with such ill-made and unfeeling decisions, in the first place. And now he can let go of his fears, his anger, his wish that things might have been different . . . he can learn to truly trust in others, as Dooku and Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan and Anakin are trusting Yoda, and as Yoda in turn is trusting them, is trusting him. Mace is scarcely aware of the tears that are streaking his face, and only slightly more aware of Qui-Gon and Dooku’s voices, murmuring and intoning a rumbling earthy counterpoint, a measured musical refrain, to Yoda’s ineluctable and ineffable words.

But this would kill Yoda! Surely the effort of this, the energy required to sustain such an effort, would drain the old Master dry, would prove too much for his battered, flagging heart and his faltering, diminished strength, and utterly destroy him. Mace blinks away tears, astonished, because in the end it is not right, it is not just, that Yoda, who has (in spite of all his many and admittedly terrible mistakes) certainly earned a peaceful old age and a better end than this, should be the one to die. He suddenly desperately wants to help, wants to do something to save Yoda, but finds that he cannot speak, anymore than he can move. Something restrains him: Mace knows what it is, as Yoda has always told him he would be able to, in the fullness of a calm inner communion so profound that no doubts, no fears, no learned restraints or hesitancies, can intrude. He has his command. This is not his task. Something else - he does not yet know what, but time will tell and the Force will provide, as the Force always does - is, or will be, left up to him to do. Only moments later, Yoda is falling silent. Mace can tell that the crowd has been affected as he has: faces have softened from hurt betrayal and fearful hostility to the surprised bewilderment of children awakening from a bad dream, not yet understanding that they, themselves, alone hold the keys to their suffering. When Mace raises his eyes from the assembly, he sees hovering over them what could have been one of the clouds that the temperamental weather of hot summer days so often proves capable of breeding on so many worlds (and might have been mistaken as such, in truth, if the area were only open to such weather). Only this cloud, this aura of malaise, boils with malice. He knows, instinctively, what it is: the dark emotions of them all, translated into a visible form . . . and cleansed from them, separated from them, for now - but for how much longer?

No sooner has the question arisen than Yoda’s face changes, again, this time moving from startled disbelief into a serene acceptance. The cloud contracts, condensing around Yoda into a black fog that seems to weigh on him, pressing in on him until finally he slowly begins to collapse. Even as Mace watches, even as he stands paralyzed with awe that such a thing could happen, Mace is aware that a part of his mind is trying to fit what he is seeing into words. He will eventually have to record this; he knows that as surely as he knows that this experience will kill Yoda, unless someone else intervenes, adding their light, their strength, to his. As the (now former) second-in-command and Master of Records for the High Council, it has long been Mace’s duty, to record such happenings for the Archives, and so of course he will have to record this, as well. Yet, how could he possibly convey, in a language as limited and mortal as Basic, what he has felt and what he is seeing now? No one who has not been here, who has not participated in this, could possibly believe it. The cloud thickens as it grows smaller, as Yoda vainly struggles to stay upright but slowly, inexorably, sinks first to one knee, then to both, then finally slips forward to fall down upon his face, entirely prostrate beneath the weight of all that darkness. And then, just as that roiling miasmic darkness is hovering on the margins of nonexistence and both the life and power within Yoda is fluttering on the edge of being snuffed out, drained by the struggle to force that darkness back into nonbeing, Obi-Wan and Anakin and Bail Organa all step forward, as smoothly as though they have practiced this (Obi-Wan to Yoda’s right, Anakin to his left, and Bail coming up from behind the old Master), and reach for Yoda with both their hands and their power, in the Force -

And then that dark cloud is gone, just as suddenly and as simply as that, and Mace Windu is left blinking away a blindness that feels like sun-dazzle but isn’t, dazedly starting forward now that the Force has finally turned him loose of the compulsion that has stayed his instinct to help, even though Obi-Wan and Anakin are already handing Yoda up out of the floor and Bail Organa is solicitously helping to steady the slightly wobbly little Master as he regains both his footing and his equilibrium. Deep within his own mind and heart, and reflected in the faces of every Jedi and Jedi initiate he looks upon, Mace can see changes that he cannot even begin to analyze or account for. All he knows for sure is that fear, as a whole, has somehow been made both to vanish from this place and disappear from out of the full assembly of Jedi and Jedi initiates who are currently thronging it - including the former members of the Council of Twelve. All of the nagging barbs of envy and irritation; the niggling self-doubts and anxieties; the helpless feelings of inadequacy and the fear and anger and jealousy that all too often accompany such emotions, in a potent mix bordering far too dangerously close to outright hatred, both of the self and of others: these things have all been forcefully banished from the arena and the beings gathered inside it, perhaps even from the entire Temple or even the population of the whole Temple complex proper. Sorrow pierces Mace, then, to know without doubt that the Jedi have carried so much darkness within them, even within the sacrosanct grounds of the Temple; yet, even that sorrow is strangely poignant, for he is certain, though without knowing how he knows it, that this is a sorrow that will bring true healing.

Free, a corner of his mind whispers to Mace. You’re free, now. Yet, in the silent space where he comes to a stop, standing to Master Yoda’s left and flanked by a softly smiling Bail Organa - whose eyes are once again steadily fixed on his new Masters, once again embracing openly, so freely that they are kissing, again, in full view of all the Jedi on Coruscant, where they stand now, off to Yoda’s right - Mace feels not free but rebound, rededicated, reconsecrated, to the service of the Force. All the anger, all the fear, all the doubts that have built up, since the beginning of this horrible civil war . . . none of that matters anymore. He has fooled himself, as Mace can now clearly see. Like Yoda - and doubtlessly all the other Jedi as well, at least to some extent - he has been badly mistaken, both in his priorities and his beliefs. He has blinded himself with him ambitions, his pride, his obstinately tenacious will to prove all of the doubters - all of the whisperers skulking in the shadows as well as the disapproving faces scowling so openly over their displeasure about Korunnai wilders and the sanctity of tradition - wrong and to be the Korunnai who would, in the end, be more Jedi than even the Grand Master of the Order, himself. All that truly matters is his love for the Light, and his devotion to the Force. I, too, have made mistakes. I grieve for them. I will do better, he silently promises.

In that peace of mind, which true sorrow and serenity bring, Mace quietly steps forward with Yoda and the others of his former fellows upon the High Council - Master Ki-Adi-Mundi’s holoprojector having been deftly and safely snagged by an observant Kit Fisto, the moment Mace’s attention first began to flag as the Korun Master strained towards finding a way to aid Yoda - and flows out among the crowd, quietly mingling with his newly reaffirmed brethren, helping to reassure them with his calm presence that though the events of this day have been both horrifying and life-altering, the Jedi and the Republic will both not only survive these shocks, but learn and grow from them, and that all will yet be very well with the galaxy . . .

*********

Anakin’s soul is singing sweet contentment and sweeter still anticipation, as he strokes Obi-Wan’s hair back away from his gently smiling face and bends down over him for a kiss, in front of the entire collected body of the population of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. After all, why should he hesitate or hold back now? He and Obi-Wan are well and truly bonded now, in ways that can never be undone, and the sooner the rest of the Jedi can get used the idea of that, the more they can be encouraged to accept the situation between them as normal and right, the better it will be for everyone - not excepting the poor repressed Jedi and touch-starved Padawans and younglings, themselves! The less reticence they have now, in showing their love, the more quickly others will grow used to it. Anakin would laugh for joy at the thought, if he could only do so and remain pressed up against Obi-Wan, as he is, drinking of his mouth and sharing his breath. Instead, Anakin does the next best thing and simultaneously deepens their kiss while allowing his happiness and his pleasure to pass down into and through the many webbing tendrils of their bond, flooding Obi-Wan with his giddiness and his passion until finally Obi-Wan cannot keep from responding as Anakin desires him to, pushing up against him and tightening his own grasp upon Anakin, his innocent left hand drifting so dangerously low across the small of Anakin’s back that Anakin has to back away enough to break the kiss, with a moan, lest he loose all semblance of restraint and tackle Obi-Wan to the floor then and there.

"Soon, Anakin!" Obi-Wan gasps, panting slightly as his forehead falls down against Anakin’s left shoulder. "I promise, love - soon, there will be time for us and only us!"

How soon? That is the impatient question that wants to force its way out, but there is a trembling to Obi-Wan’s voice and a slight quiver to his body that cannot quite be explained away with anything so simple as shared impatience or even joy, and this worries Anakin. He knows that a part of Obi-Wan is still . . . well, perhaps not truly uncertain so much as simply a little nervous, still, about the actual physical act of consummating their new relationship, and even though he can understand why, from a purely abstract point of view, the thought that Obi-Wan might ever have cause to feel even a moment of fear, regarding him, hurts Anakin’s heart and reminds him that he needs to take things slower than this if he truly wants to savor each and every one of Obi-Wan’s firsts and make this as memorable as Obi-Wan deserves. So he reins himself back in and, with a quiet nod, merely whispers, "I know, love. Soon enough."

Obi-Wan quietly grateful look is all the reassurance Anakin needs that he’s made the right choice. Before either of them can get the chance to say anything else, though, Masters Qui-Gon and Dooku are standing next to them again, Qui-Gon’s gentle smile reassuring him and quieting Anakin’s heart before it can finish making the decision to leap into his throat. "Since the decision has been made to wait for the Senate’s decision, regarding General Grievous, perhaps it would be best if Bail were allowed to return to his quarters and then to attend to his remaining duties, as Alderaan’s Senator and Crown Prince," Qui-Gon quietly offers.

"The transition will doubtlessly be easier both for him and his allies, among the Senate, if they are allowed to see him and to speak with him face to face, in the coming hours," Dooku adds. Then, turning a little more towards Obi-Wan, he asks, "Have you seen how long it will be, before the order to go after Grievous comes, young Bendu Master? A more accurate idea of the time it will take the Senate to gather its scattered wits would be greatly appreciated."

"A little over two days - much closer to three days, counting from the time I contacted Mon Mothma about Palpatine’s demise, as Sidious, and the situation at the Temple, because of his attempt to issue Order 66 - if Bail is there to lend his political clout to Mon Mothma," Obi-Wan promptly replies, explaining what he has seen in far-sight, unsurprisingly taking Dooku and Qui-Gon’s comments about Bail in stride. "We have some time to breathe, now. If you want to speak to us about making further plans for - "

"Oh, no, Obi-Wan, you misunderstand me. I ask not so much for my sake as for yours. I am certain that you and Anakin would benefit from some time alone, before you are called upon to leave for Utapau. There are many things I am sure the two of you need to finish working out," Dooku offers, ever so carefully bypassing just what the bulk of those things might consist of, given Anakin’s all too obvious hunger for Obi-Wan, "between yourselves, regarding your new bond and relationship. It would be good if you could at least begin to see to these things before other, more prosaic concerns - such as the arrangements that will need to be made to remove your new Padawan from the ruling house of Alderaan - can intrude on your time."

Before Obi-Wan can even begin to answer or form a protest - an objection that Obi-Wan most likely would have felt bound by both duty and honor to make, irregardless of what he may have already seen, regarding those not quite three full days, in his visions - Qui-Gon begins to speak. "Since Dooku and I have been named the heads of the New Jedi Bendu Order, it would be best if the Temple residents were allowed to become accustomed to our presence here as quickly as possible. And that will be most easily accomplished if it is to us, primarily, that both the Jedi and the Senate learn to turn, in these next few critical days. I know that you both prefer to be kept ‘in the loop,’ but in this case I fear we shall have to beg your indulgence. If we could prevail upon you to please retire to your rooms - and I am assuming that Anakin will be moving back into your suite, Obi-Wan - and try to keep to them, until the order from the Senate comes, thing should go much more smoothly, all around."

"Before either one of you speaks, allow me to assure you both that you need worry about Qui-Gon and I. I am sure that, with the guidance of the Force and the help of the other members of the former High Council to aid us, we will prove equal to any challenge that might arise, in the meantime," Dooku quickly but smoothly adds. "I have already been informed that the suite of rooms I once shared with Qui-Gon, when he was my Padawan, are currently unoccupied, and that many of the items I left in the Temple, when I departed, are still in storage in those rooms. Qui-Gon and I shall be quite at home, there."

"And we will never be further away from you than a simple beckoning touch, mind to mind, should an actual emergency situation arise, before the Senate can issue the order to go after Grievous," Qui-Gon patiently continues, addressing and dismissing every other point of protest that Obi-Wan might otherwise be prompted to make. "You, my much beloved former Padawan, and you, my well loved former pupil, are, I fear, far too familiar, both to the Temple residents and to the politicians currently residing on Coruscant. If the politicians are given the chance to grow accustomed to having the two of you here, it will go harder, for us, when we begin to decentralize the Order. And if the Jedi are allowed to become to used to having you on hand, the Order will not function as well during your away missions. It really will be best this way, if we can prevail upon you to absent yourselves for a few days and give everyone else some time to get used to the idea of having Dooku and I here, again."

Anakin all but trembles with the effort to keep himself in check. If he truly wants to let Obi-Wan’s comfort set their pace, then he cannot push for this time alone with him, no matter how desperately he wants it. He dares not risk even agreeing with the two Force spirits, not if he wants what comes next to happen in accordance to Obi-Wan’s deepest and most heartfelt wishes, and not just Anakin’s own desires. He does not want Obi-Wan to feel pressured into anything, when it comes to them, to their relationship. He wants Obi-Wan to want this, to need to be with him in every sense of the word, just as much as Anakin does. If his former Master isn’t ready for that crucial next step quite yet, then Anakin will wait for him to be ready, however long it may take for him to become entirely ready. He will not try to take more than Obi-Wan is willing to offer him. He will wait for him - for his entire life, if he has to - and love him unconditionally for what he is able to give him. Though the sheer intensity and level of his own desire surprise him (Anakin has never felt such an unquenchable fever in his blood before, not even with . . . Well. No point in dwelling on the past, now. He has made many mistakes in his life, but he is adamant that this increasing need and want for Obi-Wan will not drive him into making yet another, not when Obi-Wan is still so innocent of such things), Anakin is determined not to let this make him so selfish as to push for something that Obi-Wan is not yet ready to give him.

Luckily for him, Obi-Wan seems disinclined to disagree with the joint argument of the two Force spirits, though the faintest shadow of a blush stains his cheeks as he replies. "I quite understand, Masters. And I agree, Bail will adjust better if he’s allowed to go speak to his people now and to make himself readily available to Mon Mothma and the other loyal Senators, in this time of crisis. Anakin and I will go speak with him," Obi-Wan nods, hesitating just the slightest bit before adding, with an endearing shyness, "and then we will retire, as you have suggested. If you could perhaps see to it that we are not bothered, until the order comes down . . . ?"

"Of course, Obi-Wan. Your privacy will be assured," Qui-Gon swiftly promises, being all too familiar with the intensely private and almost painfully shy nature that Obi-Wan tends to exhibit, when faced with new and potentially life-reorienting situations.

"Thank you, Masters," Anakin smiles, inspired by the twinkle in Qui-Gon’s eyes.

"It is the least we can do, young Master Skywalker," Dooku reassures him, sharing a small smile with him only after Obi-Wan has nodded his own thanks and turned away, towards where Bail Organa is standing and conversing with Kit Fisto.

After that, things happen surprisingly quickly. Though Bail’s devotion to them is manifest - he broadcasts his love for them and his happiness at being their Padawan so strongly that it is impossible to miss or mistake his feelings for anything other than the genuine joy and loyalty that they are - when they inform him that he has permission leave the Temple, to go speak to Raymus and his other loyal staff members about the changes in status that he will be undergoing, as their Padawan, as soon as he is able to arrange a proper abdication from the seat of Alderaanian power, and to offer his services to Mon Mothma and the Republic, in the meantime, should he wish to do so, his eyes light up with relief and determination to put his skills to use. Bail takes leave of them cheerfully, promising to return to the Temple when the Senate has reached a decision regarding the need to pursue General Grievous, and then Qui-Gon and Dooku are ever so politely but firmly chivvying them on their way out of the arena, on their way back to Obi-Wan’s suite. Careful not to appear too eager, Anakin allows Obi-Wan to lead the way (tamping down determinedly on the wave of hunger that the tantalizing sight of Obi-Wan’s swaying graceful gait inspires in him, Obi-Wan’s every motion so elegant and smooth that not even the thick folds of his heavy outer robe can hide or hamper his grace), his right hand firmly clasped in Obi-Wan’s left hand, their tightly entwined fingers a silent promise. They are less than halfway back to their rooms, though, when an impatient noise finally escapes from Obi-Wan’s throat as he turns back towards Anakin, and then his hands are tangling in Anakin’s tunics, his imploring eyes turned beseechingly up towards Anakin, and Anakin is leaning down over him again, kissing him and backing him up along the hallway until they hit a turning and Obi-Wan’s back fetches up against the wall.

Obi-Wan gasps, then, his mouth forming an astonished O, his eyes flying wide, so dark that they look blind as he looks up through his eyelashes at Anakin. But then he is closing those far too wide eyes, his entire body yearning upwards to meet Anakin’s searching lips in a tender kiss. His hands rise to hold onto Anakin, gently cradling his face before sliding back around his head with infinite care, as though Anakin is the one who might break if too much haste or pressure were to be brought into play. And then soft breaths are being exhaling in small, strangely delicate pants as their mouths begin a mutual exploration, wandering to press tender kisses over cheeks, necks, ears, temples, before drifting back and pressing together with a building insistence that soon fires to fevered passion. Hands that only moments before were tenderly cradling flesh and bone with exquisite care become grasping fists that tangle in clothing from need, mouths meeting with bruising intensity, and Anakin finds himself digging in his heels, not only pinning Obi-Wan to the wall with his entire body but actually shoving forward into Obi-Wan until it is almost as if he were trying to push them both back through the wall they are propped against . . . Obi-Wan moans, brokenly, into his mouth in between devouring kisses, and it is that sound - shockingly loud, as it breaks through the thunder of blood rushing in his ears - that recalls Anakin to himself and the promise he has made. As deliciously tempting as this position is, with all the access that it grants him, his taller body both draped down over Obi-Wan and pressing him up against the cool marble of the wall, it is not one he can maintain, not if he wants to keep any measure of control over himself. Shuddering, he makes himself pull away, his index finger automatically sliding over Obi-Wan’s lips to still any protests he might make.

"Soon, love," Anakin promises, purposefully echoing Obi-Wan’s earlier promises. "But not here. Home?"

"Home," Obi-Wan echoes, eyes falling shut agrees, as though the word is unfamiliar and he needs the absence of sight to truly concentrate, to get a proper feel for it. Then, smiling, his eyes kindling with light, he nods, as though coming to come decision, and repeats the word, making it an agreement, "Home," the word in his mouth becoming both a prayer and a promise. "Yes, Anakin. Our home, here, in this Temple." Obi-Wan’s smile is blindingly bright as his hand brushes up against Anakin’s cheek so that his fingers can plunge their way deep into Anakin’s curls, his touch a benediction. "Take me home, beloved."

Solemnly, carefully, he leans down to kiss Obi-Wan again, lingeringly, full on the mouth, before he draws back. Then, taking half a step back away from Obi-Wan and the wall, Anakin swears, "I will not hurry. This is too important for haste. I cannot risk pushing. I will not risk it. I love you far too much for that."

Obi-Wan’s face is utterly calm. The still lines of his face are like the cleanly defined lines of a piece of art, a sculpture of perfectly proportioned beauty, so smooth and lovely that the desire to touch - to trace the movement of those still and yet flowing lines with gentle hands, before layering over that touch with a pressing blanket of kisses - is so instinctive that Anakin’s entire body twitches helplessly back towards him before he can get a hold of himself again. "I know. And because I love you, I trust that you will not try to go any faster than I will be prepared to go."

It is a miracle that his voice does not crack when he tries to protest. "Master - "

"No, Anakin. Not in this. In this, you are my Master. And I am willing to be mastered. I am willing to learn. I have no true experience in this, beyond what you have already given me, and I would have more, now. Please, Anakin," Obi-Wan says very seriously, raising his arms and ghosting forward to loop them around Anakin’s neck so that he must move forward again and bow down closer to him. "I am ready for the next step. I hunger for more, for more of you. Please, take me home, now."

"Yes."

The rest of their journey to the suite is an oddly graceful dance in which sometimes Anakin leads, sometimes Obi-Wan pushes ahead, and quite often neither one is leading because they are working their way sidewards or backwards along the (thankfully incredibly) familiar passageways blind, too caught up in each other and their kisses to pay proper attention to where they are, much less where they are going. When they finally reach the familiar doorway, Anakin uncomplainingly allows Obi-Wan to back him up against the closed door, but when he reaches to palm it open, Anakin stops him. Greatly daring, he winds his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and, remembering a tradition from his childhood, lifts the slightly smaller man bodily in his arms, carrying him - laughing breathlessly, in between kisses - over the threshold, into the suite.

They have made it all the way to the door to the master bedroom before Obi-Wan seems to remember his nervousness. Obi-Wan’s control is so strong that the shiver, when it finally escapes his power to restrain, is still so slight that Anakin almost misses it - more a matter of increased tension, of almost subatomic reverberation, than of actual visible or palpable trembling - but the accompanying slight hint of trepidation along their deeply branching bond is impossible to hide. The moment it registers Anakin stops short, as unwilling as ever to push, instead taking a moment to take a deeply calming breath, to recenter himself, to tamp down on the rising heat and hunger in his blood and (acting more on instinct, now, than any experience of his own) releasing the tension building in his body in the Force, rather than risk seeming to willing to force the issue. "It’s alright, Obi-Wan. We can take this slow. We have time. We have something like two and a half days of time, love. There’s no hurry. It’s not a race. We can stay just like this, if you want. I could kiss you for years and still feel only joy to be allowed to kiss you more."

Obi-Wan shudders, then, as Anakin brushes his left thumb gently along Obi-Wan’s mouth - the lips already blushed a bitten berry-red from the unremitting pressure of so many demanding kisses, all following so closely after each other - his right hand rising to ghost up along Anakin’s left hand (his grasp upon Obi-Wan hip gentle this time, undemanding, an anchor instead of a manacle) and up his arm to his shoulder, until his finger catch and tangle in the hood of Anakin’s loose outer robe, cut so that it drapes his form almost more a cape would instead of a robe. "But I - I want to touch you . . . " Obi-Wan’s fingers tangle in the folds of fabric, suddenly inexplicably grown clumsy, fumbling with a simple clasp that should be nearly as familiar as the one holding his own robe closed around his throat, a noise of inchoate protest escaping out from behind those reddened lips as he shakes his head, helplessly, the tossing of that motion throwing his loose hair forward over his shoulders, long enough now that it falls around them both with a dry rushing sound, until Anakin can see the world only through a curtain of silken flame. The clean, faintly musky, slightly spicy, completely natural scent of Obi-Wan (a scent that Anakin has long privately considered to be far superior to anything that might be found in a bottle) rises off of him, off of that waterfall of hair, in a warm wave, pressing solidly in between his heaving chest and Anakin, almost like a living thing, and then abruptly Anakin is being yanked forward, into Obi-Wan’s arms, Obi-Wan pulling him down to him for a searing kiss, lips devouring him fiercely, Obi-Wan pulling their bodies tightly together even as he dives wholeheartedly into the kiss, and it feels so good, so right, to be tangled up like this, the many-branched bond between them humming with energy and emotion, so that their feelings, their thoughts, their souls, are not only wrapped together but actually melting into each other, melding, mixing, becoming one, the sweetest of all sensations as Obi-Wan presses even closer, drawing upon the bond to pull himself deeper into the embrace . . .

But no, there it is again, that breath of apprehension, that ever so slight but ever so telling line of tension in his body, and no matter what Obi-Wan may say to him, he cannot continue if Obi-Wan retains even so much as the faintest wisp of a hint of fear. So Anakin gently extracts himself from the embrace, pulling back but not away. Before Obi-Wan can try to protest again, Anakin smiles, his whole being kindling with joy, as a solution to their dilemma presents itself to him, the knowledge blossoming into being in his mind, as complete as if it has been readied beforehand for just such a situation as this. "I have an idea, love. Do you still have that packet of massage oils the people of Corellia gave you, out of appreciation for your part in turning the war away from their sector?"

Obi-Wan nods, eyes wide, the question in them so obvious that there is no need for him to speak the words.

"I think it’s time to put them to use," Anakin simply smiles. "You’re too tense, beloved. I want you to enjoy this. I need you to be absolutely sure you’re ready, no matter what we do. Let me help you relax?"

The hesitation is so slight that his heart doesn’t even have enough time to seize within his chest, for fear Obi-Wan might refuse, before he is nodding, that wealth of fire-kissed hair sliding forward to curtain his face as he dips his head down, ducking it shyly, before he raises it back up again, offering Anakin a tremulous but infinitely tender smile. "Yes."

*********