Small Moves [Closed]
Luke rubbed a hand across his face as he came out of the meditative trance. The line between meditation and sleep had been blurred lately, his body needing one and his mind the other to keep functioning properly. Just by looking at the dark circles under his eyes, it'd be pretty easy to tell that Luke wasn't getting enough of one, and healing trances only compensated for so much.
The nightmares were getting worse; in the last one a teenaged Ben had joined the fake Mara in trying to strike him down. Their features had been so familiar, so hard to put from his mind as family and the two people in the galaxy who mattered most to him. His heart had broken the moment he'd made the decision to stop them. He'd seen the sneer on the not-Mara's face, the darkness in Ben's eyes, and the green-white blade of his lightsaber had hissed in the rain that was falling and barely met resistance as it had passed through the body of his son.
The horrifying part had been that in the nightmare, he'd expected to see the halves of the dead ooglith masquer withdraw, uncovering the Vong beneath, but it hadn't, and numbly Luke had realized that this had truly been his son. The tears had prevented him from seeing clearly enough to dodge the knife the not-Mara had plunged into his stomach, but they hadn't kept him from seeing the true Mara's body when they dumped it beside him.
He closed his eyes once more, willing those images away and drawing on the Force for support. Luke reminded himself firmly that it was just a dream, that it wasn't reality and never would be because he would never be able to raise a blade against his son or his wife.
But he'd woken up with the handgrip of his lightsaber in his hand, and a dark shadow down his front, and even several moments of blinking hadn't been enough to dispel the image of that glistening red stain or the thin crease that he imagined along Mara's nose. He'd flung his weapon from him, but it had been a long time before he was able to get back to sleep.
At least now, he had Rogue Squadron and the Magical Department and their respective tasks to keep him busy, but he wasn't sure about the other Jedi on Stacy. And that was why he was calling this meeting. They were Jedi; teaching and helping was in the job description. And so when he'd said to Nanoha he'd speak to the other Jedi, an idea had formed in his mind. A lot of their shielding techniques and such were more specific to Force-users, but Luke knew basic meditation didn't need the Force to help it shore up a mind's defenses.
They might not have chosen to be here, but now that they were, the Luke that was the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order was determined that they would do their part. A Jedi's responsibility was to those who couldn't help themselves.
Regulating his breath, focusing the Force around him, Luke put out a telepathic call to the Jedi on the ship--trained, aspiring, or otherwise--to come to the Jedi Temple in the City. And then he settled in to wait.
The nightmares were getting worse; in the last one a teenaged Ben had joined the fake Mara in trying to strike him down. Their features had been so familiar, so hard to put from his mind as family and the two people in the galaxy who mattered most to him. His heart had broken the moment he'd made the decision to stop them. He'd seen the sneer on the not-Mara's face, the darkness in Ben's eyes, and the green-white blade of his lightsaber had hissed in the rain that was falling and barely met resistance as it had passed through the body of his son.
The horrifying part had been that in the nightmare, he'd expected to see the halves of the dead ooglith masquer withdraw, uncovering the Vong beneath, but it hadn't, and numbly Luke had realized that this had truly been his son. The tears had prevented him from seeing clearly enough to dodge the knife the not-Mara had plunged into his stomach, but they hadn't kept him from seeing the true Mara's body when they dumped it beside him.
He closed his eyes once more, willing those images away and drawing on the Force for support. Luke reminded himself firmly that it was just a dream, that it wasn't reality and never would be because he would never be able to raise a blade against his son or his wife.
But he'd woken up with the handgrip of his lightsaber in his hand, and a dark shadow down his front, and even several moments of blinking hadn't been enough to dispel the image of that glistening red stain or the thin crease that he imagined along Mara's nose. He'd flung his weapon from him, but it had been a long time before he was able to get back to sleep.
At least now, he had Rogue Squadron and the Magical Department and their respective tasks to keep him busy, but he wasn't sure about the other Jedi on Stacy. And that was why he was calling this meeting. They were Jedi; teaching and helping was in the job description. And so when he'd said to Nanoha he'd speak to the other Jedi, an idea had formed in his mind. A lot of their shielding techniques and such were more specific to Force-users, but Luke knew basic meditation didn't need the Force to help it shore up a mind's defenses.
They might not have chosen to be here, but now that they were, the Luke that was the Grandmaster of the New Jedi Order was determined that they would do their part. A Jedi's responsibility was to those who couldn't help themselves.
Regulating his breath, focusing the Force around him, Luke put out a telepathic call to the Jedi on the ship--trained, aspiring, or otherwise--to come to the Jedi Temple in the City. And then he settled in to wait.