воскресенье, 20 декабря 2020
Chapter 4. A matter of trustMace hasnt't been purposefully eloquent every time he spoke of how much Skywalker's presence weighed on him. The boy was strong in the Force, too strong to call him bright and shining. On galaxy-wide scale it was okay, generally he could be compared to the lux of the Core Star Claster, visible from everywhere. It was more akin to being slowly incinerated once gotten too close.
His power warped the Force itself when he wasn't controlling it. It made all attempts to see what lies in the future all the more unsufficient, especially when the Force has been clouded already.
Mace didn't blame Skywalker. To take a hold on yourself with that precise control they were asking of him and keep it going endlessly was not an easy task. Jedi were learning to complete that task all their life. Anyone who claimed they made it perfectly was a liar. And the boy was half a life behind his peers, so he only possessed a sheer power at his hand, a strong will to use it to his advantadges and a skill that of a Youngling fresh out of a creshe. Of course his control lacked.
The problem was to make Skywalker understand them. He was a good man and a devoted student, but also self-centered, arrogant and nihilistic. Being that strong enabled him to see his shortcomings, and when he did, he was prone to shift the blame. Mace had no doubts that Obi-Wan broke quite a few walls with his head, figuratively speaking, while trying to talk some sense in his student. His headache had become legendary at some point, just alongside it's reason to exist.
Now, it seemed the control was wrenching Skywalker's hands.
читать дальшеMace has never thought him being capable to shut so. The shields around his mind were possibly the sturdiest a Jedi could build and not to knock themself out in the process. Then again, it was likely due to the hold Skywalker kept on Tano, their bond a lifeline.
No wonder Tano claimed him untouchable, he basically developed a migraine with the Force sensitivity instead of that to light or noise. No fun.
"If you are taking advice," he said, back in reality, "I'd have broght down some of your defences if I was in your shoes. Not all of them, you'd be a whimpering mess then, but a part? Most definitely. They are presenting, to put it mildly, an aggressive environment in that quality and quantity."
Skywalker shrugged. He looked dulled, tired beyond comprehension, but overall kept on decent level of awareness, so Mace let it slide.
"Well," he said, "anything you would like me to know? I recall, there was a meeting cut short."
The meeting in question had been adjourned after Skywalker gave his opinion on the matter, he thought, even if the boy passed out before Mace managed to drive him mad enough to rant aloud. But the matter they clashed over has not seized out.
Against his expectations, Skywalker actually made a noise similar to a mirthless laugh. He then straightened, still with his Padawan in his hands, and offered Mace a bitter smile.
"He means it's okay," coarsely said Tano, unmoving. "Like, no offense taken."
"And you?" Mace asked. "Speak your mind, Padawan Tano."
"What for? The Council has never pretended to mind us when ordering us around. Are you trying to better your image now?"
Mace stared at her. It was not the first time this particular line was used to describe the Jedi High Council and even the Order in it's entirety, but he certainly has never heard it from a Jedi before.
"Do you truly mean it, Padawan?"
She winced, turning to bury herself deeper into Skywalker's chest.
"You always like, the Jedi meant to serve the greater good, to the people, the democracy," she said. "And then you send us to protect some fat sleemo making their wealth out of his kind instead serving them, or to kill and devastate the folks who is fighting for their right to leave the Republic - no matter the war, they have that right, it is constitutional! And if a Jedi want to leave the Order, you just go all 'They are wrong, they are to be pitied, to be remembered as deserters and too cowards to carry the holy bear of Being The Jedi', and it doesn't matter that it is you who abused our trust, who uses us and then berates us for being ungrateful for the pain you cause!" She was shooking with the force of her sobs, nearly choking for air. "You were teaching us to not let our emotions to be seen, and then turned around and assaulted us to seal the deal to maybe protect one politician, who already got himself too much off this war! What would you do next, Master, scapegoat us to some greedy Senator or just leave us behind to die on a mission, when we become political inconvenience, and call it 'The Will of The Force'? Would you even care then?"
* * *
Anakin knew, logically, that he should be sleeping, even if it meant to ask for sleep medication this long into insomnia fit. He couldn't.
Ahsoka was quietly snoring, dead for the world. Her small body, curled up next to Anakin, radiated warm, and he found himself more than once trying to snuggle with her. That was a blessing to get one room in the healing ward. Anakin didn't know how he'd have been feeling unable to check on her on the whim.
Her little speech was a revelation of sort, if he was honest. Nothing that he didn't think on his own, if not in those exact words, but spoken altoghether, there were worrisome thoughts. He specifically disliked the scapegoat part, as it has rang a bell in the Force.
But where he was a little troubled, Mace Windu was definitely shaken to the core.
They didn't get more time with him, because Ahsoka went into full hysterics and was taken by mind-healers almost immediately. Mace has been left in Vokara's study, ashen and speechless in comical resemblance to Anakin's state. Anakin didn't know whether he happened to face the first tantrum in his life or was actually reconsidering some poor life's choices. In any way it suited him well.
He sighed, forcing his body to relax again.
May Anakin be a good-fashioned Jedi, he would be too stricken by Ahsoka's cry. As it was, Padmé's words were repeating themself in his head: Ahsoka was a living being, and as such she was allowed to feel.
There lies the truth, he admitted sorrowfully. He was defending Ahsoka by appealing to common sense, when not so long ago he decided to follow the Code and it's teaching. He couldn't tell in which case he was a hypocrite, but he for sure was one.
He also knew that his previous self would be angered by this commotion to the degree where he could desire for Obi-Wan to stay dead just to not deal with the stress.
So, the problem, he thought. Just the moment I finally accepted the Jedi way, the Code, the need to become a lesser man in order to stay a good one, what drove me to was revealed to be elaborated intelligence plot gone a bit too far. What it means for me, if I am going to not be petty and think with my head?
Because in the end it was all about him. Here, in the silent night not unlike the worst night ever (he shouldn't make a chart, really), when all was done, the only part he still was responsible for was what he was going to do from now on. Whichever path he would go down will define the future. He couldn't choose the wrong one.
He turned carefully and searched Ahsoka's features. She was sleeping piecefully, trusting him with her life even after all they were through. She was a child under his wing. The future itself.
And just like that, he knew.
* * *
In the morning he woke from a dreamless oblivion to find Ahsoka long gone to her procedures. He was expected to go as well, but obviously they let him have his rest.
He was contemplating the pros and cons of going back to sleep, when the door opened and Obi-Wan stepped in the room with a tray in his hands. He smiled upon seeing Anakin conscious.
"Good, I didn't want to be the one to wake you up," he said in the way of greeting. "Hope you are hungry, I really got into trouble for all these delicacies. But no caf, I'm afraid. Healer's order."
He sat the tray on the bed and plopped at the foot of it, appearing to be carefree if not for the look in his eyes. He was tracing Anakin's every movement, and the crease between his eyebrows was exactly like that one he would get after restless night.
Anakin propped himself up on his elbow and checked the tray. There were one person tea set, pancakes, some berries, sliced ham and a little bowl of what he instantly recognized as clamsyflowers from Naboo. Those were indeed a delicacy, and he looked at Obi-Wan questioningly. He either stole - saved - that from some unscheduled soiree this night or it was a very generous gift from a very friendly Senator.
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes all the way to the ceiling.
"Yes, it was Padmé. Now, feel free to guess what I has called a 'trouble', don't spare my pride."
Anakin scoffed and grabbed the bowl. So Padmé didn't take his misadventures well, it seemed. He wasn't going to ask, his wife could be terrifying sometimes, and he has enough staff for nightmares for life.
Whatever she came up with, it was well-deserved anyway.
He ceded the berries in Obi-Wan's favour, poured the tea into the cup, sipped a little and offered the cup too.
It was their old tradition, the one of a few Anakin carried from Tatooine where him and Shmi were used to have something to share with no choice being their. In this new life it didn't demand for special circumstances, just for one of them to feel like that. Anakin was absolutely feeling like sharing with Obi-Wan this whole breakfast, only the filthy smartass over there has not deserved the clamsyflowers.
"I believe I didn't say 'Sorry', Anakin," Obi-Wan said, offering the cup back. "But I am. I can't ask for forgiveness, but I want you to know, that I am very sorry. And I said so to Ahsoka this morning, too," he added.
Anakin scrutinised him all over again.
"Please, Anakin," answered Obi-Wan with a new eyeroll. "She has her way with the words, true, but she is far too gracious to beat me literally. Although, I think she would have been gentlier with her fists."
Anakin laughed at him.
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продолжение следует,
In the final hour