A/N Well.
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I'm awfully sorry to those of you who followed me because of my Hetalia stuff. I was all, "Yay, I'm going to update quickly!" and then ended up writing about Star Wars instead. Don't ask me what happened, because honestly, I don't know XD
Anyways, this is just a short, introspective sort of story about Anakin's struggle with fear. I wrote it for the sole purpose of helping myself to understand the character and his thought process better, since I intend to roleplay and eventually cosplay Ani, but after I finished it I thought I may as well slap it up here. It takes place sometime during Episode III. So, please enjoy ^-^
There was a time when Anakin Skywalker was fearless.
As he stared blankly out at the flat, empty sands of Tatooine he could almost see the crowds in the towering stands, almost hear them roar in a thousand different languages as the announcers spoke his name, almost feel his podracer throb with the life he had given it. If he closed his eyes and truly lost himself in the memory, he almost felt brave again.
But then, inevitably, his mind skipped forward to the moment he walked away from his mother and felt that numbing fear for the first time. It began as only a hint of apprehension, a miniscule sliver of ice embedded in his heart, and his master had assured him that it would pass in time.
Anakin clenched his fists. That had proven to be just another lie that Obi-Wan fed him. The fear had only grown to consume his entire being with its parasitic coldness until it was all he could ever think about, taking over every aspect of his life. He feared that the separatists would win the war, that the Senate would stagnate and democracy itself would become ineffective, that Obi-Wan would never really understand him, that the Jedi were not as selfless as they professed, that he had pledged his life to—and thrown away the life of his mother for— some holier-than-thou Council that refused to acknowledge his potential. Even Padmé, who had once been the sole source of tranquillity in his increasingly turbulent existence, now triggered a wave of terror to wash over him every time he saw her. At this point, after countless repetitions of the same premonition, Anakin found himself considering her pregnancy as less and less of a blessing and more and more of a death sentence. Above all else, he feared losing her.
He knew that a Jedi wasn't supposed to be afraid and that it was necessary for him to overcome his insecurities. Yes, the stuck-up masters on the Council had made quite sure that he was aware of what they wanted him to do; but knowing what's right and doing what's right are two worlds as different as coarse, gritty Tatooine and sleek, metallic Coruscant. Everyone was more than happy to order him around, but when it came to articulating exactly how he needed to correct every supposed flaw in his personality, then they all became vague and mysterious and spouted mystical-sounding advice that Anakin couldn't make head or tail of.
Perhaps that was what he hated most about the Jedi Order: the abstractness of it all. Anakin liked tactility. He liked things that could be taken apart so he could see how they worked and things that could be put together to make something new. Intangible things frustrated him—things like his love for Padmé that he had tried to banish unsuccessfully for years before finally giving in, his growing anger towards Obi-Wan and the rest of the Council, and of course the fear that now incessantly haunted him. Sometimes he wished that changing himself were as easy as reprogramming C-3PO, a mere matter of taking himself apart and switching a few wires around. But no, of course it wasn't as simple as that; he'd have to deal with his feelings the hard way.
That's why you're here, remember, Anakin reminded himself as the wind began to pick up, gusting through his hair and sending particles of sand flying into his face like a swarm of tiny insects. Amidst the raging chaos that was the Clone Wars, a greater chaos was brewing inside of him, and by now it was strong enough that he was acutely aware of its presence and the danger of leaving it unchecked. He had figured that a brief unannounced sabbatical on his home planet, away from all his responsibilities and particularly Obi-Wan's constant nagging, would help him to sort out his conflicting emotions. Now, though, sitting there in the middle of nowhere, he understood that they were just as unavoidable as the sandstorm now looming on the horizon. It was too late. The paradoxical fusion of freezing fear and burning anger was a part of him now, coursing through his every vein and tainting his every thought, and at this point he had no more control over it than he did over the setting of the suns. There was no turning back: he had no choice but to follow the path that his fear had chosen for him.
Yes, there was a time when Anakin Skywalker was fearless.
But that time was long since past.