Guess who doesn't own Star Wars. (It wouldn't be such a mess if I did.)
The girl who stumbled off the ship into the Temple hangar looked nothing at all like one would expect of a Jedi – disheveled, dirty, and tear-streaked eyes uncomfortably empty – but the raw ache of her emotions through the Force was too powerful to be anything but. It was unspeakable sorrow and confusion, a turbulent maelstrom of pain and loss that went soul-deep, hemorrhaging uncontrolled into the Force. The alert from the Temple Guardian assigned to watch the unloading droids was all but unnecessary.
=][=
"The Padawan's name is Marian Jhessak, Masters," Knight-Healer Linec Rav stated, struggling to keep the awe out of her voice. The gathered presence of the High Council was…blinding, for one who relied on the Force for her sight.
"That's Knight Zeqquri's Padawan," came the voice of Master Gallia, threaded with low surprise. Were the High Council less brilliant (or had she eyes), Linec thought she'd see the Master Consular frowning. "What could've happened? The mission we assigned them was nothing they hadn't accomplished before."
"We must remember, Master Gallia, that the successes of the past are no securer of a similar future." A silent moment passed in which Linec assumed the Masters were nodding at the sagacity of Master Mundi's statement before she cleared her throat in an awkward attempt at subtly regaining their attention.
"Apart from a few minor scrapes, moderate sleep deprivation, and light malnourishment, Padawan Jhessak is physically fine," she supplied, "Whatever befell them, it wasn't a normal method of attack."
"You suspect some kind of mental assault, then?"
Linec tucked away a flash of annoyance at being interrupted before (hopefully) the High Council could sense it. "If I may be blunt, Councilors?" After another silent moment in which she assumed they were nodding, because politeness dictated at least an excuse for a denial, she continued. "The mind-healers refuse to go near her while her pain is so fresh."
She was pretty sure she imagined the ripple of shock that flashed through the Council Chambers at her oblique confirmation. "Have they sensed any evidence of the Dark Side?" Master Windu's deep voice rang out, sounding more serious than she had ever heard.
A corner of Linec's mind supposed this might have been a moment where one of her visually-dependent colleagues might blink at the unexpected question, but most of it was caught up in the realization that Kenobi had fought and killed a Sith only four years earlier. "We, ah…didn't notice any Darkness surrounding Padawan Jhessak, no. We…didn't really think to look."
"Always two Sith, there are," Grand Master Yoda admonished, as if he'd read her mind, "Remember this, you should, until the other, we have found."
"Yes, Grand Master." Linec bowed towards the intense star that was all she could 'see' of the eldest Master Jedi, honestly chagrined. They should have remembered the Council's warnings after the events of Naboo. "It won't happen again."
"Report back to us if there are any developments."
Recognizing Master Windu's command for the dismissal it was, she bowed deeply to the High Council in acknowledgement and took her leave, frowning as her mind turned to how she should pass this on without creating unnecessary drama.
It would be months before she discovered how badly she failed.
=][=
"Look, it's her."
"No, don't. I heard that statue of hers taught her how to destroy your memories."
"You're being ridiculous–"
"–That's impossible, the Masters would never have let her back if she could drain the lifeforce of others…would they?"
"Isn't it weird, though, how she came back perfectly fine, and Master Zeqquri didn't?"
Don't listen to them. Don't listen to them. Don't listen to them. They don't know what they're talking about, just don't– Marian faltered in her walk as another wave of nausea rolled over her –puke, don't puke, don't puke.
Don't let them see you're still hurting.
It was easy to do around the younglings and Initiates, she didn't need to do much more than keep a blank face and keep her thoughts to herself. The older Padawans and many of the Knights took more effort, burying her feelings deep down. It was hard, ignoring all the whispers she had to pretend not to hear, all the askance looks she had to pretend not to see.
Master Zeqquri would've been proud of her self-control.
She swallowed thickly, trying to bury the grief before she broke down there in the middle of the hallway. The dirty looks directed her way for even that momentary lapse of serenity were bad enough, she didn't want to see their expressions if she let the cracks show any wider in public. The pounding in her head and the way the floor kept tilting on her was making it difficult enough.
She considered it a small victory (and she would take all of those she could get) when she reached the Halls of Healing without puking or falling over. Her shoulder would not have taken either of those well, and she'd just reached the point where she could ignore the ache.
The doors slid open with a near-silent hiss, and Marian felt herself untense just a little when the only healer she could see was a Miralukan towards the back of the room, turned away from the door. Very carefully, in part to counter the way the room was spinning and the rest to avoid noise, she began stepping her way slowly towards the medicine cabinet with the faulty electro-latch about midway in.
"Padawan, what do you think you're doing?"
Sithspawn. Her mind spun as she tried to come up with a good enough story, but nothing was coming to her. Eventually, she decided silence was her best course of action, and gave the med-cabinet a sullen glare. To her surprise, the healer didn't immediately demand she leave, instead putting down the datapad (could Miralukans even use datapads?) and making a beckoning gesture. Not quite believing it, Marian did as she was bid and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Well? What's wrong with you?" the healer asked, already running through the familiar movements of basic humanoid diagnosis.
It took Marian an embarrassingly long time to realize she was asking as a test of her faculties. "Um…I think I have a concussion," she enunciated slowly to make sure the words came out right (or so she hoped), "and I…wrenched my shoulder."
The Miralukan made a strange sort of strangled noise as she ghosted her hands over her patient's head. "What were you doing, throwing yourself repeatedly at a wall?"
Marian laughed, which was a bad idea, since it triggered a fresh wave of pounding behind her forehead. "Something…like that," she groaned, fisting her hands in the hem of her tunic to keep from grabbing her head, "Got…kicked into one, if that counts. Sparring."
The healer frowned. "Who was on salle duty today, Padawan Raissusha?" she asked, more to herself than anything, "Why didn't you go to her?" This last was directed at the patient before her, and it took Marian a moment to recognize that.
"Said…I was fine if I was…" Her brain refused to cooperate at this point, sending her thoughts in loops as she tried to remember what the word on the tip of her tongue was supposed to be, "…amiable tourney? No. Ambu…lance-y. No… Ambulatory! That one."
The Miralukan seemed amused by her quiet pride, but it was quickly buried by a very clear annoyance. "Well, you're obviously not fine. I'm going to have words with 'Susha's Master…"
Silence fell as the healer turned her attentions to the actual execution of her duties, the warming glow of the Force suffusing Marian's senses. A relieved sigh slipped out as the pain in her head and all her tension seemed to just bleed out. She felt better than she had since Ralltiir– She slammed that line of thought down hard and fast, and repressed another sigh. There was all the tension again. That hadn't lasted long.
The healer put paid to any hope that she hadn't noticed, frowning at Marian as she took a step back, but thankfully she didn't press the issue. "You got lucky, the actual damage to your shoulder was minimal, but I still want you to keep it immobile and in a sling for a standard week," she ordered instead, already turning to the med-cabinet, "Come back then, I'll take another look at it. Ask for Linec Rav."
"Yes, Master."
"I'm only a Knight, don't call me that," Knight Rav chided, as she helped Marian into the sling before shooing her out of the Halls.
Her stride brisker now that she wasn't having to fight the floor, Marian turned towards the Archives to see what she could find on medical self-care. She didn't want to rely on Knight Rav's goodwill lasting forever.
=][=
Several months on found the Ferodal-born Human staring listlessly at the ceiling as the alarm shrilled away mercilessly out of her reach. She didn't want to get out of bed today. She didn't want to go out there, didn't want to put the mask on that felt like it was growing flimsier by the day and at the same time more and more smothering. But it was her day for morning clean-up, supervising and helping the droids and some of the older younglings tidy up the common areas in their section of the dormitories, and she'd be late if she put it off much longer.
The statuettes lining the back of her desk pulled her gaze as she switched off the alarm, as they always did. Her eyes skittered over the statue of Ahnd-Rast, too many dangerous memories attached to that image of the Thriidosian saint for her to deal with today, and settled on the effigy of her ancient ancestor Hess-Arian, his hand outstretched in either order or compassion, it was hard to tell. Happier memories of Senna distracting Master Nu so she could verify the half-remembered stories flitted through her head as she brushed a hand over the little figure, part of her praying that his spirit would look out for her in the coming days. She knew it was just silly superstition, but it made her feel better.
Hours later, and morning tasks complete, found Marian wandering the halls at loose ends. Master Nu had been giving her Looks for the amount of time she'd taken to spending in the Archives, and she wasn't about to go volunteer herself for an hour-plus session of being stared and whispered at behind her back if she tried to aid in lessons. The Master or Knight in charge surely wouldn't appreciate the distraction, either. Padawan Sushi (she knew she shouldn't call her that, even in her own head, but the Nautolan kind of deserved it) was on medical duty in the salle today, too, so that was out, which was incredibly frustrating. The salle was practically the only place where she could be free of the shadow of her return – Shii-cho didn't whisper about her behind her back, Makashi didn't constantly tell her to let go without telling her what to let go of, Soresu didn't look at her like she was about to start killing younglings in the halls.
She schooled her expression and stuffed her slowly-bubbling ire deep, deep down where she didn't have to think about it as the door to a classroom slid open and disgorged its occupants: young Padawans, just beginning their teenage years or equivalent, only recently chosen by their Masters. Well, most of them anyway.
She'd recognize that sand-blond hair anywhere, everyone in the Temple did. The apprenticeship of Anakin Skywalker had been all anyone could talk about, until she'd come back. How Master Jinn had found him on Tatooine, Master Jinn declaring him as his Padawan to the Council – in front of the Padawan he already had, no less – and Padawan Kenobi's own pleading with them to train the (former slave, some rumors whispered) after Master Jinn died in what some were calling the Battle of Naboo. Marian remembered her own feelings of sympathy and compassion when she first heard what had happened, but now all she felt when she thought about now-Knight Kenobi was jealousy, and she didn't know why.
Marian stayed behind to watch as a few of the Padawans – and little Skywalker – clustered near the entrance to the classroom to chat. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. The halls were full of Jedi of all ranks as they passed to their various destinations, and as long as she remained near her pillar by the wall, no one would really notice her at a glance.
"–pass this next exam, Master Pwitretut said she'd teach me the starting forms of Shien after we got back from Ithor," a young Fondorian was happily exclaiming by the time Marian had focused in on what they were saying. "What about you, Ani?"
"Master Kenobi got sent on another mission." Skywalker's voice was surly as he admitted he was as stuck in the Temple as a youngling. "It really feels like he just doesn't care about me a lot of the time. Like one of these days, he's just going to abandon me without a second thought."
She didn't know why that was the thing that set her off, the simmering cauldron that was her emotions exploding like the volcanoes of Mustafar as she strode over the knot of thirteen-year-olds and confronted Skywalker. She couldn't even recall what she said as she tore into him, everything she'd spent the past year hiding and trying to let go of erupting out of her in a torrent of recrimination and shaming that got louder and louder. The look on Skywalker's face went from surprise, to shame, to a poor excuse for controlled blankness that did little to hide the mutinous indignation that was building behind his eyes. A small, distant part of her wondered what would happen when he finally snapped.
"Padawan Jhessak!"
Marian jerked back, her fervor vanishing like smoke as the unknown Master's admonition rang through the hall, suddenly aware of how far she'd invaded the young teen's space.
Her face felt wet. Why was it wet? She touched her fingers to her cheek, dismay swamping her when they only came away slightly shiny. She was crying. Horrified and ashamed, she bolted from the room, running, running, running until she collapsed in one of the abandoned dormitory she'd taken refuge in before, free of ever-present, painful memories and judgmental, long-dead saints.
Leaning against the cot, she finally shattered, everything flooding out in waves of tear-stained anguish. "What am I doing wrong?" she cried out, her arms wrapped around her legs like she's months from thirteen all over again and afraid of ageing out.