TIME PERIOD: Post-Attack of the Clones (contains spoilers)
TYPE: A little mystery, some adventure, and a lot of angsty conversation
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Yoda, Mace Windu, OFC
WARNINGS: This story does not contain graphic violence or sex. Matter of fact, it doesn't contain sex of any kind. It does, however, contain perhaps the most heinous of fanfic offenses: an Original Female Character. If it will make you feel better, go ahead and do a universal search and replace her name with Mary Sue. I won't mind.
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize them, they belong to Lucas. If you don't, they're mine. No harm, no foul, no monetary compensation.
CRITIQUE: If you are so inclined, please email feedback to me at elismor@earthlink.net
ARCHIVE: Please let me know if you would like to do so.


ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Background information on the Jedi Order, the Republic, Yatir, Tatooine and her inhabitants, and the Clone War was gleaned from the following sources: starwars.com Databank, theforce.net unofficial encyclopedia, the novelizations of Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones, and multiple viewings of the movies. Some details were pulled from EU information available at the sites listed above.

The idea that drives the plot of this piece was posted on alt.fan.starwars as a possible theory about the death of Shmi Skywalker. Unfortunately, I do not recall who posted it, but I will step up right now and admit that the idea was not my own. I just ran with it.

With great thanks to my wonderful beta readers: comet, deb, Virginia, Sandra, and Harlene, all of whom went above and beyond. Repeatedly. And with unending gratitude to GH for a line that still lingers in me, many years after it was spoken.

This is for Susan, who wheedled, cajoled, pushed, poked, and prodded with relentless focus. And for Vance, who knows a cool Jedi when he sees one; even at the very tender age of seven.

Bel Eliel Jensei shifted uncomfortably in her bed. She'd spent seven days there so far, though the first three were merely a blur of pain and confusion, and it looked like she'd miss several more Coruscant sun rises while being treated for her wounds. Rumor on the ward was that she'd taken no less than six blaster pulses to her body in the battle against the droid army on Geonosis and the rumor--brought to her by one of the apprentice Healers--amused Eliel when she was feeling well enough to indulge in humor.

The truth of the matter was that it only took three shots to put her on the ground. Three was more than enough to kill. Nerilu, after all, was taken from her with only one. All her training at the academy, all of the lessons learned through trial, error, effort, and perseverance, all her skill with the Force, and all of her ability in battle failed in that instant; leaving Eliel staring in open-mouthed shock at the bloody heap of her Padawan's body on the dusty ground of the arena.

There were a million things she would change about that day if given the chance. Though, try as she might, Eliel could not determine if anything short of leaving her student back on Tolc-sil would change the ultimate outcome. In the haze of fever, she believed that any number of choices could have saved Nerilu. In the serenity of a healing trance, she knew that the girl's fate was immutable. But, in the middle of the night on the critical care ward of the Healer Hall the only thing that mattered was a swirling mass of physical pain and emotional loss.

Jedi Knights were not supposed to succumb to their emotions. Whether through a supreme effort of will or a mastery of meditation, she was supposed to be composed through times like this. She was supposed to trust in the ways of the universe and the will of the Force.

Instead, Eliel Jensei raged silently, bound by the borders of the critical care ward and her sense of duty.

Anger made it difficult for Master Ando to manipulate the Force through her during healing sessions. Anger blocked her own flow of energy in both her body and her place within the web of the Force. Anger was detrimental and counterproductive, at best. Anger, though, was far better than the cold and bottomless well of grief that opened in her gut whenever she remembered that she would never see Nerilu Hic's face again.

She drew in as deep a breath as her wounded chest would allow, preparing to make an attempt at meditation. But as Eliel cast her awareness into the Force, another presence presented itself. The ward was awash with the closeness of the many Jedi recovering from battle wounds, but this one--this bright and powerful spark--stood out among them.

Anakin Skywalker, the purported Chosen One, was at it again. Every night since she'd regained consciousness, Eliel felt Obi-Wan Kenobi's Padawan pace the halls until exhaustion overtook him. When meditating, she sometimes fell victim to wayward images from the young man's mind and what she saw disturbed her greatly. Skywalker was a simmering pot of emotions, most of which rivaled her own in scope.

If the boy were the Padawan of anyone else, she would not dare to meddle. But she knew Anakin's Master--quite well, in fact--and, though not privy to the intimate details of their relationship was well versed in the walls that could be built between Master and apprentice. Obi-Wan was no doubt aware of the barricades his student was busy erecting. He was also, Eliel knew, precisely the one person who was least likely to pass either through or around.

She extended her good hand toward the door and flicked her wrist gently, using the Force to slide it open. Outside, Skywalker halted suddenly, his shadow dark against the beam of light streaming in from the hall.

"Anakin," she said. "Come in."

He squared himself to the door without answering and Eliel knew that Skywalker was busy contemplating the repercussions of annoying a patient under Master Ando's care.

"Master Jensei," he said, lowering his head respectfully, "I am sorry I disturbed you."

She offered a shrug from the confines of her bed, motioning him inside. "Your restlessness is contagious, it seems."

He crossed the room to the low stool by the bed and took the seat she offered. "How are you feeling, Master Jensei?"

Eliel shrugged once more. "Like I've been shot to pieces by battle droids."

Anakin gave a small chuckle and sat back in the chair, visibly relieved by her jest. "You were, Master Jensei."

She held up the first three fingers of her left hand and smiled at him. "Three hits. No matter what they tell you."

"Three is a few too many, in my book," Anakin answered, smiling himself.

His smile was infectious when genuine and had been since his earliest days at the temple. The Council protested him as a candidate for training, insisting that the boy was too old and undisciplined to be safely educated in the ways of the Jedi. At the time, she had agreed. Even at the tender age of ten, Anakin Skywalker was in possession of a power that was palpable and Eliel had seriously questioned her friend's choice to take the boy as apprentice--as first apprentice, especially. But, despite her reservations about the wisdom of Obi-Wan's decision, she'd liked Anakin from the start, sensing a somewhat kindred spirit in the boy.

"Mine too," she admitted.

"You're looking much better than..." he trailed off, but his thoughts were plain to her.

"The last time you saw me, I had a sucking chest wound, Anakin," she finished. "I hope I look considerably better than that."

He looked down, frowning in embarrassment.

Eliel gave him a moment to gather himself, then offered another smile. "Your thoughts are rather transparent when you are unsettled, Anakin. I would wager that even the coma patients are dreaming of Senator Amidala."

Anakin's gaze shifted upwards sharply and he flushed, then turned his eyes downward again to avoid the amusement in her grey-blue eyes.

"Breathe," she said. "Focus on your breath and your thoughts will be calmed."

Anakin nodded, no doubt glad to slip back into the familiarity of taking direction from one of his superiors and Eliel made note of his reaction to her mention of the Senator from Naboo. The thoughts leaking from Anakin Skywalker were more than just idle indulgences, then.

"It seems that I will be luckier than you," she said after a short while. "They tell me that my hand will heal, though perhaps not well enough to wield a lightsaber."

Anakin looked down at the skeletal prosthetic the Healers had affixed to his ruined arm. He flexed the fingers of it experimentally and they clacked against one another in the stillness of the room. He, too, would be learning to fight with his off hand. "It's not so bad," he said. "I've always been good with mechanoids."

She nodded. "Much to your Master's dismay."

"Master Obi-Wan..." he trailed off, frowning.

"Is doing the best he can with a Padawan who is headstrong and powerful," she finished.

He looked up again and Eliel watched as memory slid across his face. The distraction of Padme Amidala's name had caused him to forget whom he was speaking with, for the moment.

"That was not meant as a reproach, Anakin," she added gently. "It is merely a statement of fact."

Anakin spent a long time staring at the space between them in the room before answering. "I think he would place more emphasis on headstrong than powerful, Master Jensei."

Jensei nodded, smiling in agreement. "He has yet to see the full strength of your abilities. Until he does, you will be his willful Padawan."

"I don't think he'll ever see anything but."

She drew a breath to answer, but it caught in her wounded chest and sent her into a spasm of pain.

Anakin was on his feet instantly, moving toward her, ready to help. But she held up her bandaged arm and shook her head, too busy trying to breathe to speak. He stopped short, halfway between the chair and her bed.

"I'll call one of the Healers," he said.

She shook her head, simultaneously making a curt gesture with her hand. "No. Just give me a moment."

Eliel closed her eyes and steadied her breathing as best she could, making an attempt to reach into the Force and balance herself. It wasn't working, though, and she scowled mightily as the pain increased instead. The last thing she wanted or needed was another unscheduled session with Ando--not at this hour, not after the day she'd spent listening to him lecture her about taking better care.

Without warning, a wave of warmth washed through her, easing the whiteness of her pain and restoring the ability to breathe. Eliel sank back into the relative comfort of her pillows and simply reveled in the sensation for a moment before opening her eyes and leveling an intense gaze at her companion.

Anakin was responsible. Without a thought to seek permission he'd used his own ability to smooth some of the roughness, easing her pain away from her body and sending it outwards into the vast matrix of the Force itself.

He caught her eyes for a moment, then hung his head in shyness, staring down at his moccasins.

"Thank you," she said.

"Master Obi-Wan would not be pleased."

"He needn't know," she answered.

He looked up, wearing a somewhat skeptical expression. "You won't..."

Eliel shook her head. "That is no way to express gratitude."

A ripple of relief went visibly through his posture and Anakin offered her a wide smile of thanks.

"It comes with a price, though," she held up a finger and watched as the expression crumbled. "Listen to this one thing that I will tell you without being asked. This is my only free advice to you, Anakin Skywalker, and you would be wise to heed it."

"Yes, Master Jensei."

"Your emotions are strong when it comes to your Master. But they are also conflicted. Work through them, Anakin. Peace does not come from the absence of emotion, but rather from the managing of it. Do not shut him out. You cannot compartmentalize your feelings and hope to find solace."

"Yes, Master Jensei."

She snorted softly, well versed in the dutiful, yet hollow tone of a Padawan reciting what he thought the Master wished to hear. "Go on," she said. "Ando is on his way from the pharmacy with more of that vile concoction to spread on my wounds. If he catches you here..."

Anakin nodded and moved toward the door. "I wish you a speedy recovery, Master Jensei. And...I'm sorry for your loss. For Nerilu."

"Thank you, Anakin," she answered, knowing that her own tone was flat with the effort to mask true feeling.

He paused at the door and seemed about to speak, but Eliel hardened her expression and Anakin, well tuned as he was to the intricacies of social exchange with a Jedi Knight, merely offered a small bow before exiting her chamber.

****

Eliel Jensei was submerged in a bacta tank when Obi-Wan Kenobi finally found a moment to visit her. Her wounds were plainly visible, even in the murky greenness of the fluid, and the blaster marks were raw and angry against her skin. They stood in startling, vivid contrast to the peaceful expression she was sporting around her breather mask and he found himself smiling. Eliel had always been a water rat.

"You will have to wait until the treatment is done," Master Ando said gruffly, brushing past the Jedi Knight to examine the screen on the tank.

"Of course," he answered. Ando was cantankerous, even on the best of days, but he was undoubtedly the most talented Healer in the galaxy. If Eliel had been under anyone else's care, her mere survival would have been miraculous. Tended by Ando, it could be expected that she would recover fully and return to her duties.

"She will be with you shortly," the Healer added. "You may wait for her in the atrium. But I warn you, Obi-Wan Kenobi, do not tax my patient's strength. She is not as well as she might have you believe."

"Of course, Master Ando." He turned to leave, but the Healer caught him by the elbow with a surprising grip.

"You, too, would do well to rest. You were wounded on Geonosis as well."

"I remember, Master Ando," he smiled.

"And I remember," the Healer scowled, "how you two were when you were children. Do not think that you are above my reproach now simply because of your age."

"Never, Master Ando," Obi-Wan smiled again, this time fighting hard to keep it from erupting into a full-blown grin. Ando could not see it, but Eliel was making faces worthy of any nine-year-old apprentice behind him in the tank.

"Go," Ando ordered. "She will join you soon."

He retired quickly to the atrium of the Healer Hall and strolled among the gardens there, taking the time to simply breathe in the quiet of the place. Somehow, amidst the bustling and swirling mass of life on Coruscant, this space always seemed to remain tranquil. It was high in one of the four outer spires of the Jedi temple and windows ran the length of the outside wall, letting in the sunlight that was rarely seen on the lower levels of the city-planet. Here, fountains splashed, orchids grew, and peace prevailed, even at the outset of a war that would undoubtedly change the face of the galaxy forever.

Eliel kept gardens. Well, a small one, anyway; supported by growth lamps and by her tending with the Force. He'd seen it once, while on a mission to Alderaan with Qui-Gon. "It keeps me mindful," she'd said, "of the fact that I came close to being sent to the agri-corps."

Indeed, his friend had come dangerously close to being denied the opportunity to be apprenticed to a Jedi Knight. During term break of their eleventh year, she'd broken into the databanks, cracked open sealed files and downloaded forbidden information, with Obi-Wan at her side every step of the way. He'd never been accused of being her accomplice, though. Perhaps Eliel had buried the details of his participation so deeply that none but the most powerful Jedi Masters could have found it. It seemed more likely, though, that Yoda had discovered his involvement and chosen to ignore it for reasons privy only to himself. Shortly after the caper, they'd been split apart and assigned to Masters known to avoid association. To this day, Obi-Wan did not know if this was by luck or design.

He turned suddenly, sensing her presence nearby. Every being had a unique imprint within the woven threads of the Force and Eliel's was at once familiar and strange, edged as it was with white-hot points of pain.

Ordinarily, she wore a high collared shirt under her tunic and robes, even in the heat of summer. It covered her neck all the way to the base of her jaw and ears, gathering in soft folds. Here in the critical care ward, though, she was clad in the common v-necked gown worn by all patients and Obi-Wan was visually reminded that her neck was decorated with an intricate series of tattoos spiraling down from her hairline and disappearing under the fabric of her shirt. The inking was done in shades of blue and green, calling images of waves sharply to mind.

"You should sit down," he said.

She waved him off as he moved to take her arm and guide her to a bench. "I have been sitting in a bed for ten days. I am tired of sitting. I am tired of Ando slathering me with potions that smell worse than the gutters at street level. And I am very tired, Obi-Wan, of young Anakin Skywalker's dreams invading my own."

"Pardon?" He asked, genuinely confused.

"He paces the halls at night," she answered. "And he is roiling with emotion. Enough so that it affects everyone in his path. Anguish. Anger. Love."

He had been studying the curves of her bare toes against the cool stone of the path as Eliel spoke, but her last word drew his eye up sharply. "What?"

She nodded. "Senator Amidala."

Obi-Wan clenched a fist against his thigh. He'd known it was a bad idea to send the boy to Naboo alone, even though Master Yoda had insisted upon it. Where was Anakin now? He'd put a stop to this before...before Yoda sent them back to Naboo once more, as he knew was the Master's plan.

"Wait," she put a restraining hand on his forearm. "That is the least of your worries, I think."

"It is forbidden for Jedi to..."

"I know the rules," she interrupted. "Please, just listen to me?"

Her brown hair, still wet from Ando's treatment, was slicked back against her skull, affording him a clear view of her face. It was pale and drawn, but her blue eyes were steely as ever and her jaw was set in a tired version of the familiar stubborn manner, imploring him to cooperate.

He nodded once, slowly.

"You know that his mother is dead?" It was a question that came nearly in the form of a statement; a courtesy, for it was assumed that a Master knew all that his Padawan did.

"Yes. She was killed on Tatooine, by Tusken raiders."

Eliel nodded. "The images in his mind, though...they're not of a random attack. She was beaten."

"The Tuskens are a brutish race," he answered. "They're known for attacking the moisture farmers and any who are foolish enough to wander into their territory."

"Exactly."

His brow wrinkled in confusion. "Eliel?"

"Shmi Skywalker spent her entire life on that planet, yes? She was not foolish enough to wander into such dangerous places, I'd wager."

"Anakin said that she was taken while collecting mushrooms from the vaporators."

"Taken," she repeated. "Those images he sees, they're not of random violence, Obi-Wan. At least not the ones I am getting from him. She was tied to a rack. Tortured. I had Master Jocasta bring me the data crystals on the Tuskens. Something is not right with this."

"Eliel," he soothed, "you're hurt...and you're..."

"Do not bring her name into this," she cut him off sharply.

Obi-Wan stepped backwards, moving unconsciously away from the wash of grief that spun out from her frame. It shook him, bringing forth his own emotions about the losses they had suffered at Geonosis. Many of his friends had died in that arena. Many great Jedi had fallen in a time when the Republic needed them most. But his Padawan had walked away. Had lived to battle Count Dooku and survived even that.

Nerilu Hic, just eighteen years old, had been cut down by a blast fired from Jango Fett's pistol. Clever, hideous man that he was, the Bounty Hunter had known that apprentices would strive to protect their Masters. His first shot ripped through the flesh of her forearm and wrist, neatly blowing Eliel's lightsaber from her hand while she was focused on the approaching battle droids. It was calculated to wound, not to kill. The second, fired in rapid succession but with all-together different intent, had taken the life of her Padawan instantly.

He waited; giving her a moment to compose herself, then took his friend by her good arm and steered her toward the nearby bench. "I'm sorry, Eliel."

"It's not your fault," she sighed.

Oh, but it was. Had he been more careful, more vigilant, he might not have been captured on Geonosis. True, the Jedi that died that day had come for reasons apart from his rescue, but there could be no denying the fact that had he not been caught in the first place, things would have gone very differently with the Geonosian Droid Army.

"Sit," he said. And, to his surprise, she did, pulling him down beside her.

"He is very talented, your Skywalker," Eliel said. "And he is very powerful. He's angry, though. And, right now, his love for the Senator is keeping that anger in check. We have to help him."

"Anakin is my..." he caught himself on the verge of saying problem, swallowing the word instead. "I will deal with him. You should concern yourself with healing."

"So long as he paces the halls at night," she answered with a wry smile, "so long as I am trapped here with Ando and his potions, Anakin Skywalker is my concern as well. Please, Obi-Wan. I could not save my student. Let me help you save yours."

"I..." he paused, thinking. "Eliel..." She had only ever asked him for one other thing. He hadn't refused her then and the result had been her near expulsion from the Jedi Order. "Eliel, the Republic is about to go to war. I will be needed. We will be needed."

"You are needed now, by a boy who has more power in him than you and I combined. This is a crucial time for Skywalker. The war will happen, whether or not you are there to see the first shots fired. Do not trade him--do not trade a boy--for the Republic, or for the Order."

He sat back, shocked by both her vehemence and her words. Some, he knew, would consider them traitorous to both the Republic and the Jedi. Frankly, he wasn't sure he disagreed.

"Anakin will do what is asked of him," he said, at length. "He is loyal to the Republic. He is loyal to the Order."

"And I," she stood suddenly, her back straight and jaw set firmly, "am a maverick who questions the way of things and is never more than two steps from the agri-corps. Your meaning is taken. Go fight your war."

[End Part 1]

Elismor
July 2002