Before...
The sound of the younglings of the Dantooine Enclave rushed across the fields. Their tiny feet hit the grasses, their laughter sprinkled the air like sunlight warmed the face, and through the Force—joy.
Arren sat cross-legged in the grasses. So many sensations relapsed into the darkness of her vision. Normally, she would be stuck behind a cold desk preening over copies and copies of holocrons, documents, notes from the past. And now she oversaw the future. The younglings were all supposed to be overseen by Vrook Lamar, however, he was on some diplomatic mission. She jumped at the opportunity to substitute.
Need to get away from that stale boredom once and a while.
Most of the younglings had gone to the lake. The only child who didn't, Will, meditated underneath a tree. Lamar's "star" pupil. Another boy, Yonis, used the Force to throw pebbles at the young Will. Normal, playful teasing of children though she sensed that Will was not amused.
Arren wasn't supposed to allow them out during meditation. Oh, no—the children were supposed to stay indoors and keep their minds clear of thoughts of grandeur and imagination. One of the many disappointing changes brought about by Exar Khun's war.
A frown broke Will's thin lips.
Yonis was flung to the ground. Sniffles abound with bruised ankles.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
She sighed before getting to her feet. The Force allowed her to move across the field without the need for a cane or implants. A perfect, clear picture overlaid the endless darkness. It amazed all of those who weren't Jedi, but the Force was just another crutch, really. One that Arren was forever tied down to.
Will's emotions flared as Yonis continued to cry. "—maybe you should have listened to me when I told you to leave me alone!"
"Initiate."
The young boy's back straightened and a splinter of fear broke the anger. He didn't like being scolded—it was why he meditated underneath this tree even though Vrook Lamar was nowhere in sight.
Arren smiled before kneeling down by the young Yonis. Sending a soothing wave, the youngling ceased his crying. After that, she sent Yonis on his way. The poor boy splashed in the water with the others—pain all but forgotten.
Will had unshed tears in his eyes. "I…" The boy bowed to his knees. "Please accept my humblest apologies, Master. I should not have let my emotions get the best—"
"Oh, stop it, you. I won't tell Lamar if that's what you're worried about." She sat underneath the tree while raising a brow up at the child. Will's tiny head peeked up from his bow. That proud expression appeared on his face again. Like student, like teacher. Arren waved a hand. "Run along, now. Go play with your peers. You only have an hour before supper."
"But, Master..." The boy kicked a rock. "Shouldn't we be meditating? There is no passion, there is serenity."
Lamar really had them brainwashed.
"Passion, is it?"
"Yes, Master. We aren't allowed to feel excitement. Emotions lead to the dark side. Master Lamar said—"
"Well, it sounds to me like you are very passionate about this."
Will frowned. "No, wait, it's not passion..."
"Why are you so eager to meditate under this tree, young one?"
"I—"
"You feel the living Force. You sense its echoes. You love it. Isn't this a greater passion than playing in the lake beneath the sun with friends?"
Will's confidence wavered. His small fists clenched. The sound of the children playing, their joy, was taken over by his acute loneliness.
"Yes...Master."
She waved. "Run along, now. Just don't hit Yonis again. I don't think either of us want to suffer Lamar's wrath."
A wide smile finally—finally—broke on Will's face. He nodded and ran towards the lake. He didn't wait to be invited by his peers before jumping with a shout into the cool waters.
A month later, the youngling initiates that were old enough went through their Padawan trials. All of the Jedi Masters oversaw the process though Arren, who was being looked at as one day becoming a Master herself, joined the process as well. Lamar had his eye to train Will or an Echani girl named Atris. Two fine students destined to become Jedi masters in their own right.
Arren herself had always wanted to train her own Padawan. Usually, the Council assigned younglings to more experienced masters. But she had a request.
She needed help with the Archives. Wouldn't the brightest student benefit the most from her aid?
After...
There was a loud racket in Coruscant Archives near the holoscreens. On it were the usual talking heads of the HoloNews. Their annoying voices brayed at the hooded Jedi that they called "mysterious." This was the mysterious Jedi's third appearance. The first had been before a senate hearing—he'd interrupted the session with his words of warning. The second had been at the next hearing when they had shrugged him off as a minor annoyance. And now, after the holochats went off about the Jedi and the multiple protests mounted, they were finally taking the mysterious Jedi seriously.
"—they say the reason you cannot reveal your face or name is because you fear the Jedi Council will exile you. That true?"
The hooded Jedi's form wavered. It was hard to read emotions over a holoscreen—it was why Arren avoided watching the blasted thing. Until now.
"During the senate hearing, they ordered all Jedi to not interfere with the Mandalorian conflict. My interruption...was honestly spur of the moment. I wasn't sure how many would have agreed with my stance and I didn't want to take the risk if I was alone in my beliefs."
"Well, obviously, you aren't alone. Many Jedi have begun to protest on the steps of the senate and the Temple. They are following your lead." The HoloNews broadcaster chuckled. "Come on...there is no need to hide. We would all like to know the face of the Revanchist movement."
The hooded Jedi's form, the Revanchist, flinched. The Padawans watching the holoscreen suddenly grew afraid. Afraid that she, a Master, was there listening as well. But Arren didn't shut off the program. No, she continued to listen.
"What do you know about marketing?" the Jedi asked.
This question caused the talking heads to glance about in confusion. "Uh...marketing?"
"Marketing...promotion...etecetera, etecetera. It's a call to action, isn't it?"
"I suppose…"
"It's what my words are meant for. A call to action. Who I am is not important, my message is."
"Yes, you're right, but we're all very curious."
"Curious? Or self-serving? Because the only thing revealing my face would accomplish is to help your network's marketing. How much is it worth, do you think?"
"Um…"
"A thousand credits? A million? Maybe your first child born on a full moon? No. Nothing. That's how much it's worth." He leaned back as if he hadn't just grilled the talking heads. "But I will tell you what is worth your marketing. Your attention. The deaths on the Outer Rim. The war crimes committed by the Mandalorian hordes that both the Jedi Council and the Senate refuse to address. We sit here talking about who I am, who I could be, while so many suffer. The Cathar, the Vanquo, the Althir. When will their suffering matter to you as much as my face does?"
That caused the talking heads to finally grow silent.
The Padawans all whispered to each other about how right the Revanchist was. That the Republic and the Jedi didn't care about the suffering of others. All the while they held fear still in their hearts. She pretended not to notice their quiet betrayals. Although, something like fear of her own gripped her chest. Not fear for herself, fear for the Revanchist. Because although his voice was distorted, she knew exactly who was speaking. She could not mistake the cadence, the phrasing, the words. All of it. She knew.
That night, she passed around the numerous desks, picking up stray datapads and holocrons the careless Padawans left behind. She sensed him entering the Archives. The power was hard to ignore.
Knight Will approached with a grim face. As he drew closer, she noticed dark forms beneath his eyes and his body had become slightly gaunt. Arren didn't look at him for long. Instead, she picked up a stack of datapads and made for the shelves. Will followed her and walked by her side. Some of the datapads she'd put aside glowed in his hands.
"Master, I would like some advice."
Arren felt the correct shelf—she had the entire Archive memorized—and slid each datapad in its proper slots.
"Oh? Advice? You are no longer my Padawan, Knight Will. You do not need my advice."
"Yes, but as you told me once before, 'Those who believe they know everything are fools indeed.'"
She sighed. "What do you wish to know?"
"Duty or family? Which would you pick?"
She flinched and a datapad fell to the floor. Yusanis . Fortunately, she blocked that brief wave of surprise before Will could sense it. Though her dropping the datapad had been strange.
"Pick?" She grabbed the fallen datapad and slotted it in. "I don't know what you mean. As Jedi we only have our duty."
"Yes…" Will nodded his head then slot in some of the datapads himself. "Hypothetically, say you...feel like the Jedi...the temple...everyone here is kind of like a family, right? You wouldn't want to do anything to disappoint them. But...let's say your duty is conflicting with that desire to make them proud. What do you do then?"
Arren faced Will, finally. Then, a small smile curved onto her lips. "Your words were far more eloquent before. I wonder, do you have more confidence when no one knows your face?" Fear bled where Will stood. She ignored it and returned to putting back the datapads. "But to answer your question, I've always placed my duty before all else. Even... family ."
A small bundle clasped in her arms. Her small nose, like hers, and white hair. Arren's hands shook as she passed the child to her father. Forever. Because a Jedi could not have attachments. Could not have a child. A family.
"Master…" Will waited until she faced him once more. This time, she sensed sadness. "I need more support. But, for that, I need to speak to the Council. Not as Will." He didn't speak for a moment, as if he despised his next words. "But as the Revanchist."
She nodded. "They will know who you are. And they will exile you."
"Yes, I know. But if that happens, I will lose support—"
"Will you?" She peered into the blurred shapes of her first Padawan. So much conflict. So much pain. It was already etched within him. "Or will you gain even more? There have been martyrs throughout history. I'm sure you've read about them in one of these datapads. What they achieved they achieved through sacrifice. And a Jedi's life, their duty, will always be sacrifice." She faced the shelves again. "You didn't come here for advice. You came here for permission. Well, know this, Will. You do not need my permission nor anyone else's to do what you believe to be true to yourself."
Will's shoulders sank. The pain within his chest disbursed with her words. And a small smile curved his lips.
"Yes, of course." He bowed. "Thank you for your...final lesson, Master."
She finished putting the datapads away and fully faced her old Padawan. Arren lifted a hand and touched his cheek. He was still the same child she scolded long ago on Dantooine. Still the same child trying desperately to seek her approval. Yet, now, she only hoped that her advice wouldn't take that spirit away. It was a useless hope, though.
Arren lowered her hand then grabbed the rest of the datapads from his arms.
"Run along, now."
Before...Kreia was Arren Kae. Before Revan was Will.
After...Arren Kae was Kreia. After Will was Revan.
Just a cute (or sad?) little one-shot I wrote up while working on my KOTOR re-telling "Fragmented." Let me know if you want to see more one-shots like this :)!