Chapter Two:
Nevi Widenan Kat Imiisitha'ak
Meaning: The Keepers of the Peace
"I'd forgotten what it meant to hope."
– Jedi Master Barriss Offee, 'Peace In Our Time'
It is a surprise to the galaxy when the Jedi abandon their battlefields, and not one well received.
~•~
There are over three dozen Republic Capital Ships in the skies of Coruscant, as there have been for nearly three full rotations now. They cast long shadows over the world below where they hover in low atmosphere. Children look up with glee to count them, imagining themselves as honorable, dashing clones rushing off to fight the droid menace whilst their parents scowl up at them, half in fear, half in annoyance, trading glances between them and the newly silent Jedi Temple. Around and about them, the flow of Coruscant's normal traffic on and off planet swarms like angry bees at the disruption of normalcy. Although no one knows it yet, they will depart in two days, returned to the front lines of combat, and the children will sigh in disappointment, and the parents will feel no less worried.
Aboard each and every one of them, the clones are hailed almost hourly by this Senator or that Admiral, but the answers they give to the deluge of politicians' myriad questions remain the same.
"I don't know."
"The general hasn't contacted me."
"No, they're not responding to me, either."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, sir."
The Senators do not grow bored of these answers, and they keep calling.
~•~
It takes less than one and a half standard rotations for every Jedi in the galaxy to be housed once more beneath the roof of the Temple. For some – Masters, war weary and tired – it is only half-real. They wander about in something of a joyful daze with dumb, if sad smiles on their face, as if they are expecting at any moment to be woken up by the blare of their Venator's alarm and reminded that the War is still real, and there is no hope for such a peace as this. For others – Padawans, dragged off to war too young to have had the chance to grow up – it is the first time they can remember experiencing such a large gathering of Jedi at once. It is, at once, exceptionally peaceful to move through the ocean of others Force presences, feeling at every single second, waking or sleeping, the touch of another like you on the periphery of your vision and tumultuous as every presence around them stutters and stumbles over their curiosity and worry. Perhaps saddest of all, there are those – those who truly bear the title of Youngling, newly born or just arrived at the Temple – who had not even the slightest idea of what such a gathering could be like, having been born or taken into a world entirely unlike this.
No one wants it to end. Everyone wants to know why it began.
There are whispers of wonder in the halls from Jedi of all ages as they pass speculation back and forth amongst each other. Rumors jump like rabbits between groupings of three or five or seven or twelve, reignited each time another of the Order arrives to beg for answers like a starving child. The younglings are overjoyed at the attention and the excitement that thrums into their little heads through the Force, just as the elder Jedi are ecstatic to be amongst their own once more. By the time the sun sets on the second rotation of their return home, there are some younglings who have not been put down in hours, passed instead between the arms of one Padawan to another Master to another Knight, each exulting in turn at the peace they can once again feel in communion with themselves. Only the most truly exhausted or the exceptionally old retire to their quarters. Most choose instead to commune in a bundle of bodies and limbs in the Temple's wide halls. Padawans slumber in their Masters' laps and old friends rest their heads against each other's shoulders.
The Council – fully physically present in the Temple for the first time since the War began – have been in closed session for the entirety of the time of their return, admitting on occasion the odd guest of reputation and respect. Madame Jocasta returns to a crowd of begging Jedi, as if her words are mana to the starving masses. She tells of grave, worried looks upon the faces of the Council, and words passed from ear to ear in whispers that she could not hear. Yoda did not speak a single word, she says. When Aayla Secura is called alongside her former Master, Quinlan Vos to speak with the Council, they remain behind the doors for nearly three hours, and they are troubled when they return. They put on brave faces together, well-practiced and as complimentary to each other as they have always been as they reassure Padawans and hug Younglings to their chests. But Aayla is overheard asking Quinlan if things really will be okay, and Quinlan's silence is a loud enough answer. Wise, reclusive Master Cordova spends over seven hours with the Council in meditation and rumination, and he will say nothing of what he discussed with the Masters. But he is smiling when he returns, and though he speaks only to his former Padawan Cere (as is his way), his words are heard by all. "The future is changing."
No one present knows much what to think of those words, but there are plenty who think that change at this juncture can only be for the better.
On the dawning of the third day, Coruscant's sun paints the hallways of the Jedi Temple a warm, comforting orange, burnished and burnt. The kaleidoscope of alien skin tones glows beneath its rays. There is something in the air. It pulls the Jedi from their slumber one at a time. There is a feeling. It roils their stomachs, buzzes in their brains, suffuses every breath they take. The Force is holding its breath. It has receded, as if to watch in wonder (in fear?) to see what the Jedi will do next.
In the midst of this, Luminara Unduli and her Padawan are called before the Council.
The walk to the Council Chambers is quiet and pensive. Barriss knows nothing of the emotions that broil beneath her Master's ever-present cool façade. Indeed, she does not even know if it is a façade. Years into her training, and she has still never managed to crack the mask of separation her Master wears around her. Barriss knows only of herself, and that, despite the silence of the Temple's upper levels which should be peaceful and the happy, glowing rays of the morning sun which ought to be soothing, she is troubled.
Barriss…worries. She worries over the Jedi, uncertain of what is happening now and what it means for their future – if it even matters at this point. She worries – try though she might to stop – over the War and the dozens of battles being fought even now and the thousands of lives being lost, and the trillions of lives being affected in an infinite, unknowable number of ways. She worries over the Force and the way it has settled in the pit of her stomach as if it is biting its nails in anxious anticipation. She worries – painfully, so painfully – over Ahsoka. Selfishly, she worries over herself and her secrets – her dark and dangerous secrets.
"Calm yourself, Padawan," Luminara admonishes her, as cool and calm as she ever is. She glances at Barriss askance, some light coloring of amusement dusting her expression. "Surely, Master Windu does not still intimidate you so?"
Luminara has misread her Padawan's anxiety. She looks upon her and sees only a child, frightened by the big, bad Council, as if she is still the nine-year-old girl who would hide behind her crechemaster's robes whenever Master Windu walked by. She cannot begin to consider, let alone understand, the depths of Barriss' nerves as they walk towards the Council Chambers today. This angers Barriss, but such a reaction would make no sense. She is expected to blush and duck her head, and so she does.
"No, Master," she whispers, thankful not for the first time that she has always been a monotonous speaker, and that speaking in such a way in the here and now when she has so much to hide is not considered out of place. "Of course not."
Luminara looks at her with a tilted expression for a moment, a smile playing at the corner of her lips. She pats her in what Barriss thinks is supposed to be reassurance, her gentle hand caressing the contours of Barriss' shoulder as they approach the doors to the Council Chamber. Barriss can take no comfort from the gesture. She doesn't know who is at fault for that – herself or her Master. She isn't entirely certain she wants to know.
The High Council Chambers are located atop the aptly named High Council Tower, situated on the southwestern corner of the Temple and accessible via a short turbolift ride to the top of the spire. Barriss has had precious few opportunities to stand within them. She remembers her days in the creche, when the Council were mythic figures of awesome power and wonder. It had been a dare in those days – perhaps it still was – to sneak into the Council Chambers when they were out of session. Barriss had never tried, but it didn't matter. It never worked. The Council Chambers opened only to Council Members and specifically authorized guests at any moment – like her Master and herself. Barriss has been brought before the Council only five times in her tenure as a Jedi, and she had been physically present for only two of them. Two times, she had been asked to elucidate one of her or Master Luminara's reports in greater detail relating to this battle or that adversary. Once, she had been commended for bravery, daring, and outstanding performance following her actions on Geonosis. Once, she had been officially censured for 'Actions Unbecoming' when Luminara had reported her over-eagerness in battle against Separatist rebels over Saleucami. And, of course, there had been the first time – brought before the Council as a youngling for a final evaluation, pending reassignment to the AgriCorps. Luminara had saved her from that fate, although whether Barriss would have preferred a position in the Agricultural Corps in light of all that she had witnessed and endured in the years since is up for debate.
Before today, Barriss would have considered that first visit to the High Council Chambers the most terrifying. She had been so young, and they so old, so wise, and so powerful. She had still shied away from Master Windu's gaze in those days, disconcerted by his heavy eyes. But it is nothing compared to today. Today, Barriss wishes she was a child. Wishes that the only reason she ever feared Master Windu was the skittishness of childhood. Wishes her greatest worry was whether or not she would get to train with a Master.
The lift comes to a smooth, unerring stop, not at all as jarring as Barriss' hammering heart had thought it would be. It is the thing about fear that she hates most. However hard her heart is beating, however much her hands are trembling, however scattered her thoughts become, however fast her blood pumps, the rest of the world doesn't care. The lift doesn't shudder to a biting stop. The doors don't thunder open. The shadows don't wind their way around her like a cloak. The world just keeps on, entirely ambivalent to her and how she feels. It makes her feel small.
And so too does the Council.
That's partly her fault, she understands. She is panicking – not the least because she is all too terribly aware that every Jedi in this room knows she is panicking – and that panic skews her perceptions, affects her judgment, dilutes her understanding. The room is not as small as she thinks it is. Twelve is not nearly so overwhelming a number as she feels it is. She knows these things objectively. But the Council does not help. If anything, they hinder.
They are all here, like they haven't been since the start of the war. Directly across from the door that Barriss and her Master entered from is Master Kenobi, flanked on either side by Master Mundi and Master Ti. A little to her left, she can see Master Fisto, Master Tiin and Master Koon. To her right, Master Windu sits imperially beside Master Yoda and Master Billaba, his old apprentice. Barriss does not turn her head to view the Masters behind her, feeling that if she completed the Council's circle, she would feel altogether too trapped to continue thinking. She knows that Master Poof, high necked and regal must be behind her, and Masters Allie and Kolar who had taken the place of the fallen Masters Gallia and Koth some months earlier.
There is another as well, impossible to miss. Anakin Skywalker is a dark hue in the room, robes colored bluish black in contrast to the warm beiges and browns of the rest of the Masters – always the rebel. He is standing behind his former Master's seat, straight-backed and arms folded. A small part of Barriss notes faintly in the back of her mind somewhere that this surprises her. It has been some time since she last saw Skywalker, but she remembers him vividly. She expects him at any moment to lean, cocksure and brazen against the glass behind him. To cock his hip out and smirk across the room at all these wise Masters, as if he has all the answers but won't give them. To press his palm against the cushion of Master Kenobi's seat and lean his weight against it like a bored teenager. But he doesn't. He's as serious as she's ever seen him – more so, in fact. To look at him, you wouldn't think he'd been locked up in this room for three days. You wouldn't think that to look at any of them.
Have they slept? Have they eaten? How far can meditative trances carry a Jedi? Barriss wonders.
She is drawn out of her half-panicked reverie by movement at her side. Luminara is bowing, the flat fabric of her headdress framing her green skin beautifully. It is as artful a bow as she always displays, and Barriss' is clumsy, rushed and overcompensated in comparison. She holds her teeth together in suspense, but her Master does not even look at her, in admonishment or otherwise.
A moment passes in silence – one that's probably not as long as Barriss thinks it is. The Masters are largely still, their expressions level. Some – like Master Yoda – have their eyes closed, though Barriss cannot tell if this is meditative or restive.
"Masters," Luminara says in greeting, and now Barriss knows the moment was not near so long as she thought. Luminara is too steeped in etiquette and formality to speak out of turn or in delay. The roiling ocean of nerves in Barriss' stomach is skewing her perceptions.
Further evidence follows when Master Kenobi nods his head to them respectfully, as close to a mirror of their bow as he can get from his position. He is the first of the Council to move since their arrival – a thought Barriss finds disconcerting having now properly noticed it – and he is also the first of them to speak. "Thank you for coming."
Master Kenobi doesn't sound out of sorts, Barriss thinks. Tired, perhaps, but in a weary way as opposed to the bone deep exhaustion so many of her fellow Jedi tend to project these days. He is merely tired, she thinks, and again she has to wonder if any of the Council have slept in the past three days.
"Of course," Luminara replies. Barriss nods her agreement. The Council will expect her to speak, she assumes, else she would not have been included in the audience request. But so long as she can prolong her own silence, she will. She doesn't trust herself to speak yet. Her Master continues. "What service can we provide?" It's an old phrase, and one of her favorites. She had asked it of Masters before, and dignitaries, and Senators, and clones, and refugees, and once even younglings in a creche here at the Temple. It had been Barriss' first lesson.
There are many Jedi, she had said once, distaste coloring her tone, who forget our purpose in their haste. We are, first and foremost, servants, Barriss.
She is uncertain exactly what about her Master's words prompts amusement, but Master Kenobi smiles in response to them all the same. Through the milky haze of her and Luminara's bond – much weakened these days – she thinks she feels a tendril of amusement sliding around the human's smile. Some old joke between her and Master Kenobi, perhaps? There is still so much about her Master she doesn't know.
Barriss tugs against the pull of her own facial muscles as they try to twist into a grimace. That thought is too close, prompts too much bitterness. She stows it away.
"No great task or herculean effort, Master Unduli," Master Kenobi responds, still smiling. "We just have a few questions we'd like answered."
Luminara's eyebrow raises slightly, and that is a gesture Barriss recognizes. She is surprised, although what exactly about the situation it is that has caught her off guard, she cannot say. "Oh?" is all Luminara says.
Master Windu intercedes, his voice as deliberate and sure as it always is. "Not by you." His eyes slide off Luminara to land on Barriss.
Barriss swallows her fear and hopes the gesture is not overly apparent. She makes two failed attempts to speak, and even on the third, her voice wavers. "Masters?"
What do you know? How do you know? Master Cordova isn't ever here, he couldn't have…but Master Vos. He's an investigator, he could have– But then why wait? Why am I here now? What do you know!?
Barriss clamps down on her thoughts, aware that they are not safe. It is a fallacy that Jedi can read minds, propagated by the superstition of criminals and the bored citizens of the galaxy, but these Masters can see through her as clearly as through glass, and she need not allow them a better view than they already have. How do they perceive her nervousness, her fear? What do they think is causing it? Or, if they already know, why are they dragging it out?
She reaches out, a slithering tendril of her own awareness snaking through the air in an attempt to brush at the Council's minds. It hits a wall, impenetrable, immovable, and she rears back, clamping down on her own mind as tightly as she can in response. The Council is actively obfuscating its own emotional and mental states from her awareness. From everyone's awareness. The wall surrounds her like a cylinder, boxing her in. It does little to help with her feelings of claustrophobia. Why? Barriss wishes now more than ever that she and her Master had a better bond, a deeper bond. What does she think of this blackout? Does she even sense it, or is it only Barriss the Council is keeping out?
Master Allie takes up the mantle of conversation, forcing Barriss to at last turn to take in the three Masters she had not taken stock of. Master Allie is smiling openly, but Barriss doesn't really see it. She was right. The completed circle of Masters entraps her senses and ensnares her mind. She is rooted, unable to move. Panic seeps in like a frightened, white haze around her vision. She gulps again, and she is certain the gesture does not go unseen.
Stop this! she orders herself, but she does not listen.
Master Allie is speaking, seemingly unheeding of Barriss' visibly breaking mental state, and Barriss counts herself lucky that some part of her is still hearing the Master. "We've spoken amongst ourselves, and our outlier perspectives," at this she smirks at something over Barriss' shoulder. Skywalker, presumably, but Barriss cannot will herself to move and confirm her suspicion. "We've spoken with Masters, old and wise, cocksure and brazen. Now we'd like a…more youthful perspective."
Barriss is again thankful that she has never been an emotive person. To smile now – in such a state as this – would come across as terrifying, she is certain. "Masters?" she says again, in wont of anything else to do or say. She is, frankly, surprised she manages to make her jaw move.
Master Mundi leans forward in his chair, resting his pointed chin on steepled fingers, and like a marionette on a string, Barriss turns to meet his gaze. She does not know whether to be grateful for that or not. Surely, she could not have remained as she was with her back turned to the Master addressing her but…well, Master Allie was at least less severe than Master Mundi.
Master Mundi's voice is very deliberate. "What do you think of the Jedi Order, Padawan Offee?"
Barriss' world stills. She is caught entirely off guard by Master Mundi's question. Her mind scrambles, pulled in a dozen different directions at once as she desperately tries to piece together the reasoning behind the question. What does she think of the Jedi Order? Why? Why does it matter? Motive, perhaps, but a motive requires a crime, and the Council has not yet given voice to hers. Why? Why lead with that question? Barriss can think of no real reason because all of her answers are steeped in cruelty, and the Jedi, whatever she may think of them, are not cruel.
Could it be…that they don't know? Could it really be coincidence, her being called before the Council whilst even now another suffered the punishment for her crime?
"There is no such thing as coincidence, Padawan," Master Luminara whispers from her memories. In her mind's eye, Luminara is holding out two hands, gesturing with them as she speaks. "There is only that which the Force wills, and that which we will. Life, you will find," Luminara brings her hands together, "is what happens when they meet."
Well, no part of Barriss is willing this. So what is the Force playing at?
Master Yoda speaks for the first time. Large, round eyes flutter open, and he speaks with half a sigh, or perhaps half a yawn. "Have no reason to fear, you do, Padawan Offee. Asked for your opinion, we have. Spurn you for it, we will not."
Barriss feels a scream building in the back of her throat. Though, thinking on it, perhaps that's a laugh. Some remaining, rational part of her mind wonders if she should be alarmed at how quickly her panic has devolved into near hysteria. No reason to fear? It's funny.
It's so fucking funny.
Because they don't know. They. Don't. Know. They don't even suspect! Her best friend – her only friend – languishes in prison, cast aside by these putrid wastes of so called wisdom, and here she stands before them! The guilty party, the traitor dog, broken and busted and bleeding her descent into every breath of air and they don't see her! It makes her furious, but she has no more room for that, so instead she just wants to laugh or sob or…something else she can't articulate.
"Barriss," Anakin says softly, and when she looks up into his eyes, the smile she receives very nearly sends her into a full-blown panic attack. His voice is kind, his smile real. She cannot sense him through the obfuscating wall of the Council, but he is making no effort to hide the feelings on his face. He is being genuine. But would he be if he knew? Should he be? No. No, definitely not. Barriss is certain of that. Most certain indeed that there is no one in this room she is in more danger of than Anakin Skywalker. She has seen him move mountains for his Padawan.
And she is no mountain.
The things she's done, to him and his. If he knew. She wants to shudder, but her body is too afraid to do it. He…He is still smiling. Soft and genuine. And somehow, someway, the words that follow at last stem the flow of her panic. "It's okay."
Barriss swallows for the third and final time, and she does not care if it is audible or visible. When she speaks, her voice is firm. "Could you clarify the question, Masters?"
Luminara glances at her quickly. Barriss isn't certain she could call what her lips do a smile exactly, but there is pride in the expression. More so than Barriss has seen upon her face in a long time.
To their credit, the Masters keep their faces as inscrutable as their minds. Only a flick of Master Mundi's eyes, darting around the room to meet briefly with his fellow Councilors, betrays their reactions to her words. Skywalker looks amused, the most open of any of them by far, but the rest are closed to her.
She takes a short breath, almost more a huff than anything else, and speaks sharply, "There are any number of things I could voice my opinions on regarding the Order, Masters, but I suspect you have a more specific point you would like me to address." Something is twitching. Her eye, she thinks, but there are too many nerves skittering across her skin, raising gooseflesh as they go for her to be sure. She makes an effort to calm herself. She wonders if she is successful.
She suspects that she is not. Master Mundi trades a full, long look with Master Billaba beside him, no longer content to merely glance. What they glean from such a communion is a mystery, but it is not either of them that continue the thread of conversation. Barriss' gaze is drawn to the left by Master Ti's regal tone.
"We are curious as to your opinion of the direction of the Jedi Order in recent years," the togruta Master elaborates.
"Define recent."
That's bad. Too quick. Too sharp. Master Ti, she sees, is visibly taken aback by the snappishness of her tone, the speediness of her reply. Barriss exhales, long and low, through her nose and washes herself in what peace she can find. She must control herself, lest she make everything even worse. The Council has already excommunicated one Padawan this week, after all.
Master Kenobi smiles at her. "However recent you think it matters, Padawan."
Barriss takes another breath, this one shaky and uneven. Her eyes dart about the room, seeing all but observing nothing. She is considering. Considering her words and the impact they may have. Considering the consequences should she go too far – a very real risk given her current mental state. Considering, quite possibly, whether or not she actually cares if she does.
There is peace in that thought, more so than Barriss has felt in months, and she latches onto it. A single, soft laugh escapes her lips. Let the Council think of that what they will. Barriss? Barriss doesn't care.
She recenters, leveling her gaze into the faces of each and every Master as she speaks. "The direction of the Jedi Order," she says, echoing Master Ti in a way that is almost mocking, "is one of fallacy and failure."
Eyebrows raise. She wants to laugh again. She is just beginning.
"Failure to adhere to the Code, as it was meant to be. Failure to perform the tasks we set for ourselves generations ago. Failure to represent the citizens of the galaxy who rely on us for protection. Failure to look after the young minds of Jedi Padawans and younglings. Failure to live up to the legacy of our past!" Barriss' voice begins to rise as she continues, and she is moving now, rotating in place as she speaks so that every Council member can see her eyes. And they do. They cannot escape her. They are trapped beneath the weight of her gaze, and all she need do to pin them is turn. They cannot hide, though it looks like some of them want to. They shift in their seats and try – try – to avert their eyes.
"Personally, I think the beginning of our fallacy can be laid at the feet of the Jedi who determined it was in any way a good idea to base ourselves in the heart of the galactic government, as if we should, in any way, be tied to the powers of the moment! But that is ancient history and not the fault of this Council, so I will speak instead of your mistakes!" Barriss spits these words, full of vitriol and anger. She doesn't know how the Council reacts to them. She is too far gone into her fury to see them. "The Clone War is a travesty, and we have mishandled it."
"In what way?" Master Windu intercedes, likely attempting to instill some semblance of order into this 'discussion'. Barriss doesn't allow it.
Her gaze snaps to the korun. "We're involved," she says simply.
Master Poof shifts in his seat. "You're suggesting we shouldn't be?" The arrogance dripping off his words would be enough to incite Barriss' rage were she not already high upon the peak of her own anger.
"The fact that you're suggesting we should be is proof enough to me you have no right to that chair, Master!" she snaps, and the reaction in the room is immediate and apparent.
Master Poof rears up in anger, narrowing his eyes and clenching his jaw. "We are keepers of the peace, Padawan," he emphasizes the word in a way that Barriss thinks is supposed to demean her but instead just hangs limply at the end of his sentence alongside an overlong pause.
Perhaps he has more to say. Barriss doesn't know. She doesn't care. She scoffs. "Show me the definition of any of those words that requires us to take military rank and wage war, and in the meantime don't speak down to me like I'm a tantruming child still learning her words!"
Barriss turns slowly now, careful to lock her gaze with that of every Master in the room.
"We are keepers of the peace! My question, Masters," she says this word with too much spit, bordering on true disrespect, but at this point in her tirade she cannot bring herself to care, "is when the word 'peace' became interchangeable with the word 'Republic'?"
A hand lands upon her shoulder, and even half-blinded by rage, she knows who it is. She has long since memorized the contours of her master's hand, the pressure points of her touch. Luminara's hand wraps around her shoulder, squeezing its comfort into her, and in an instant, the rage has drained out of Barriss entirely. It leaves her weak, breathing heavily and unsteady. She is grateful for her Master's support now. She suspects that to wobble on her own feet just now would diminish the impact of her tirade.
Whatever energy had compelled the room over the course of Barriss' rant had drained from it along with her anger. Master Poof is still glaring into the back of her head, but it lacks the heat of his words, and the Masters have stopped shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Some, though – Masters Kenobi and Yoda and Ti and Allie – have sunken into theirs. They pinch the bridges of their nose or cradle their faces or run their hands through their hair, and Barriss cannot guess what motivates them to do so.
Master Mundi runs a hand up the long length of his head, sighing heavily through his nose as he does before lifting his gaze to meet hers. Slowly, he nods at her. "Thank you, Padawan Offee," he says, and the genuineness in his voice surprises her. "Your honesty is appreciated. And your candor is…"
"Respected," Skywalker finishes for him, a still genuine smile on his face. When he catches her gaze, he winks from behind Master Kenobi's back. She ducks her head.
"We will give due thought to your words, and the passion behind them," Master Ti promises her solemnly. "Thank you again for your cooperation. In the meantime, both of you are dismissed."
Luminara's hand tightens near imperceptibly on her shoulder, and Barriss knows enough of her Master to recognize a command. She stays put, unmoving. "What may we tell the others, Masters?"
A series of glances are exchanged. Barriss wonders how much of this communication is through the Force and how much is just how well these Masters know each other. At length, Master Windu says, "Should they ask, you may tell them that a decision is forthcoming. Soon. Very soon." A sigh escapes him. "Other than that, you may tell them whatever you will."
Luminara bows even more deeply than before, and this time, Barriss is perfectly in synch with her. "May the Force be with you, Masters," she intones.
Master Windu nods at her. "And also with you."
They depart, Master and Padawan. The door hisses closed behind them, once more sealing the Council in with only themselves. The change is immediate and apparent. The lot of them sag, breathing sighs of relief or exhaustion as they collectively drop the shield around themselves. Three days they have been doing this, and they are beginning to tire.
Keeping back the flow of Padawan Offee's righteous anger had certainly not helped.
Shaak runs a thoughtful hand down the long length of her lekku. Her violet eyes turn curiously onto Anakin. "What made you suggest Padawan Offee?"
Anakin sighs deeply, reaching up to tug at the light curling locks of his hair. It is a holdover habit from his Padawan days when he'd had years to pull and twist and tug at his braid. He shrugs, the motion long and slow, as if even this motion is too exhausting. "A conversation that Ahsoka told me about once," Anakin stumbles over his Padawan's name and his next words follow after a moment's hesitation, "about what it means to be a Jedi without a war."
Yoda grumbles from somewhere deep in his throat, long and low. "Evidence of our failure it, it is," he passes his frown around the room to each of them, "that Padawans ever had to ask such things."
~•~
In the absence of the Council, the fear returns. It is worse than before.
"I've never seen them like this." The words are quiet, scarcely above a whisper. Barriss does not realize she has said them until her Master responds.
Luminara hums, the sound at once curious and dismissive. This is the first indicator to Barriss that she has spoken where she only meant to think. Her Master's words are only half heard in the wake of this realization. "Indeed. Something has upset the mindset of the Council."
Barriss swallows thickly. There are too many emotions in her throat to count and none of them are good. "What do you think that is?" she asks, and the words sound choked.
Luminara doesn't notice (she never does, Barriss half-thinks bitterly), but she takes heed of the words and stops. There is a look of concentration on her face as she reaches up to run her fingers down the length of her pointed chin. When at last she turns to face Barriss, her face is pensive. "You are aware of what has happened to your friend, Ahsoka Tano?"
Barriss' face glitches, eyes fluttering and mouth trembling at the onslaught of pain and anguish that lashes against her soul. "Yes." She says the word as quickly as she can, as if it burns her mouth.
Luminara does not question her apprentice's sourceless knowledge, taking it for granted that Barriss somehow learned of her friend's – and even in her mind, that word is black and poison – incarceration. Once, Barriss had taken that to be a mark of pride – evidence of her Master's faith in her. She no longer does.
Luminara sighs deeply through her nose. "I believe the Council may have come to regret their decisions where she is concerned."
"Master?" Barriss puts a dozen questions inside a single word and, to her credit, Luminara hears them all.
Something akin to a smirk alights on the elder woman's face. "Did you not think it odd that Skywalker was so obviously involved in the proceedings we just witnessed?"
In truth? She does not think it odd at all. Skywalker had always been so larger than life. Here, at the fulcrum of the Jedi's fate? It made only too much sense to her that he would be present for whatever decision was made. As is so often the case with her, she does not see what comes so obviously to her Master.
"I do not understand," she says. Once, she had spoken those words eagerly, happy to learn from the wisdom and intellect of her Master. Now, she is ashamed when they roll from her tongue that, old as she has now become, she still does not know. She is bitter, too, that Luminara does not so much as blink at her words. Does she just expect them by now? Is it so obvious to her that her ridiculous, stupid little apprentice would understand nothing? Know nothing? Be nothing?
But Luminara is speaking, and Barriss pushed these thoughts deeper into her mind again. "If there is one thing Skywalker has proven time and time again, it is a willingness to move mountains for the safety of his Padawan." Luminara quirks another of her subtly amused smirks. "Sometimes quite literally."
Barriss nods. "Geonosis." She will always remember it. The horrifying catacombs of the Geonosians still haunt many of her dreams – their chittering voices and flapping wings, accompanied by the rhythmic backdrop of a hundred, a thousand, a million metal feet marching in perfect synchronicity. She wakes up screaming more often than not, although by now she has learned how to scream silently. At least, she has learned how to do so where the dreams of flying bugs and claustrophobic tunnels are concerned. Where the hazy, half-remembered sensations of thinning air, dying light and Ahsoka's body pressed tight against hers are concerned, there is nothing to be done to silence those screams.
Lost in these ruminations, it takes Barriss a moment to realize that she has continued walking where her Master has stopped. Barriss turns to find that she has created a span of at least two dozen feet between herself and her Master, who stands now like a glowing goddess in the rays of Coruscant's still dawning sun. There is a smile on her face like Barriss has never seen – a sad smile. So sad.
"Master?" she asks questioningly.
The smile grows, as does the depressing emotion behind it. Barriss feels Luminara through the Force, the song of her presence as sweet upon the ear as it always is, even as it now lowers its key into somberness. "Geonosis," her Master echoes, and the thrum of sadness she feels from her Master at the word is enough to draw a gasp from her lips. "I suppose that's where it all started to go wrong, isn't it?"
Fear, cold and paralyzing, grips Barriss' heart, and she works desperately to stem the roiling waves of panic and anxiety that threaten to overwhelm her. Luminara cannot be allowed to touch the depths of Barriss' soul - it would destroy her. Barriss thinks that there is so much poison in her now that to only see it would tarnish her Master's light. And that is a thought she cannot bear. Barriss approaches slowly, as if Luminara is a wild animal, injured and lashing out. She does not know what to expect. This is unprecedented.
"Master?" she says again. She isn't quite sure what she's asking this time.
Luminara smiles at her, and Barriss is nearly bowled over by the revelation that her Master's eyes are brimmed with tears. When her smile widens, her eyes crinkle, and one spills out to run down her cheek and pool at the base of her chin. Warm green hands rise to cradle Barriss' face, and she hates herself for how much she leans into the comforting callouses of her Master's palms. Her eyes flutter closed in reflex, and the sigh that falls from her lips is at once contented and conflicted.
"I owe you an apology, Barriss."
Barriss rebels against these words, which are antithetical to everything she knows and is. "No," she whispers fervently, her eyes still closed as she continues to draw what scant comfort she can from her Master's limited embrace. "You owe me nothing. You could never."
"Shush, now. Let me speak," Luminara admonishes her quietly, thumb gliding over her cheek. "I owe you an apology Barriss - so many, but I'll start with this one. I was wrong on Geonosis."
Barriss opens her eyes for the first time since they have embraced to see that Luminara now openly weeps even as her smile continues to widen. The expression looks almost desperate, if Barriss were to think her Master capable of such an emotion. Luminara continues, "I was enraptured by the falsity of the Code," and Barriss pulls away from her in reflex at the words. This is too much. This is incomprehensible. It makes no sense. It cannot be! Her Master - Luminara Unduli - decrying the Code as false!? She is dreaming. Hallucinating. She does not know what this is, but it surely cannot be real. But the firm warmth of Luminara's hands around her cheeks remains, holding her in her Master's grip, and Barriss can think of no sensation she knows more intimately than the touch of her Master's hands, so few and far between. "We are told to let go and to move forward, and this is good and right. But I did neither of these things, however much I preached the sanctity of the words to Skywalker. I abandoned you. And only his tenacity saved you that day. And I am sorry."
Luminara's smile has fallen away now, dragged down by the weight of her words and the tears that spill from her eyes in a constant stream. "I am so sorry," she says fervently. It is a whisper, and the air about them respects it as such, carrying it no further than to Barriss' shocked, disbelieving ears.
Luminara gives a mighty sniff and wipes the tears from her eyes and forces the smile back onto her face. It is false, Barriss knows. At least partially. She is using too many teeth to be completely genuine. She is attempting to overcorrect the somber tone of their discussion. Because she wants Barriss to feel better. Because. She wants Barriss. To feel.
"I know not what will happen next," Luminara is saying, though Barriss can hardly hear her. "But I assure you, Apprentice, that the moment I can, I will demand of the Council the right to put you through the trials."
Despite everything - despite the cloud of the Jedi's worry and anxiety and fear, despite her own inner turmoil which rages throughout her body and mind and soul even now, despite her wonderment at the Council's demeanor, despite her curiosity about the future of the War - Luminara's next words dawn on her as clear as crystal as they cut through her haze.
"You will be a Knight, Barriss, and in due time a Master. One far wiser than ever I could hope to be."
Barriss is motionless even as her Master continues off down the corridor. As always, the long, thick skirts of her dress cover her feet as she walks, and she looks as if she is gliding through the hallowed halls of their home, as graceful and untouchable as she has ever been. It is a grace Barriss has always respected. A grace she has, in recent months, begun to resent. Barriss continues to stare at the empty air her Master had just occupied.
Luminara does not see the tears that stain her cheek.
~•~
"So we are decided?"
Mace's gaze is unflinching as it passes around the room. His mouth is set into an even grimmer mask than usual, evidenced of the stress of the decision they were about to make.
Very, very slowly, Obi-Wan nodded. "I believe we are."
"We must be absolutely sure," Mace insists, hammering the air with his fists with each word. "This will change everything."
The words hang in the air, and the Council is still in their consideration of them.
"I think," Anakin says, clearing his throat when the lot of them turn their attention to him. "I think, regardless of us, everything's going to change anyway. It may as well be on our terms."
There is another moment of silence, broken at last by a low, throaty chuckle from Obi-Wan. "As devil-may-care as always, Anakin," he says, and then his laughter redoubles, louder and more genuine than before.
The Council echoes his humor, their faces painted in a menagerie of smiles.
A long groan escapes Stass as she stands up out of her chair, stretching her body into a variety of positions. It elicits a long series of pops. At the end of it, she shakes herself, as if she can wish away the exhaustion with naught but pleasant thinking. "We'd better get this show on the road. The entire galaxy's holding its breath for us."
A chorus of assent rises through the room, accompanied nods and a new series of pops and groans as the rest of them also rise from their seat, some of them for the first time in days. Along amongst them, Yoda does not stand.
"Remain here, I shall. My place on this mission, Skywalker can take." His voice is sure. He rubs his hands along the smoothed ball of his gimer stick.
Mace turns a heavy glance onto his old friend. "You're sure?"
Yoda chuckles, the sort of deep throated laugh he gives when he's truly amused and sounds like he's holding in eight centuries of phlegm. "Explosive, your escape is likely to be. Oversee our exodus, I will, yes? To trust that to Skywalker, a bad idea it is, hmm? Yes."
"Hey, that's–!" Anakin began to protest, voice full of indignation.
"Whine later." Mace cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand. "Let's go save your Padawan."