In War

Pt. 5

"A Jedi is a Jedi, first, foremost, and only. For a Jedi to divide his attention between the will of the Force and the will of others is to invite disaster."
-Jedi Master Hoche Trit

Clandestine meetings were not something with which Anakin Skywalker was a stranger. Coruscant, Naboo, it made no difference. If she was on the same planet as he, he would find a way to be with her. She was a part of him, her very scent in his flesh and bones. She was fully his and he was fully hers, unreservedly.

Love.

Being with her was as intoxicating as Corellian whiskey and as awe-inspiring as the first time he truly felt the Force. The emotion was all consuming, fiery and raw—It was distracting and dangerous. It branded his soul. It was attachment. It was forbidden. It was their secret and their refuge when the galaxy's problems seemed too much.

As far as Anakin knew, he was also the only Jedi Knight in the Order who felt the way that he did. No other Jedi had come forth and declared their undying love for another being. Yes, he had heard rumors of a Jedi here and there who had married in secret or because of special circumstances, but he rarely heard about passion and romance. Those were myths that were crushed under the heel of discipline and centuries of tradition before a Jedi became a Padawan learner.

At least that was the impression that Anakin had been under for as long as he had been a Jedi.

But the war had begun to change the Jedi Order. Slowly but surely, under the refining fire of combat, as more and more comrades fell around them, cracks began to show in the once smooth Jedi resolve: tiny, bleeding shatterpoints that could result in the strengthening of the Order or the slow decay of the institution. A glaring weakness had been revealed to the Jedi: attachments had inadvertently formed. The once soothing mantra of "There is no death, there is the Force" became cold comfort as seasoned Masters and younglings alike mourned the dead and dying.

Even the seemingly infallible Jedi Master Mace Windu had admitted to the attachment of the love for a father to a daughter after Depa Billaba had fallen into darkness. The anguish that only his closest friends could see in his eyes after their battle at Haruun Kal clearly displayed the dangers of attachment.

But those dangers did not keep many Jedi from secretly succumbing to their passion out of a desire for comfort.

Skywalker looked down at the chrono. Padme would be arriving on Coruscant within the hour. He had some time to kill. Perhaps a training room on the Temple's dojo level was open. He toyed with the idea of calling on his former mentor to spar, but quickly dismissed the thought. If their match ran long, that would only take time away from Padme. And with Ahsoka resting after weeks in the field, the only timely option that presented itself was to simply wander into the dojo and wreak havoc on whatever unlucky opponent he deemed worthy or scores of dart remotes.

The Jedi General surveyed the practice floors for an opponent. He snorted with a brief flare of sarcasm. No one. He shrugged slightly to himself, picking up a crate of remotes and striding toward a little-used training salle for some privacy—

He paused, quieting his steps as a giggle reached his ears, followed by a quick "shh." Skywalker began to turn around. Eavesdropping was so uncivilized. But the low voices drew him in, simply begging for him to listen.

"We just can't, Zave," a woman's voice spoke in hushed, desperate tones. "Once this war is over, after we've fulfilled our mission—"

"We might not have that time." A man's voice cut in, rough with desire, exhausted with longing. "Allyah…I-I love you."

To say that Anakin felt uncomfortable would have been akin to saying that Wookiees have hair. Despite his discomfort, he could not pry himself away from the scene playing before his ears.

He was not alone. Other Jedi were beginning to understand the battle that raged within him—the fire that he had yielded to only a year before. He peered around the corner to witness a reckless embrace, the kiss of two lovers lost in the moment.

Anakin jerked back into the hallway. He still had his dignity. He could not be caught lurking in the shadows. The Hero Without Fear soundlessly backed away.

Zave Vorun spun, his saber blade a blur of sapphire fire. He parried and leapt over his opponent's strike, narrowly missing her double-bladed fury. He allowed a feral grin to rise to his face as he shoved her backward with a particularly savage blow, flinging the smaller Jedi halfway across the auditorium.

She recovered quickly, landing in a crouch. The Force coiled around her, a serpent waiting to strike. Her eyes darkened with concentration. Though saberplay was not her strong point, she was no one to be trifled with. A powerful Force-shove sent Vorun tumbling.

His opponent walked languidly over to him, a predator stalking prey. Momentarily stunned, Zave looked up to see her.

That's my girl. Vorun mused briefly as her yellow lightsaber swung close—too close—to his head. He rolled to the side, the air stinking of ozone.

"Allyah, I would think after last night, you'd be a little nicer in the dojo—" He smiled, allowing the innuendo to sink in.

Her attack intensified. "Why should I have any mercy? I thought that I'd tired you out, but clearly—" Slash. Parry. "You have more energy to expend today—" A quick flip out of arm's reach. "than I thought you would." A blocked backhanded slap. "I guess next time we'll—"

Vorun quickly brushed sweat out of his blue eyes. He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval as the mental images she projected splashed across his mind's eye. "With that talk, my lady, you leave nothing to the imagination. This temple has ears, you know," he murmured, their blades clashing, their faces close.

She gasped as if she had forgotten where they were. That moment of hesitation was all he needed. Zave kicked her feet out from under her, sending the smaller Knight tumbling to the floor. He leveled his blade, hovering centimeters over her throat.

"Game."

Anakin watched as the two Jedi that he had stumbled across the night before tore each other to pieces in combat. One would push, the other pull—it was a dance of sabers and wit, the Force binding them in a whirlwind of footwork and technique.

"What are you smiling at, Skyguy?" Ahsoka's high pitched voice cut into his thoughts.

"Nothing, Snips. Just enjoying the show." The match below drew to a screeching halt, the loser lying breathless on her back, staring up at a blue blade. "Say…don't you have some lessons to catch up on? You were pretty far behind last time I checked." Anakin injected the most "masterly" tone he could muster into his voice.

"Master—" His Padawan's pitch bordered a whine.

"Ahsoka. Jedi do not complain," the Knight warned, eyes still glued to dueling pair.

The Togruta grew silent, subdued. "Yes, Master." As his Padawan left to deal with the mountain of work she had undoubtedly neglected since their return to the Temple, Anakin continued to study them.

To the unsuspecting viewer, the two Jedi who had just finished dueling were old friends. But Anakin knew them to be much more. A lingering touch on the arm, checking for a burn. A longing caress along the back of the neck, hands poised, dying for the contact to last longer.

It was written in every move they made—they belonged to one another. They were so like him and Padme. The Force pulsed between them, melding two heartbeats into one signature in the vast expanse of light and life. How no one else noticed the tension between those two was beyond Anakin's comprehension.

Skywalker stood and watched as the female Jedi fled the scene. He stretched his aching muscles, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to loosen the bands of tension that knotted his back. The male Jedi on the dojo floor rolled his neck in a similar fashion. Anakin smirked. Yes. He knew that feeling: as if the very air around him froze when she walked too nearby.

Seeing them interact made him ache to be with her. Unwilling to deprive himself of Padme's company any longer, Anakin strode from the Jedi Temple for some much needed R&R.

Forever. How comforting it was to know that sleeping woman at his side was to be his for eternity, or at least certainly until death parted them. And potentially even beyond that, should the Force allow it in its infinitesimal reach. Even if the galaxy fell into darkness and the Jedi Order itself broke into pieces, still she would remain. She was beautiful—agonizingly so—she was warmth and light. She was everything. It was a shame that other Jedi would never know such joy—

"Padme?"

She rolled over to answer his soft call, dark eyes still closed from slumber. "Hmm?" She ran her fingers sleepily through his hair, his head leaning to rest against her chest. Bedsheets pooled around them, helter-skelter as they listened to one of Coruscant's rare rainstorms fall outside of their apartment window.

"There are more Jedi like me."

"Hmm?" She struggled toward wakefulness.

"There are more Jedi who have fallen in love."

Her eyes popped open in mild surprise. "How do you know?"

"I'm not sure how it happened, but I somehow managed to overhear a part of a conversation…and then just to see them interact—" He stopped himself with a sigh. "What should I do?"

Padme smiled down at her husband. "Do?"

"I feel as though I should talk to them," Anakin murmured hesitantly. "Maybe I could help. I just feel so conflicted."

"I don't think there is anything you can do, love. It's their secret, much like we are each others'." She reached down, tilting his chin upward. Blue eyes locked on dark brown, nearly drowning in the wisdom and passion that dwelled in those depths. "I know that you hate inaction, but perhaps keeping their secret is all you can do."

He exhaled roughly, circling her in his arms. Force, he loved this woman. "You're right, as usual."

On. Off. On. Off. Years of the same agonizing pattern should have hardened the two Jedi's hearts to the conversation that they had to have. Since their apprenticeships they had battled their emotions for one another, playing with fire, getting burned every time. Their scorched hearts somehow forgot the sting of the loss each time. Still, they returned to one another like moths to a flame.

The last time they had the conversation, he had initiated it. He had bore his soul to his Master years before as a Padawan, confessing his transgression against the Order's ideals. He had killed their passion for the sake of their calling, for the sake of the Force.

Years later, it was her who held the figurative knife to his throat, laying their hearts across the altar of duty that they had approached many times before.

Tears. Barely restrained tears hung in the corners of her dark eyes. He hated—no, not hate, Jedi do not hate— disliked very intensely that he was the cause of those tears. She released a shuddering breath. The Force shivered with grief. "It is a fairytale, Zave. You know it."

"Allyah—" Words failed him. He crushed her to his chest, desperate to stop the nonsense coming from her lips. "We are a team. In the field and in spirit."

"There can't be a we. Not if we are to succeed in this war. For the Force's sake, we're being wiped from the Jedi records for this next mission. There won't be a me. There won't be a you. There can't be an 'us.' We are Jedi—"

"First, foremost, and only. Duty first: the mission." Vorun snapped. Words spilled from his lips, a waterfall of brutal honesty, crashing against a weary, aching heart. "I know. To the Sith hells with all of our old sayings, I know that we are Jedi! I know of our duty. I know the weight of the mission that Yoda has given us. I know that attachment makes us vulnerable. I know that we can't afford to be left wide open. I know. But that doesn't stop that you are a part of me. Mind, body, and soul, you are inside me, Allyah." He sank to his knees, dizzy from his tirade, drunk with heartache.

Silence. Spat. Spat spat. Spat. Tears finally found their release and fell to the stone floor. A soft, choked sob escaped her throat.

He forced himself to speak again, his voice as ragged and frayed as his nerves. "I know that this is wrong. I know that we're walking into a mission in which we cannot afford to have any attachment to anything—even the Order, but I just…I can't lose you." His voice broke as his resolve began to crumble. Yes, he was only a man, but he was also a Jedi—first, foremost…and only. "But I guess I have to."

"I will always love you." Her soft admission was drenched in heartbreak, sopping with regret. She was breaking; that much he could easily tell. She did not want her words to be true any more than he did. Zave sighed heavily. He would be strong for her, even if he could not be strong for himself.

"But we are Jedi. Jedi shall not know love," His face twisted in a wry, pained smile. Vorun looked at the tear-streaked face of the woman he loved. His heart shattered as he looked into the eyes that were begging him to continue to argue her point, begging him to lead them into rebellion despite her firm words. He reached a gentle hand up to brush her cheek. Duty. Their duty had to come first. "You are right, as always."

Tears fell, mourning the loss of love and a bright future. The Force itself wept with the two lovers as the rain continued to pour outside the Jedi Temple.

Anakin wandered dejectedly through the long, empty corridors of the Jedi Temple. The Temple slept, young initiates were tucked away on their sleep mats. She was gone—again. Senator Amidala's duties had called, leaving her husband behind on Coruscant to wait until his next mission at war was assigned. He would not have to wait for long. There was always a battle to be fought.

He made his way toward the dojo level yet again, wishing he could burn off all the excess energy that shook his muscles. The normally crowded training rooms were devoid of life, save for one tired Knight that pressed on. His movements were rhythmic, but choppy and distracted. The Force hummed around him, hovering, but not entering his wounded spirit.

Something was clearly not right.

A tendril of regret drifted through the Force, drawing Anakin closer to the training salle. The air was dense with sadness, thick with mourning. He could have cut the heartache with his saber blade.

The Knight froze as he realized that he had an audience. "Yes?" He bowed, blue eyes were dull with pain, barely registering the newcomer.

Skywalker hesitated. He did not need to get involved in this Knight's life. He had already seen too much—far too much—and he did not even know the man's name. The hooded agony in the man's eyes tugged at Anakin's heart. "May I join you?"

"Yes, of course," the other Knight bowed in introduction. "Zave Vorun."

"Anakin Skywalker," the General returned the bow. He tossed his outer cloak to the side, rolling his shoulders and stretching in preparation. He slipped his boots off, flexing his bare toes against the cool stone of the dojo floor.

"You are a General," Vorun stated as the two circled one another, twin blue blades igniting between them. "Your reputation precedes you."

"That is true. I do not know much about you, my friend, but I know enough," Anakin struck first. "Let's do the Katarn kata."

"Seeing as you started it, I will assume that means you are the predator," pained eyes gleamed with recognition as the other Knight parried the blow and fell into a defensive stance. "And I am the prey."

"Only in title, Knight Vorun," Anakin swept behind the other Knight, who blocked a blow behind his back, twisting to face Skywalker.

The ancient dance began, muscle memory and the Force guiding the two Jedi. Anakin swung a low blow meant to take Vorun out at his ankles, which he answered by barely managing to leap out of harm's way into the shadows of the training salle.

"You are distracted," Skywalker observed quietly.

"You cannot be certain of that," Zave pointed out, shifting to block another blow, which had been aimed at his right shoulder. "You don't know if I'm distracted or just a poor swordsman."

Anakin leapt over his opponent's head, slashing downward at his neck. Another barely blocked blow. "I have seen enough over the past several days to know that is not the case."

Vorun tensed. The Force warmed around him, irritation heightening his senses. His voice remained neutral. "And what do you think you have seen?"

"Enough," Anakin answered shortly, his saber spinning in a series of movements that were almost too fast for the eye to follow. He pressed his attack in saber and in words, seeking to draw blood, seeking to draw a reaction. The infected wound in the younger Knight's heart needed cleansing—a trial by fire. "Enough to know what heartbreak looks like. Enough to know that you're hiding something. Enough to know that your mind is not fully on this exercise."

"I don't think you have any idea what you are talking about," Zave answered cooly, springing into the offensive. The tides turned. Anakin shifted his footwork, allowing his predator stance to become the prey's defensive movements. "There is no heartbreak. There is the Force." Vorun mocked the Code, his voice monotonous, yet tinged with bitterness.

Finally. Dull blue eyes blazed with fire. Anakin had succeeded. Pain blazed into glorious, combative energy as the other Knight dove into the currents of the Force. Their blades were a dizzying array of sapphire light as the kata sped into heated perfection. Sweat stung their eyes, the kata restarting as the roles changed.

Anakin allowed the other Knight to press him backward in his attack, the therapeutic glow of their sabers illuminating the darkened chamber. Oh, but I do know. Anakin knew full well the agony the other Knight had to be feeling. He felt it in his darkest dreams and he prayed that he would never have to face that kind of loss.

Anger warped the Force between them. Skywalker again took the offensive, seeking to end the exercise before the darkness grew. The match had to end—and end quickly. He penetrated Vorun's outer defenses, jabbing his blade inward and flicking it to the side, skimming his opponent's wrist and knocking his lightsaber from his hand.

"Game." Anakin held his blue blade hovering above the other Knight's chest.

Anger dissipated into the coolness of the night, seeping into the stone floors never to be acknowledged again. Zave bowed, accepting defeat. "Thank you, Knight Skywalker."

"It was an honor, Knight Vorun." The General watched as the younger Knight retrieved his fallen saber and retreated from the dojo.

Anakin heaved a sigh. The conversation—or non-conversation—ended as abruptly as the kata had. Swift, painful, and heated.

The air surrounding him colored with pity. The passionate team he had seen had clearly not survived under the heavy mantel of duty and the Jedi Order. He strode from the training room, feeling a defeat that was not entirely his own.

A Jedi shall know not anger. Nor hatred. Nor love.