They were held for a day, perhaps more, on Grievous's flagship, Star Protector. That was no more than any of the Jedi had expected. What happened after that, though, was less certain. Perhaps they would be taken to the compound they had just escaped and held there until some other reckless band of Jedi attempted to rescue them, and the whole terrible cycle would repeat itself.

They were not allowed to see each other. As soon as they reached the ship, Anakin was muscled away from the other two by three of Grievous's guards and placed in a cell of his own. He didn't resist—there was nothing to be gained from it, and their failure, with all its dangerous and dismal implications, haunted him relentlessly.

Sitting on the floor of his cell, Anakin's shoulders were hunched against the guilt that pressed down upon them. He could imagine, though he tried not to, the frantic and furious messages being passed from the Alliance to the Order to the Senate and back, all demanding to know what these three renegade Jedi had been doing. When the Order could not answer, hopefully the Republic would believe it, and would turn to Anakin instead for answers.

This had been his mission; he was responsible, not only for this debacle but also for the safety of his fellow Jedi. Vaguely Anakin remembered the look of pain on Ferus's face and hoped that his foot had been tended to. And Drin, poor Drin. This was his first mission as a Knight. If they were here now, Anakin would not have apologized—would not have spoken at all. The remorse he felt was too great for words.

It was at least twenty-four standard hours later—food had not been provided, but Jedi could go for much longer without sustenance than normal beings—that the door of his cell slid open. Anakin looked up wordlessly to see one of those familiar guards standing there, burly and middle-aged and obviously unafraid of what this one young man could conceivably do to him.

"On your feet, Jedi," he said. Anakin hesitated, waiting for more of an explanation, and when there was none he rose as ordered. The guard prodded him forward through the halls until the walls opened up into a common area, where Drin and Ferus stood. At the sight of them, Anakin's stomach—already working gymnastics—twisted itself into tinier, more painful knots.

"Where were—?"

"Silence, Jedi," Anakin's guard snapped. This was just getting ridiculous now, but Anakin held his tongue anyway. The Jedi were escorted to another ship, smaller and more practical for fast transportation. Their own was apparently no longer available. The guard holding Anakin's arm gave a few quick instructions.

"This ship is programmed to land at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. It's locked on autopilot, so don't try to change its destination."

Of all times, Anakin felt a sudden overpowering desire to talk back, a childish impulse he'd managed to bury for the most part. He forced back the urge and only nodded his head. A true Jedi Knight, he reminded himself, did not mock his captor, even under such tempting circumstances.

The guards finally left them, locking the portal. They heard the engines firing up, the floors rumbling beneath their feet, and then they were alone together for the first time since what they all referred to in their minds as "the disaster on Morav."

Gradually the Jedi each drifted off by themselves. Drin strayed into the rest of the ship, while Ferus went to look at their food supplies in the galley. Anakin remained in the common room, his back sinking into the chair as he stared at the floor. With two hands he reached behind his neck and unclasped the gold chain that hung there, letting the strangely-cut ilum crystal fall into his hand. He turned it over his fingers for lack of thought.

He didn't see Ferus enter into the room, but he felt his friend's presence come toward him and sit down beside him.

"How's your foot?"

"Better," Ferus answered. Anakin looked down. The boot had a giant blaster hole in it now, and through it he could see peeling red skin. "It's much better. That fighter hardly got me, anyway, and Drin fixed it pretty well."

"I'm glad."

Silence.

Ferus made a noise in the back of his throat. "Come on, Anakin," he said abruptly. "Enough with the guilt trip."

"I'm don't feel guilty," Anakin answered automatically, his voice hollow.

"Yeah, because you don't beat yourself up every chance you get," Ferus returned sarcastically. "I don't know why you're so determined to believe everything is your fault, but you've got to stop. It's not healthy."

Anakin only shrugged. He wanted to answer his friend but didn't know how. What could he say? 'It was my fault and you know it. Don't try and make me feel better.' How pathetic that it felt like the truth. But that was the way the mind of Anakin Skywalker worked: no matter what he did or how magnificently he erred, he could reconcile himself with it only through penance, through shame and suffering, and purging.

It hadn't always been that way. Once—it seemed eons ago—there had been a man who only needed to say, "I forgive you," and Anakin's soul was at peace. But that man was gone, with only this little shard left of him, and the crystal could not abate Anakin's guilt. There was no rest for him now.

None of them were looking forward to the landing, so it came very quickly. As soon as the engines died and the ship was firmly settled on the smooth metal of the hangar floor, the ship's portal opened and Anakin, Drin, and Ferus had no choice but to step out. They knew exactly what they had to look forward to.

"Explain to the Council," said Yoda, in as cool a manner as a three-foot-high green troll with inverted speech could muster, "your behavior in this matter."

It had been a while since Anakin had done something worthy of every Council member's negative attention, though he'd had his share of moments. He had hated them then, for obvious reasons, and he didn't like them any better now.

"We went to meet with General Grievous as ordered," Anakin began. "The General threatened to keep Master Allie a prisoner permanently, refusing to release her. He also spoke of war, saying that if the Jedi demanded her release, Chancellor Amidala would take the Alliance's side."

"And you believe this excuses your actions?" demanded Master Mundi.

"No—no, Master. But—"

As clearly as he could, Anakin tried to explain the events that had taken place up until this moment, taking care to mention the inexorable pull the Force had exercised on their minds that night. When he had finished—not once had the Council members interrupted him—Master Gallia's eyes flicked behind Anakin to his friends. Though Anakin knew the death of her cousin must have hit her hard, she did not show it.

"Master Olin," she said, "Did you sense this calling in the Force that Master Skywalker describes?" Ferus nodded. "Master Audris?"

"I did, Master."

Throughout the whole process Windu had not said a word, only looked at his former Padawan with eyes that were inscrutable. Anakin wished he would speak, say something, even if it were only condemnation. The more time he had spent with Windu, the easier it was for him to read the Jedi Master's expression, but he sensed nothing now.

"Discuss this, the Council will," Yoda promised. "In the meantime, wishes to see you, the Chancellor does."

Inwardly, Anakin groaned. It was all they could expect, he supposed—to be shipped from one scolding to the next.

The Council had reacted as one might have expected them to—with Jedi calm, irate but reserved nonetheless. Chancellor Amidala, well-known for her passion when it came to the Republic, was somewhat less taciturn.

For whatever reason, she had chosen to see them not wearing her state robes, but rather a plainer gown of pale blue, and her dark hair was not done up in its usual elaborate hairstyle but hanging down over her shoulders. When the Jedi entered her official chambers Amidala was standing off to one side of the general area, waiting. She noticed them then, and her nostrils flared. She began without waiting for them to speak.

"Do you know what you have done?" she asked, her voice icy, every syllable pronounced perfectly, as though it were made of sharp glass. Anakin, surprised at her abruptness, did not answer. "If Grievous chose, he could declare war on the Jedi in an instant with the grounds your Order has given him. Stass Allie was bad enough, but you—!"

"On the Jedi?" Anakin repeated, startled, interrupting her without thinking.

"Only the Jedi have done this to him," Amidala snapped. "The Republic is in no way to blame."

"The Jedi Order is a child of the Republic," Ferus pointed out.

"Then I disown it!" Fervent pink spots appeared on her alabaster cheeks. "I will not allow you to drag the Republic to its grave with your reckless antics!"

All at once Anakin felt so tired. He did not have the energy to defend himself any longer. He fell silent, and Chancellor Amidala hardly seemed to notice, as Ferus and Drin took up his slack. Ferus was better at this sort of thing, anyway.

"I would suggest that you refrain from speaking so impulsively," Ferus said. "The Jedi have been faithful servants of the Republic for thousands of years. If I may say so, it would be most injudicious of you to cast the Order aside for the sake of one isolated incident."

Drin broke in suddenly. "Chancellor, Jedi are taught from a young age not to let their emotions cloud their judgment. It is a valuable precept, even for civilians."

"Then you believe that I am simply being impulsive?" asked Amidala coldly.

"I am not questioning your reasoning," Drin said, inclining his head respectfully. "I am only suggesting that you take care that it is sound before acting upon it." In the back of his mind Anakin wondered when Drin had gotten so good at this.

A Jedi, by the very nature of their profession, bound by logic and calculation and the greatest good, could make any hotheaded civilian look like a fool if they so chose. That probably was not what Ferus and Drin had in mind, but it was their end result. No matter how Amidala raged, she could not break down their wall of detached calm for which Jedi were so famous. When Palpatine was recognized as a Sith and his motives understood to be detrimental to the Republic, all of the Supreme Chancellor's emergency powers had been revoked. Amidala had no authority to punish the Jedi, now that the Order was once again an entity unto itself. At the end of their meeting, she could only leave them with a promise: that, if Grievous asked for a scapegoat, she would place the blame fully on the Jedi's shoulders.

"Well, that went well," Drin remarked dryly as they left the building for their waiting transport. Ferus was frowning at Anakin.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked. Anakin only shrugged. "On the wrong side of the Supreme Chancellor is not a good place to be. She's already antagonistic toward you, but you might have redeemed yourself if you'd tried."

Anakin gave a little laugh. "After I killed Palpatine, the only way she could ever stand me is if we were in another universe. She'll never forgive me, and I don't care."

Their dialogue was lighthearted, but Anakin's thoughts were only half with it. The rest of his mind was occupied with something much more sobering, something he had pondered for many days now.

They had no reason to return to the Council Chamber; none of them had a desire to get yelled at yet again. Anakin, however, for reasons of his own, made his way back there alone.

He had hoped that, for some inexplicable and convenient reason, Windu might be alone there. But no, Windu was still conversing busily with the other eleven—ten—Masters. Tentatively, Anakin interrupted.

"Master—" Windu looked up. "—May I speak with you alone?"

"Of course," Windu replied, standing. The doors of the Council room closed behind them, and the dark-skinned Master frowned. "Now, what is this about?"

Strange, how Anakin had been vaguely rehearsing this ever since Morav, and now that the moment had come, his mind had gone blank. Maybe it was a sign. Perhaps he needn't go through with it after all; and once those words were spoken out loud, no power in the universe could take them back.

"Anakin?"

"It was my fault!" he blurted out abruptly. Plans and rehearsals flew from his head, but he tried to sound as though his heart wasn't pounding furiously. "I feel responsible for what happened on Morav. It was my mission; I should have…done something. I should have known."

Windu was giving him that strange look again, the one he'd given Anakin in the Council room, one of the few that Anakin did not understand. "And what do you say happened on Morav?" Windu asked finally. "Tell me."

Anakin blinked, bewildered, but knew better than to question. "The Force was warning us of danger toward Master Allie," he said, "and we behaved carelessly in attempting to rescue her. We exposed ourselves and her and the Republic to extreme danger, and we…killed her, in doing so."

It had been at least a standard week since that day. The words and facts shouldn't hurt so badly as they did, but still they ached, like a sore that never seemed to heal, raw and swollen.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Chancellor Amidala despises me. She has ever since Palpatine's death, and you know it. She's angry with the Jedi, but she will take any chance she can get to blame me personally. It would have been my decision as the leader to change what happened, and I didn't do it. If Amidala has no vendetta against me, then maybe the Order will be safe from her and Grievous."

"What are you saying?" asked Windu, very seriously.

Anakin waited a moment, to square his shoulders and collect himself. He wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth and know that they were his, know that he had made this decision on his own and was ready to accept the consequences.

"I am offering you my willing expulsion from the Jedi Order," he said.

For once, Windu seemed caught off guard. It was only the slightest reaction, but Anakin knew he had not seen this coming. Somehow that made him feel a little bit better about it.

Windu sighed, very quietly. "I must admit, Anakin," he said, "you've surprised me. That was not what I expected to hear from you."

Anakin did not respond. He did not want to go, but he was not such a coward as to hope that Windu would beg him to stay.

"You must expect that I will ask you to remain."

"The decision lies in your hands, and with the Council," Anakin replied. He knew that Windu would not demean his offer by responding in the negative without thought.

Windu shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes from Anakin. "The Council does not need to hear this," he said. "In light of the incident on Morav, they have already decided what is to become of you."

"And?" Anakin's voice was supremely calm.

"The thought of expulsion came up—it always does. It was immediately dismissed. We will not lose you, Anakin. You are the Chosen One, and you are a great and powerful Jedi Knight. The Order can and will defend itself, if necessary, against Chancellor Amidala on your behalf. But the Council is of the firm belief that there was nothing you could have done. You listened to the Force, that much is obvious—and given the situation, there is a very real possibility that Master Allie would be killed no matter what you had done."

Anakin tried so hard not to let the outward signs of relief appear on his face. He failed miserably.

"Thank you, Master," he heard himself say, his heart pounding. He had almost gone faint. Leaving the Order would have been the hardest thing he had ever done.

"However, Anakin—" For the first time, Windu seemed at a loss for words. "Given that you were indeed the leader of this mission, and your past record, the Council has made special provisions for you."

Anakin nodded soberly. "I understand," he said. He had never expected to walk away from this unscathed.

"There is an empty seat on the Council," said Windu. "We ask you to take it."

It was now Anakin's turn to be surprised. His eyes widened, and he started stammering horribly. "Master, I can't—I can't be a Master! Master, I've only been a Knight for five—" He stopped and recalculated. "—six years! No Council member has ever—"

"A most inelegant response," said Windu, smiling. "But the offer stands nonetheless. So will you take it?"

Anakin stared at him blankly. Now that he was fully convinced that Windu was being serious, there was nothing else he could do. "Yes," he said. "Of course."

"I am very glad to hear it." Business was concluded; Windu turned on his heel and walked back into the Council Chamber, but not before Anakin saw once more that look on his face. This time, though, suddenly Anakin saw what it meant.

It was pure, shining pride that Windu felt now toward his former apprentice.