Chapter 101: The Balance

Jedi hopes, for the first time since the start of the war, were up, and confidence was at an all time high. The staggering loss of the Separatists at the Battle of Coruscant left millions of battle droids broken and mangled in the streets, and bits and pieces of destroyed ships rained down constantly, the debris lighting up the sky with thousands of shooting stars as they burned up in the atmosphere. The Separatist fleet was in tatters, and most importantly, Count Dooku, leader of the Separatist movement, was dead. His body had not been recovered, but reliable Confederate news feeds confirmed it, as did Chancellor Palpatine, who bore witness to the man's death. Also dead was Pong Krell, fallen Jedi and supposed apprentice to Dooku, and the Jedi, though saddened by the loss, were glad to see another Sith menace out of the galaxy. Suddenly, the explosion of Sith in the galaxy was drastically reduced back down to manageable amounts.

The loss that touched them all, however, was Qui-Gon Jinn, yet another Master and member of the Council slain by Sith evil. The body wasn't recovered either, but they didn't need it. Yoda had felt his death in the Force, though the tiny Grandmaster had seemed confused, almost bewildered by it, as if he simply didn't understand what had happened, which was a rare thing for the Jedi to see in the diminutive creature. It was a heartbreaking loss, though they would push through, as they always had. After all, his death had turned Obi-Wan Kenobi against Dooku, which had resulted in the Sith Lord's death. What this meant for the future was uncertain, but with the death of one Sith, it seemed very plausible that Kenobi would turn on his Master as well.

Obi-Wan had escaped, of course, as had General Grievous, but it seemed to be of no consequence. The Confederacy was falling apart with Dooku's death. The power of his personality had been what bound them all together, and without him, the remaining leaders seemed to be scrambling and struggling for power, and with their fleet in ruins, things weren't looking good for the Separatist cause. The war wasn't over, not yet, but before it had seemed endless, and now there was a clear end in sight. All they needed to do was sweep up the remainder of the mess. All that was really left was General Grievous, Barriss Offee, Quinlan Vos, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, and of those, only Grievous and Kenobi really mattered. With them gone, there would be nothing left for the Separatists to do but surrender.

Anakin didn't care, didn't feel the sense of accomplishment that the other Jedi did. All he could feel was the cold and bitter, bitter rage as he stood in the Council chamber, his eyes fixed on Qui-Gon's empty seat as Chancellor Palpatine and extolled the virtues of the young Jedi Knight whose daring rescue had saved his life and helped bring the war closer to the end. He had even recommended that Skywalker should take the fallen Qui-Gon's seat on the Council, which got his attention for a moment, but he hardened quickly again. Palpatine was right. He should have that seat. As Qui-Gon's student and as the one that had helped secure the victory against the Separatists in the Battle of Coruscant, it was his right to sit there. No Jedi had his strength, his raw talent, his overwhelming power in the Force. Not a single one of them could have stood against Obi-Wan in the way he did and lived. He deserved to be leading them, should be leading them, but he knew it wouldn't happen. The Masters were too stubborn, too foolish, and without Qui-Gon's wisdom, they were lost.

He looked around the room at the Masters that sat in attendance, via hologram or in person, and he felt the cold grip him with loathing. Aayla Secura, her blue projection flickering as she leaned over and excitedly talked to Kit Fisto, the Twi'lek still out in the galaxy hunting her former Master. Seasee Tiin sat, his head bowed and his visage somber, in the seat that had once been his, his valor in the Battle of Coruscant proving without a shadow of a doubt the strength of his convictions and his loyalty to the Jedi. Depa Billaba sat trying to calm her excitable Padawan, the young teen bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement at having participated in his first battle, and Anakin had to look away. The youthful enthusiasm reminded him too much of Ahsoka, also lost to the Jedi. But mostly he looked at Luminara, her face drawn and pale, the strain clear upon her. They had always been three, Luminara Unduli, Quinlan Vos, and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Then Obi-Wan was gone, and the grieving Qui-Gon had stepped in to take the place of his student among his grief-stricken friends. Now, Quinlan had fallen to the Dark Side, and Qui-Gon lay dead, and only Luminara remained. Even her Padawan was gone, lost to darkness like the others. Anakin wondered how long it would be before she fell as well.

His business concluded, Palpatine bowed, wished the Masters wisdom moving forward, and laid a hand on Anakin's shoulder, quietly gave him his deepest sympathies for his loss, and reminded him that his door was always open should he need a sympathetic ear. Anakin nodded and thanked the elderly man, and with a small smile, Palpatine left the Council chamber, leaving Anakin to stand alone with the Masters. He stood in silence, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wincing as he did so, the aches and pains in his body sharp and uncomfortable. In their final engagement, Kenobi had hurt him much more than he had thought, and it wasn't until he had returned to Coruscant that he had felt the agonizing pain of burning skin, had seen the long cuts and charred slashes that covered his body. He didn't have many scars before. The Force had kept him safe, and there was rarely an opponent he met that was his equal, but Obi-Wan was, and the extended fighting had left its toll.

"So," Mace said, his hands folded in front of his face, "Chancellor Palpatine thinks you should serve on the Council. He trusts you, and he believes your value to the Order is unmatched."

Anakin shrugged. "He's right." Mace frowned, and it just made Anakin feel indignant. "What. It isn't my fault that what he says is true. No Jedi has the military record I have, and you wouldn't have taken me in for training when I was too old for it if I wasn't worth it." He look a deep breath and held Windu's gaze. "I should be on the Council."

"Nobody is doubting your skills and your value to the Jedi Order," Mace said softly. "But we are not appointing you to the Council because Chancellor Palpatine recommended it."

Anakin clenched his jaw tightly. He knew this would happen, but he felt a rush of anger fill him anyway.

"Why not."

"Uh...because we elect our own members?" Mace said, questioning and confused. The boy was grieving, so it was natural for him to exhibit anger, even if it was misplaced. His Master questioned everything as well, so this was expected.

"Defying the Chancellor is defying the Republic we are sworn to serve," Anakin growled, and held up a hand when Mace rose angrily from his seat. Even the excitable Padawan stopped to listen, drifting closer to his Master. "But I get it."

"Only Masters sit on the Council, Skywalker," Mace said firmly, and the defiant knight just shrugged.

"Make me a Master. I deserve it."

"That is not for you to decide," Mace snapped, watching as defiance and anger flitted across the Jedi's face. "We didn't bring you here to argue about your perceived injustices, Skywalker, we're here to talk about what we do now. The end of the war is in sight, but it isn't over yet. Kenobi is still at large, as is Quinlan Vos and Barriss Offee. If we form teams to hunt each of them down, we should be able to bring a swift end to them." The silent, contemplative Yoda suddenly grunted in disapproval, his ears drawing back in thought, and Mace stopped talking.

"Killed Dooku, Obi-Wan has," he quietly rasped. "Correct, Qui-Gon may have been. Destroy the Sith, Obi-Wan may."

"Obi-Wan is Sith," Anakin snarled. "He isn't going to destroy himself and as long as he lives, we are all in danger! He needs to die, the sooner the better."

"Hidden from us, the Sith Master is," Yoda said quietly. "Knows him, Obi-Wan does. No chance we have of catching him without Obi-Wan's help. If discover him, we do, than too late will it be for the Jedi."

"The Separatists are done!" Anakin shouted. "The war is over, the Sith plan has failed!"

"Know that, do you?" Yoda asked, and Anakin shut his mouth tight and looked away. "In the Senate, the Sith Lord is, Obi-Wan told us long ago. Possible, this is, but certain, it is not. Certain, though, is Obi-Wan." He grasped his stick tightly in his hands. "Through him, clear is the path to the Sith. Two Sith he has killed already. Next, the Master may be."

"Which would make Kenobi the Sith Master," Anakin said slowly, his voiced raised as if speaking to someone who didn't understand Basic in the hopes that they would understand. "I fought him. I know what he's capable of, and we don't want him having more of it, certainly not as Master of the Sith! We'll never kill him then!"

Yoda grunted his displeasure. "Victory, you will have over Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, I'm going to kill him."

"Think you death is victory?" Yoda shook his head. "No victory is there in death. For Jedi, for the Republic, victory there is in compromise."

"...you think you can reason with him?!" Anakin said in disbelief. "I saw him, Master Yoda, Kenobi is insane! He only killed Dooku because he has no idea what he's doing, he's out of control!"

"Know Obi-Wan's heart, do you?"

"He has no heart to know!"

Yoda frowned, thought, and slowly nodded. "Changing, the Force is," he said softly, eyes shut tight in concentration. "Darkness, there is. All around us. But ever flowing is the Force." He opened his eyes and looked around the room, a sad smile on his lips. "Hope, we must not lose. Light there may be in Obi-Wan. The key to destroying the Sith, he may be."

"Master Yoda," Anakin growled, "Qui-Gon Jinn wasn't right about everything, and he was never right about Obi-Wan Kenobi! The Sith killed him, we should be fighting them, not discussing the possibility of an alliance!"

"Killed Qui-Gon, did Obi-Wan?" Yoda asked, and Anakin flushed deeply.

"...no."

"Avenged him, he did." Yoda pointed his stick at Anakin. "Betrayed by Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan believed he was, and avenged him anyway, he did. Lives, Obi-Wan does, inside Darth Lumis. Find him, we must."

"I will find him," Anakin growled dangerously. "And when I do, I'm going to kill him." He didn't wait to hear what the Masters had to say. The furious Jedi Knight turned and stormed out of the room, striking call button for the elevator so hard he thought the screen may crack. He needed to get to the Grand Republic Medical Facility to check on Tarkin. He at least supported his desire for revenge, the need to destroy every last one of those Separatist scum, the burning drive to murder the last of the Sith. Palpatine would support him too, he was certain of it, and if he did, it wouldn't matter what the Jedi said. With one word by the Chancellor, Anakin would be dispatched to end the war and take no prisoners. The Jedi's position disgusted him. Compromise with the Separatists was unthinkable, and making peace with a Sith Lord was even worse. The whole thing reeked of Sith influence, of disloyalty to the Republic they were sworn to serve. The Jedi, it seemed, were corrupt. He'd just need to speak to Palpatine. The Chancellor would fix it.

His swift stride through the empty halls of the Temple and was stopped suddenly when he was grabbed from behind by a pair of thin, familiar arms, and he felt a rush of warmth flow through him, the first time since Qui-Gon died that he had felt anything but cold. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around, wrapping his arms around her in a crushing grip and refusing to let go, the feel of her soft and comforting, a thing he desperately needed, but could not get from the cold, detached Jedi.

"What are you doing here?" he quietly asked, looking around to make certain nobody was there, and gratefully, they were alone. He took her by the hand and quickly pulled her in the direction of his room. They weren't far away.

"I had to see you," she whispered, following swiftly at his side. "As soon as I knew you were back, I came here, I'm sorry, I had to."

"It's alright," he said, stopping outside his door and quickly opening it. "I'm glad you came." He smiled at her as she stepped inside, and he swiftly followed, locking the door behind him. He embraced her again, kissing her softly on her lips, and he moaned softly for the contact, whimpered in yearning when she broke away.

"I heard about Qui-Gon," Padmé said softly, her brown eyes large and wet and deep with emotion. "Anakin, I am so sorry. I know he was like a father to you, and..." Her voice wavered, cracking with emotion as tears ran down her cheeks, and Anakin held her tighter, his hand in her thick brown hair. It didn't help. Nothing would ever help. But she was trying, and that was enough.

"He died fighting the Sith," he whispered, not trusting his quivering voice enough to talk any louder for fear that his overwhelming emotion would overcome him. "He fought to the end like a true Jedi Master, the best I've ever known..." Padmé sniffled and buried her face in the folds of his robes.

"I can't believe he's gone...he was always such a good friend to me." Padmé looked up, ran her hand over his cheek and smiled softly. "I have...news." Anakin instantly tensed, holding his breath. As of late, no news had been good news. He felt the cold creep back in. But the woman smiled, soft and secretive and nearly bursting with joy, and it was infectious. Anakin found himself leaning in, waiting for her to tell this secret news. "I'm pregnant."

Anakin found himself staring like an idiot, hearing the words, but not exactly understanding them. Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Pregnant! He was going to be a father! He and his wife had come together to make a child. It was amazing, and he could feel the warmth spread through him, could feel every fiber of his being aching and yearning with love for this child, and couldn't wait to hold it in his arms. He would spoil the child senseless. He knew everything was going to be alright between them, just knew it. First marriage, and now a child. They would be a family, never to be divided, not by anything. He reached out and felt her through the Force and grinned broadly when he found that she had changed. It was slight, subtle, but there was an undercurrent of something else in the Force within her. His child. He wondered if it would have his Force sensitivity. He hoped so. He was going to teach it everything about the Force. He'd always wanted to have a Padawan when he was ready, and in a few years, it looked like that would become a reality.

His smile faltered slightly, fading from his face into an expression of concern. The Jedi would never allow it. All Force sensitive children born were detected and taken, property of the Jedi Order. Family ties were forbidden, and they would never allow him to train his own child. It fostered too much attachment, undermined the emotional distance that the Jedi taught. And worse, the entire Order would know. They would all know about his relationship with Padmé, his marriage, his love for her deep enough to make a child in defiance of the Jedi Code. He would never be a Master, not ever, not if they found out. Worse, he could be expelled from the Jedi Order, never to be allowed to return again. Being a Jedi Master like Qui-Gon was all he ever wanted, and this stood to ruin that all. That wasn't to say he didn't want this child. He did, just as much as he wanted Padmé, but it was a complication he didn't need, not with all that was going on with the war, with the Jedi, with the Sith. And speaking of...

The concern faded into the cold familiarity of jealousy, and as he looked at his lovely wife, he saw him. Obi-Wan Kenobi, eternally young and just as Padmé remembered him from before he had fallen. He remembered the shadow of his grip upon her, could see in his mind their passions, rough, mindless and animalistic, an expression of pure lust and little more, but the motivations didn't matter. Maybe she was forced to, maybe it was on her own, but the fact of the matter was that Padmé had been to bed with the enemy, had taken him deep inside her, and it was foolish to think that they had been cautious in their heedless rutting. And Qui-Gon said it would happen again. Even after they had been wed, he saw them together in his mind, tormenting him like some endless nightmare of moans and breathless begging for more, and Anakin knew that dreams weren't always just dreams. The thought hit him hard, and once it entered his mind, he could think of nothing else. The child could belong to Obi-Wan.

He wanted to say anything other than he did, but when Anakin finally managed to speak, he choked a bitter, "Who's the father?"

Disbelief flashed across Padmé's face for a moment before her eyes narrowed in anger, her entire being screaming in offense, and with a sigh, she closed her eyes and calmed, resignation, understanding and not a small amount of shame settled inside her, and it made Anakin sick. The flash of emotions said it all. She must have been with Kenobi after they had been married, or she wouldn't have reacted in this manner. She should have reacted in any way but this. She should have hugged him, kissed him, told him that of course the child was his, but no. Padmé Amidala understood her husband's doubts and she was ashamed. Anakin hadn't seen his wife for two months, not since they were married. The most logical explanation was that two months alone gave her plenty of time to spend with her lover, a mistress in the arms of a Sith Lord. True, Anakin had been chasing Kenobi all over the galaxy, but when he had thought the man was flying for the Outer Rim, he had been with the Separatists attacking Coruscant. Kenobi didn't have to be with his ships. He could have been anywhere. He could have been here, groaning his release into Padmé Amidala and planting his seed within her.

The child was Obi-Wan's, it must have been, had to be! Two months of being filled by the Sith Lord, two months of a mindless rush preventing her from protecting herself, two months of sinister Sith satisfaction as he claimed what rightfully belonged to Anakin Skywalker. Of course she was pregnant. After all of that, there was no way she couldn't be. The image of his family came crumbling apart, all hopes of training his son or his daughter dashed when he imagined the holding the newborn in his arms, the infant with the Sith yellow eyes of its father, corrupted and tainted by the Dark Side at its conception. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head swimming and suddenly nauseous. He was absolutely going to be sick. He could kill that child. It would be a mercy. And he could kill her too...

"It's your child, Anakin," she said softly, almost shyly looking at him, and Anakin could feel himself flush with joy and with anger. The child was his! But he didn't believe her. He went back and forth on this more than once, wanting to believe her, but finding he couldn't. It was impossible, it-

"How do you know," was his harsh, snarled response, and Padmé winced at both the tone and the words, but silently accepted them.

"I-I went to the medical lab the other day," she whispered, folding her hands behind her back. "I'm at two months, we made this child on our honeymoon..." She took in a deep breath and held it for a moment, her heart beating fast as she watched suspicions and joy and hate rush through her husband. "I...understand your feelings, I do, which is why I got tested. Please, Anakin, I don't know what to do..."

"Have you seen him again." Padmé winced, broke eye contact, and against her better judgement, nodded. She could feel Anakin's wrath in the air and quickly raised her hands.

"To call it off, Anakin! I told him we couldn't do this anymore and he agreed!"

"What, Padmé, so the evil Sith Lord suddenly grew a conscious?!"

"He isn't evil, he's-"

"He's a dead man, that's what he is!" Anakin shouted, rising from the bed and grabbing Padmé by the shoulders, hateful blue eyes blazing and looking down into his wife's terrified face. "I'm going to tear his vile head from his shoulders for everything he's done!" he said, his voice high with tension, and his grip tightened. He wasn't just going to kill him. He was going to murder him. He was going to disarm him, catch him unawares, capture him, torture him for everything he has done, for everything that he had taken from him. For killing Jedi. For tearing apart the Order. For fighting against the Republic. For daring to set foot in his brother's home. For killing Dooku and depriving Anakin of the revenge he so rightfully deserved. For taking Qui-Gon's lightsaber, a weapon that now should have belonged to Anakin, not held in the hands of the vile Sith that betrayed his beloved Master. For Padmé, especially for Padmé. For making her obsessed with him, for making her want him, for taking her to bed, for even having the possibility of being the father to her child!

Darkness rushed through him, raw and powerful and unrestrained, and for a moment, he could hear Padmé screaming, could see the woman he loved sobbing, her hands clutched over her swollen stomach, her body wracked with pain, and over her stood Obi-Wan, golden eyes glowing in the shadows of his face, his red lightsaber held in his hand. A moment later, and it was gone, and he found himself looking into large, terrified eyes, his hands grasping her shoulders so tightly that he could already see bruises forming. He could still hear the screams, her screams, echoing all around him, pained and endless as she died. He shivered, closed his eyes and stroked her shoulders, pulling her back to him when she backed away. The child was his. He believed it, though the doubt still remained. It could still be Obi-Wan's, still could be the vile, corrupted, disgusting spawn of the Sith Lord. He could never love that child, could never find it in him to love a creature that was Padmé's, but not his, put inside her by his most bitter enemy. But he could love her. He would always love her. This wasn't her fault. It was Obi-Wan's...Obi-Wan's...

"Padmé..." he drawled sweetly, stroking her trembling shoulders. "Oh, Padmé, don't be afraid..." He kissed her, not soft and gentle like he always did, but rough, claiming, his hand on the back of her head when she tried again to wriggle away. "I believe you...we aren't going to worry about this, alright?" he cooed, soothing her as best as he could, the touch of the Force on his fingertips, and slowly, the shaking girl began to relax. "We're going to be happy, and we're going to be together forever, and we're going to love and raise our child. And if it isn't ours," he growled, his hands tightening again around her shoulders, "I'll kill it and we'll try again."

She gasped in horror, and this time, she managed to pull away, but utter terror kept her frozen in place, her trembling hands resting over her stomach where Anakin's child lay. "Anakin," she said in a hushed whisper. "You don't mean that, you can't mean that..."

"I do mean it," Anakin said sweetly, stroking her cheek and smiling. "I would kill that Sith spawn in a moment to spare the world the evil that it would bring to it."

"Evil?! Anakin, it's a child, and innocent child!"

"It isn't his, is it, Padmé?"

"N-no!"

"Then we have no problem..." he whispered, pulling her in close and pressing her back onto the bed, the Jedi climbing on top of her and feeling the could pulse within him, filling him with the strength and power to protect the woman and the child that belonged to him. "I love you, Padmé," he said, his voice almost seeming to freeze in the air before the woman. "And when I kill Obi-Wan, all our problems will be solved. All of them." And they would. What he had seen was a vision, he was certain of it. Padme's death, and Kenobi standing above her, the perpetraitor of the crime. He could save her. He would save her, and with Obi-Wan death, she would live. They would be together. She didn't understand now, didn't understand the dangers, the evil of the Sith, but she would come to agree that Obi-Wan Kenobi must die. She would understand. He would make her understand.

What did it mean to be a Sith alone?

Obi-Wan frowned when the thought entered his mind. It had been drifting through his thoughts since he had returned to Raxus to sit on the Separatist Council in Dooku's place. He was certain it was his insanity speaking, but he had heard none of the heavy, pendulous breathing, felt none of the heat, saw none of the flames. He supposed he was simply getting used to being crazy. That had to be it. After all, he wasn't alone, he still had Sidious. No Sith was truly ever alone. And when he killed his Master, Quinlan would be his Sith apprentice, and one day he too would be destined to be slain by the one he trained. It was the way of the Sith. It had always been this way since Darth Bane brought the wisdom of the Rule of Two.

He shivered in his seat, absently listening to the Council fight and argue over their next course of action. It was...pathetic. But it was his fault. In his fury, in his insanity, he had slain Darth Tyranus for the death of Qui-Gon Jinn, avenging the Master that betrayed him, taking vengeance on a Sith for a Jedi. And he was alone. Krell was expendable, but Dooku was, in some ways, like a father. Or a grandfather who adopted the child of his deadbeat, failure offspring. Like a deranged, cruel, murderous grandfather that, occasionally, was stirred to care about his mentally unstable grandson. Kenobi smiled softly, a light chuckle coming from him and immediately silencing the Council, the wide-eyed creatures looking fearfully toward him. Kenobi frowned. Dooku handled them better. Dooku handled all of this better.

He waved a hand casually in the air. "Carry on." And they did, quietly, uncertain at first, but when no further sound came from the Sith Lord, they returned to their scheduled program of yelling at each other. He sighed, his cheek resting on his hand as his eyes casually looked over the datapad in his lap, Darth Bane's writings in Ancient Sith upon the screen. Now that there were only two, he felt it appropriate to catch up on his studies. Sidious had been pleased by the events of the battle over Coruscant, had praised his apprentice for his work, his strength in the Dark Side, his fierce determination, had sent wave after wave of searing, blissful pleasure pulsing through his body, near orgasmic in its intensity when he told him what a fine job he had done slaying Dooku.

It was almost as if Sidious had expected this to happen sooner, as if the Rule of Two had been in place this whole time, and the Master simply neglected to tell his apprentices' about it as a way of testing them. Obi-Wan would have thought this possible if Dooku wasn't so unbelievably important to the Separatist movement, but he supposed that the war could still limp along for a while longer without him. He didn't know how he was going to manage without Dooku, though. A moment of madness, and he had killed his comrade at the single most inopportune time to do so. With Dooku, they could have killed Skywalker together, but no. Obi-Wan was crazy, and crazy knew no master, heeded no rules, followed nothing but chaos and its own whims. And he was dead, Obi-Wan may have killed him anyway for killing Qui-Gon against his wishes, against the will of the Force itself. Perhaps his insanity was an instrument of the Force. Perhaps the Force had struck back against Dooku, instantly and without remorse, through the vessel of its will.

Obi-Wan stroked the lightsaber at his hip, the blade lost to him so long ago when he had left the Jedi, and now returned to his hand with the death of his former Master. It was...odd to have the weapon back, but even odder was the mysterious circumstances surrounding Qui-Gon's death. There was no body. None at all, and when Obi-Wan closed his eyes and lost himself within the Force, he could still feel the old Master's presence, clear, defined, his energy not at all dissipated as it should have been, and by all accounts, he felt alive when Kenobi knew this not to be the case. Qui-Gon was slain aboard the Invisible Hand, so...why did it feel like he was still alive. Still blinding in his presence, still carrying the weight of eternity within him?

If Sidious had any thoughts about Qui-Gon's mysterious death, he wasn't saying anything, which was typical. Sidious didn't have much time for his apprentice right now anyway, not with a war to win and an empire to build. The might of the Republic would be coming for him soon, and it wasn't a fight that the Separatists had any chance of winning. Victory wasn't the point, he supposed, but Sidious had told him to draw the war out. How was he supposed to do that with a fleet in tatters, with a Council bickering constantly, with his greatest ally dead, with the threat of madness looming over him, with-

"Obi-Wan."

His eyes darted up, looked frantically around the room, and saw a dozen eyes staring at him in anticipation. His heart was racing. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he heard Qui-Gon Jinn, but...it must have been the collection of filth gathered before him. "What did you call me?" he growled, just to be safe, and General Grievous shifted by his side, the protective cyborg reaching for the lightsabers he kept under his cloak. Kenobi smiled. He controlled Grievous, so he controlled the Separatists. There was no question who their leader was.

"M-master!" Gunray squeaked, his voice comically high-pitched. "T-that is what we're supposed to call you, isn't it?"

"...yes." He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "I wasn't listening, what is it?"

"Our next move," Wat Tambor said. "We cannot agree." Poggle the Lesser chimed in with some of the typical Geonosian chittering, and Kenobi rolled his eyes.

"Sith hells, someone shut that bug up." More chittering, this time outraged and indignant. "He's a plan for you." Kenobi laid his hands flat on the table. "We go back to negotiations." The room fell silent. Nobody agreed. "We can't win this war, do you want to keep fighting?" Obi-Wan asked. "I say we call a peace summit and get them to sit down and talk while they still fear us."

"They don't still fear us," Grievous growled.

"Give me a few days to remind them that the death of one man doesn't mean the war is over. It won't take much, and then we try to reach for peace before we are forced to agree to an unconditional surrender."

"But-" one of the others began, but Obi-Wan was already rising to leave.

"In the meantime, gather the fleet and concentrate on our bigger battles. Kashyyyk, Mygeeto, Felucia, Cato Neimoidia, and Saleucami. Tambor, increase production on droids and dreadnaughts, I want a new fleet by the end of the week."

"The week!" the Skakoan gasped, his breathing heavy through his respirator. "Master, we-"

"Press them, Tambor," Kenobi said as he begun to walk away. "I will steal us new ships, but I need you to compliment them." He rolled his eyes. "We can't have the Republic supporting our victory." He left without another word, a plan quickly formulating in his mind. He'd have to call in the Mandalorians. Their Shadow King needed them.

He walked in silence to the hangar and walked up the ramp of the Umbra, punched in the coordinates for Mustafar, and was on his way a moment later, the autopilot engaged as he sat in deep meditation, sinking within the Force and allowing the tide to carry him away. The visions came just as often as before, but there were less of them now. Still the face in flames, still the field of dead Jedi, the shadowed figure of Ahsoka Tano growing closer with each and every day, still the furious battle between Jedi and Sith on the burning world, still Padmé's children reaching for the holocrons. And now, there was blackness as well, infinite darkness punctuated by the monotonous, assisted breathing. He heard it everywhere, its sound an echo of warning throughout the Force. It seemed inevitable now. The future led to this grim conclusion by fools who damned the river of the Force and altered its course. They could have had an empire, a thousand years of darkness built upon Dark Side, an Empire ruled by him and Satine with their beautiful son, a Mandalorian Sith Lord to carry the future forward. And now, there were left with this. Breathing and nothingness. The course of the Force was changing, shifting, he could feel it...

"Obi-Wan."

And there it was again. He looked around, his eyes glowing as he observed the calm sky, the waters mirror-still and black, the shores dark and thick with ash from his latest bout of madness. He heard it that time. He knew he did. Breathing deep, he opened himself to the pull of the Force, warm and comforting, and though it still burned him, he did not look away this time. The waters slowly began to lighten, reflecting something on the opposite shore, a cloud of shimmering lights floating on the soft and gentle breeze. It was coming closer, drawing nearer, and Obi-Wan did not look away. He heard the voice again, and this time, he knew he wasn't mad.

"Qui-Gon," he said softly, breathless, the very air kicked out of him like he had suddenly been struck. The lights flitted in the air, almost as if in an expression of joy.

"Yes," the voice said, echoing in Kenobi's mind, and he looked down. He couldn't look directly at it. "I completed my training, but it is...more difficult in practice. Give me a few months and I'll have it." There was a brief pause. "...has it been long? How long is a month? Time has no relevance here, it's...confusing."

"Oh, no, no, no," Kenobi snapped, looking up again at the spots of light and squinting. "You don't get to be casual about this, I saw you die."

The lights scoffed. "You know what I am, Obi-Wan, you know I achieved immortality."

"Well, yes, but I didn't think it was real! I thought...I-I thought it was just the Force protecting you!" He paused. "How. How did you do it."

"Study on maintaining consciousness after death." Qui-Gon said. "And Force Priestesses. Long story, look, the point is, you can't learn this. No Sith can." Kenobi frowned, and the lights danced furiously around, and Obi-Wan felt...scolded. "Give me time to acclimate to my new state and I should be able to be more than a disembodied voice. Theoretically, I should be able to take form."

Kenobi frowned. "Like a ghost." The lights stilled, than fluttered in amusement.

"Yes. Exactly."

"Well, this is fantastic!" Kenobi shouted. "Now I know I'm insane. Burning it all down, everything, urn it all, and then get haunted by a ghost. I avenged you, you know, you should be haunting someone else, not me!"

He was quiet for a moment, the lights still, and slowly, th heavy breathing began to sound again. With a growl, Kenobi waved his hand in the air, the still waters rippling as the darkness faded to be replaced by the image of Padmé's children. He sat petulantly upon the shore and thrust his feet into the water, the chill numbing his legs, the rippling sending little waved through the boy's outstretched hand, the girl's look of marvel. They were not his children, no, but he cared for their mother, promised to protect her, and it went beyond angering Anakin Skywalker. The Force took an interest in Padmé, and if not in her, in her children, so much so that it had nearly perfectly concealed them within the Force. He could sense them, but the two felt as one, their lives felt small and insignificant, untouched by the Force and its gifts, but he knew this not to be the case. The Force was strong in them, uncommonly strong, and they were being hidden from...what.

The tide had turned to darkness, yes, but the Sith had been acting in defiance of the Force. If Sidious truly intended to steal Anakin Skywalker from the Jedi, if his Master foolishly overstepped and reached for that which was not his, the greed of the Sith uncontent for one vergence in the Force and grasping for the second...than Padmé's children may very well be the Force's way of biting back.

They were not his, of this he could be certain, but the children were hidden to all but him. The Force was pushing him toward Padmé, to the twins, and he would be a fool not to obey. He could raise these children, train them in the ways of the Force, make them formidable, too strong for even Sidious to conquer. They were not his son, the did not come from him, but from his hated enemy, and yet...he felt he could cherish them as his own, raise them as he would have raised his own son, love them as any real father would. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood, the Mandalorians say, and their culture, his culture, has a strong tradition of adoption. If the Force willed this...it may have been meant to be. It was easier than stomaching the idea of making another child of his own, a child that would feel like a pale substitute for the son he lost, but this...he wanted these two. Looking at them eased his fevered mind, healed his madness, the Force itself preparing him for the task. He could do it. He could protect them. He wanted to, and he wondered if Satine would have been proud.

"I tried to get through to Anakin," Qui-Gon said softly, the light drifting to the shore and hovering next to Kenobi. "He shut me out. There is too much darkness in him, more than I thought, so much more than I imagined..." He sighed. "The Jedi have diminished. I see it clearly now. It's no wonder so many of us have fallen without our notice."

Obi-Wan nodded absently. "A thousand years of corruption. A thousand years of light has left you blind and stumbling in the dark."

"Yes."

"...how much can you see?" The lights fluttered.

"Not everything. Not yet. There's a learning curve. In time, I will get through to Anakin. In time, I will reach out to Yoda. You were easy. You and I are already deeply connected." Kenobi frowned, kicking his legs and making the image of Skywalker's children -no, his children - ripple with tiny waves.

"I am more in the dark than your student."

"And yet, you follow the will of the Force, as do I...as did I." He chuckled softly. "We are on the same path, Obi-Wan. The brightest light casts the darkest shadows. We walk together in the flow of the Force." Kenobi said nothing, just looked at the vision in the water, and felt himself soothed. The fires were gone, at least for now. He would set out again on the path of destruction in the morning as soon as he gathered Quinlan and Barriss and set them on their task.

"...is Satine with you?" Kenobi asked, soft and distant and so unlike himself.

"...that isn't quite how this works. She has joined the Force. Her presence is...everywhere." It did nothing for his fallen student, and Qui-Gon could feel the pain, the grief, all the things the Sith felt, but also felt him focus on the children in the vision, the madness in his mind fleeing before them. "...they heal you," he said softly, and Kenobi absently nodded, but said nothing else. There was nothing else left to say. Insanity had been raging within him for months, and now, he had killed Dooku and failed to kill Skywalker because of it. It made him wild, unstable, and now, within the clarity of the Force, he had the sinking suspicion that Sidious was keeping him in that state on purpose. Insane enough to give him powers beyond his imagining, but also too wild, to scattered to use it. It made him easy to control, easy to send off balance, easy for his Master to defeat...

It had to be managed, the fires had to be put out, not just for a time, but for good. If Sidious was to be killed, if Kenobi was to rise as Master of the Sith, if he was going to kill Anakin Skywalker, he's have to regain his sanity. The Force had given him a way to do that, and if that meant being near Padmé and her children, so be it. The Will of the Force must be obeyed, and the Sith would be his.