Chapter II
"You're going to need me on this one, Master," Anakin says softly as they approach the hangar and the Negotiator.
"Oh, I agree. However, it may turn out to be just a wild bantha chase."
Obi-Wan's reassurance rings false in the Force. The chancellor's information is accurate. Grievous is there. Anakin takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of all the things he hasn't said, all the things he's not going to say standing in a crowded hangar. He settles for: "Master…I've disappointed you. I haven't been very appreciative of your training. I've been arrogant. And I apologize. I've just been so frustrated with the Council."
A frustration they share. Ahsoka stands between them in her absence, both men too-easily-able to picture her at their side, now nearly as tall as Obi-Wan and as gutsy as her former master.
"You are strong and wise, and I am very proud of you. I have trained you since you were a small boy. I have taught you everything I know. And you have become a far greater Jedi than I could ever hope to be." The younger man can feel the conviction in Obi-Wan's voice in their bond, humbling and bolstering at once. "But be patient, Anakin. It will not be long before the Council makes you a Jedi Master."
And then we can start addressing changes. Anakin smiles, despite his worries. He can feel his old master's certainty, his assurance, as he starts to walk away.
"Obi-Wan," he calls. "May the Force be with you."
"Goodbye old friend. May the Force be with you." And the Force wrenches around him, so compressing that Anakin can not breathe…and by the time he comes back to himself, Obi-Wan has vanished into his flagship.
Setting his mouth in a thin line, he sends a mental apology to his wife as he starts for the still-lowered gangplank where the 212th is spilling in and out.
But Padmé is only seven months along. They have a little time before his nightmares can come true. This…he has to help Obi-Wan now.
And not just Obi-Wan. He ducks into the fighter hangar and settles down to wait. He won't contact Master Windu until he's off-planet. But the chancellor…
The man might be a friend, but their conversation at the opera has circled in his mind, and he cannot justify it or rid himself of the wariness it has ignited. He has tried releasing his worry-fear-suspicion to the Force, only to have the Force shove it right back at him.
"Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?"
"Is it possible to learn this power?"
"Not from a Jedi."
Chancellor Palpatine cannot possibly be a Sith Lord, not with his long-standing friendship with Anakin and his regular meetings with Jedi of all ages, including the Council. But the Council has to be warned that he is clearly under the influence of one. Probably without even knowing.
The rumble of the sublight engines distracts him, and he cannot help his smile for the encompassing joy that flight in all it's forms brings him. As they gently lift from the ground (his compliments to the pilot, it is difficult to get any ship of this size in orbit gently), he settles in to wait.
888
"What do you mean, off-planet?" Master Windu's voice crackles with barely-leashed patience and irritation. For a Master of the supposedly-serene Order, the man certainly doesn't stint expressing his vexation.
"I'm on the Negotiator with Obi-Wan, Master Windu. He doesn't know. I snuck on board after he spoke to me."
He can see Windu grinding his teeth even on holo. "The Council deliberately gave this mission to Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker. You were not given permission to go."
"I was by the Force," Anakin replies flatly. He will never like the Haruun Kal master, but he knows they both respect the will of the Force. "I need to be here, Master Windu. The Council can punish me later."
Windu is giving him a serious look over their connection, and Anakin can see his reluctant acceptance as he listens to whatever the Force is telling him. "The Force is…strange, now, Knight Skywalker. Be careful. I fear that it is not always our ally."
Anakin draws a deep breath. "That's actually why I've contacted you." An eyebrow lifts on the older Jedi's face and Anakin takes the plunge:
"I went to see the chancellor at the opera, as I reported. He gave me the information about General Grievous, told me he felt that I should lead the campaign against him…and then asked if I'd ever heard the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise."
"Darth Plagueis the Wise?" Windu's tone sharpened.
"Yes. I…that story convinced me that someone in the chancellor's office is the Sith Lord we've been looking for, Master Windu," the knight says quietly. "Someone has been filling his ears with…doubts. About the Force. About the Jedi. About the Council."
"Doubts he has shared with you." It wasn't a question.
"Some doubts that I agree have merit," Anakin levels back, unashamed to hold his fellow councilor's gaze. Ahsoka has been gone less than a year. The whole Temple knows how he still feels about that.
Windu has the grace to sigh and briefly close his eyes, tacitly acknowledging the fairness of the younger man's point. "When we end this war, we will need to address…many things, Skywalker. On that, you have my word." He shifts uncomfortably. "But as to a Sith Lord in the chancellor's office…we have long feared he might not surrender the vast emergency powers granted by the Senate during the war. If he has a Sith manipulating him, that makes the situation exponentially more dangerous. He might not even be aware of what's happening to him."
"I know. In addition to being the chancellor, he has been…he is a friend," Anakin admits freely, "and I have gained much from his mentorship. I would hate to see him being a puppet for some darker purpose."
"We will do our best to respect that. I will take a small team of Jedi and see if I can quietly establish who the Sith Lord might be." The dark-skinned master favors him with a long look, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "If you speak truly, you have earned both my trust and my respect, Skywalker, despite your disobedience to this Council. Keep yourself and Obi-Wan safe."
Anakin allows himself a quiet smile. Change indeed. "Yes, Master," he says, and signs off with a bow.
888
"Take the fighter back to the ship. Tell Cody, I've made contact," Obi-Wan orders R4. Anakin, he thinks, with exasperated fondness, will doubtless be at the commander's side by now and receive the report.
He hadn't realized his old Padawan was with them until they were some minutes into hyperspace, when the proximity of Anakin's brilliance didn't fade as they left Coruscant behind. He had contemplated briefly turning around, or scouring the ship for his friend and forcing him into a fighter to return to the capitol. It was not for Anakin to independently decide to counteract the will of Council, even if it was how they'd fought half the war.
But… "You're going to need me on this one, Master."
It is easy to forget, given that it is one half of the bond he shares with the other man, nearly one half of himself after ten years of apprenticeship and three years on the battlefront, that the Force runs through Anakin Skywalker as it connects to no one else alive.
But it does. Obi-Wan and his fellow masters have to meditate, concentrate, sift the whispers of the Force to find meaning. The Force does not whisper to Anakin. Sometimes, it just about deafens him. And if he had not been speaking from pride…
Obi-Wan would be a fool to turn down Anakin's assistance. Grievous had escaped them both before. He is not to be underestimated, even if Dooku is now out of the picture.
"And tell Anakin to be careful," he finishes, closing the hatch. The ship disappears with R4 and Obi-Wan turns his attention back to the canyon he landed in to avoid enemy notice.
Tenth level, the mayor had said. Sticking to the shadows, the Jedi starts his climb.
888
He can feel the lights of his men going out behind him. They were assigned an entire new unit fresh from Kamino, grown twice as fast as the original clones and given half the training. Obi-Wan winces as shiny after shiny is snuffed out, Cody's controlled worry edging the back of Obi-Wan's mind as the commander encourages his troops forward in the face of the blistering droid attack.
He has taken Grievous' two lower hands, and still faces two lightsabers, the former Kaleesh's yellow eyes glittering coldly behind his mask.
"Army or not…" he grates, "you must realize. You. Are. Doomed."
A fighter rises behind the Separatist general, guns trained unerringly on the cyborg, Anakin's reckless glee glittering inside.
"Oh, I don't think so," Obi-Wan grins.
Need a little help, Master?
Late as usual, Anakin!
Obi-Wan hits the deck as Anakin opens fire.
Grievous is a swift opponent, a ferocious strategist and a shockingly good survivor. But even he cannot survive twin cannons at direct range. The Jedi pulls the Force over and around himself, feels the pounding of the floor as Anakin rips into the sentient droid…
And the rage-hatred-revenge that defines Grievous in the Force winks out of existence. There's a scrape of metal as Anakin lands his fighter, and by the time he's jumping out, Obi-Wan is on his feet, dusting himself off.
"I thought you might not make it."
"Just waiting for the opportune moment, Master," Anakin grins blindingly and ignites his lightsaber. "Shall we finish cleaning up?"
"By all means."
They make short work of the droids. Without Grievous, they are truly a body without a head in every way and it takes little time to direct a stray blaster bolt into the main computer, stopping all the B1 droids and droidekas in their tracks. Obi-Wan had already handled the Magnaguards, which left only–
"Going somewhere, Viceroy?" Anakin's saber stops under Nute Gunray's chin, almost close enough to sear.
"You have no right–" the Nemoidian stutters.
"We have every right," Obi-Wan cuts across him coldly. "You are members of the Separatist Council, traitors to the galaxy and the Republic, found in the company of a war criminal. Commander Cody!"
As ever, his commander is at his shoulder. "Sir!"
"Arrest all of these men. They will stand trial for their crimes on Coruscant."
He can feel the grim-righteous-pleasure surge from his commander on his left and his former Padawan on his right. He turns to Anakin, and the younger man places a hand on his shoulder, blue eyes wide and fragile post-battle in a way Obi-Wan had never seen before.
"Anakin?" he asks gently.
"We're…we're finished," he responds slowly.
"Yes." Obi-Wan blinks, realizing the truth of his brother's words himself. "We are." Three years. The whole galaxy. More battlefronts and mud and blood and imploding ships and decimated regiments and…and now…
"We've won, Anakin."
A grin, impetuous and arrogant and brilliant as his flesh hand tightens on Obi-Wan's shoulder…then he shakes himself, and a somber look settles on his bright features.
"What is it?"
"It's not over yet. I warned Master Windu before we arrived…the Sith Lord is someone close to the chancellor. I'm afraid someone is controlling him."
"Then Master Windu will have it well in hand," Obi-Wan counters gently. "He can take a task force of as many Jedi as he needs to apprehend the Sith and keep the chancellor safe."
Anakin takes a shaky breath, and Obi-Wan can feel the enormous power that moves through the younger man as his senses spiral outwards. "Coruscant is still shrouded in Darkness," he murmurs. "They haven't dealt with them yet."
"It is hardly going to be as easy as our action here turned out to be," Obi-Wan gestures at the collapsed battle droids, at the clones leading away the terrified Separatist Council in cuffs.
"Oh come now, Master, it would hardly have been such a walk in the park without me. You made a very good distraction so I could take down Grievous."
"You take down Grievous? I'll have you know I had already relieved him of two of his lightsabers and was well on the way to taking the others. I barely needed your 'backup', though the thought was appreciated." The two men laugh and continue bickering as they join the clones in rounding up the Separatist Council.
888
Anakin is gone. His chosen apprentice, the man who should be falling to his knees in front of Sidious right now, begging for the knowledge to save his wife…left. Even after being dismissed by the Council.
He has planned this moment so carefully. Dooku is dead at Skywalker's hand, the impulsive Jedi easily goaded into killing an unarmed man, opening him further to the Dark. Grievous will not be able to survive both Kenobi and Skywalker, though Sidious had hoped the cyborg might do him the decency of at least taking out Anakin's old Jedi master before expiring himself. The Sith Lord has spent a decade sowing dissension between them, but that bond is surprisingly tight still.
Tight enough that Anakin has gone rushing off to Utapau after him, rather than stay here. Grievous will not succeed in killing Kenobi with Anakin present. A cold worm of genuine fear – the first he's felt since he killed his own master – turns in his gut. This is not the plan. He has to convince the headstrong Jedi that the Dark Side is the only way to save Padmé.
On cue, the doors to his office swish open and Masters Windu and Fisto of the Jedi Order stride in. Their sabers are at their belts, but tension winds the Force between them tight enough to play his discordant melody on. They are one step away from open hostility.
Two renowned Jedi masters and Anakin off world. Perhaps he has miscalculated more than he thought.
He grits his teeth and dons his persona.
"Master Windu. Master Fisto. How can I help you gentlemen?"
"Your Excellency. My colleagues Master Kolar and Master Tiin are in the hallway to escort you to safety. We believe there is a threat to you here in the Senate."
"Oh, how so?" he asks, rising slowly. This is…surprising. Windu appears to be looking essentially through him, his expanded and well-honed Force senses running over every object in the office, seeking something specific—
Palpatine restrains a snort when he realizes what the Jedi are doing. He keeps himself from frowning. Anakin must have indeed decided his talk of Darth Plagieus merited running to the Council. But they have not yet drawn the correct conclusion. They are not here to arrest him, as he has carefully prepared for. They think he is weak-minded enough to be under the control of a Sith.
Irritating as that might be…as excuses go, it will do in the short term until Anakin is back and his plans can continue.
"We believe that someone close to you presents a serious threat to your safety, and the safety of the Republic," Master Windu is saying as he continues to scour the room for the threat Palpatine has buried beneath his skin. "Please, Chancellor, let us get you out of here."
"Goodness, that does sound serious," Palpatine deliberately allows a slight quaver in his voice. "I am grateful for your vigilance, Master Jedi." He goes with the other two, deferential masters, his face serene as he represses a chuckle. This might not be the plan, but it did provide unexpected amusement.
All the pieces in front of them and still the Jedi would be their own undoing.
888
Mace Windu does not want to think the Chancellor of the Republic is a Sith Lord. He hopes, for everyone's sake, especially Skywalker's, that Chancellor Palpatine has simply fallen under the sway of one.
However, he has not survived as long as he has by leaving anything to chance. He waits until Master Tiin taps out a code on their comms that means the chancellor is out of the Senate building, and then he speaks to the apparently empty office:
"Knight Vos. If you please."
The Kiffar emerges from a shadow, his face steely.
The Haruun Kal is attuned to the Dark Side, channeled through Vaapad on a razor-thin edge that no one can call safe, but remains rooted firmly in the Light.
Quinlan Vos has actually Fallen, has clawed back from his Fall in defiance of all lore and expectation. The Council treats him carefully, as do all their fellows, some terrified, some sympathetic, all of them grimly aware of his usefulness in dealing with matters other Jedi…couldn't.
His talent with psychometry could not be sacrificed in wartime. The hypocrisy of it makes Mace grind his teeth, but needs must.
"This place reeks of Darkness," the knight murmurs, standing in the middle of the office and turning in a slow circle, eyes closed and hands extended. Mace's frown deepens.
Slowly and with great trepidation, Vos reaches for an object on the chancellor's desk, pulling off a glove as he extends his hand. His fingers make contact—
—and Darkness roars in the room, a vortex ripping around them, surging in waves of curling power. It batters at Mace and he can feel it lock onto the suppressed shadows in the other Jedi, the snarling, savage, cold promise of power reaching into Vos—
—he drops the object – a small, crystal vial that glitters incongruously against the Darkened Force - and stands motionless.
"Vos are you—"
"Don't," he hisses, and his voice overlaps with cruel echoes that are not his own. "Do not ask me if I am all right, Master Windu," he sneers, his back still to the councilor, his head bowed. "Do not pretend it matters to you."
Mace shoves a sense of caring-calm at the other man. Neither of them is any stranger to violence, but Mace has no wish to raise his lightsaber against a man he watched grow up. "It does matter," he replies, voice even.
A choked sound, almost a sob, and Vos is sucking in breaths, the fluttery, weakened Light aspect of the Force drawing around him as he yanks what little he can from the Dark-soaked chamber.
When his breathing is even, his sense in the Force soothed from spines-and-sharp-glass to the shields all Jedi maintain now in the unforgiving war environment, Mace tries again. "Are you all right?"
"I am not going to start slaughtering innocents, Master Windu."
"That is not what I asked."
"I am…I will deal with it," the Kiffar declares lowly, and turns, lifting his head. His eyes are mostly brown, the sickly yellow of the Dark Side ringing his pupil and slowly fading. He glances at the object he'd dropped and smiles without a shred of amusement.
"The chancellor is the Sith Lord we've been looking for."
A surge of disbelief-determination-fear shreds the Force, and Mace feels both Kolar and Tiin flare ferociously…and vanish savagely, ripped from the galaxy leaving shreds in their wake. Kit throws open the door where he was standing guard, normally-placid face twisted mercilessly.
There is no doubt what just happened. The chancellor felt their intrusion, killed the two masters, and escaped.
Force be with us all.
888
Obi-Wan's comm unit goes off as they are herding the Separatist Council onto an LAAT, ignoring the constant hand-wringing and moaning fears about being flown on the troop transport. The clones eye them, their disgust hidden by their helmets, obvious in the Force.
"Kenobi here," he answers briskly.
"We apprehended the Sith," Mace reports bleakly, and even via holo his shoulders slump defeatedly.
"Who is it?" Anakin snaps, stepping into the visual range of the unit.
"I am sorry, Skywalker. It's the chancellor."
"Former chancellor," Master Fisto emphasizes behind him, usually-calm voice carrying in his fury.
But Obi-Wan is less interested in the customarily cheerful master's anger than he is in the ragged spikes of shock-disbelief-betrayal ripping through his bond with the man he'd raised.
"Anakin," he murmurs, leaning into their bond, feeding warmth and reassurance to the younger man—
—only to encounter a vicious, twisting seed of foreign Darkness snarling as it tears at their braided connection.
He created a training bond with you? the older Jedi broadcasts, and the weight of his horror cannot be concealed in this shared space where their souls are so painfully on display.
"...all right, Obi-Wan?" Mace's voice is growing steadily more agitated, and Obi-Wan wrenches himself from the poison of the chancellor's manipulation.
"Yes," he lies, and he's sure Mace can see it, they've known each other too long and too well to truly hide from one another, but the other master is gracious and accepts his falsehood without pressing. "We'll be returning to the Temple directly with the Separatist Council."
He cuts the comm, stares at Anakin, who is still silent, his powerful presence mute, as if a string has been severed.
Obi-Wan thinks about the line of Darkness tethered to the place where Obi-Wan's own bond with his former Padawan sits, and a rush of nausea swamps him so strongly he nearly vomits.
"Steady, sir," Cody murmurs, just behind him, not-quite-touching as the commander never did, but a warm, solid presence nevertheless.
Grievous is dead. Dooku is dead. The whole of the Separatist Council is under arrest and will shortly be on Coruscant to answer for their crimes.
Practically speaking, the war is over. The Republic has prevailed.
Looking into Anakin's remote, shell-shocked face, that unrelenting fury clawing at their bond, Obi-Wan has never felt more like a failure and less like celebrating.
888
Anakin manages to go through the motions once they're back on the Negotiator. The Separatist Council is separated and placed in holding cells spaced apart to prevent even the thought of plotting escape, Cody sets the guard shift, Obi-Wan orders navigation to take them back to the Temple—
—a training bond. He has a bond with the chancellor that he didn't even know existed. The chancellor who is his friend. His mentor. Who has always had unfailing confidence in him, in his skills, in his power, who has never judged him, not the way he's always felt the High Council judging him—
—but who is a Sith. Who planted a piece of himself in Anakin's mind, an influence on his soul that he had not consented to, never had a choice to accept or reject—
Depur. The long-forgotten word from his first language stamps itself across the past thirteen years, the old stories whispered by Ma Jira, by Lana Banai, by his own mother echoing in his ears. Depur did not always come with a lash in hand. Sometimes he came with food, with medicine, with a smile. With an offer of lesser power. With a twisted form of love. There are a thousand ways to be enslaved.
But no Amavikka ever forgets that Depur is always Depur, and in the end there is only one thing he ever wants. Anakin was born a slave. Qui-Gon Jinn had freed him. His mother had released him. Obi-Wan had raised him. And the chancellor—
"Good and evil are merely points of view, Anakin." Spoken like a true Master, convincing his slaves that they enjoy such scraps as their masters deign to throw them.
Anakin cannot breathe, cannot think beyond the swimming circle of his thoughts, drowning in a lake he's only just realized is pulling him in—
—Obi-Wan's hand is warm on his elbow, grounding his flailing emotions. "I think it's time for that tea."
888
"Call the GAR. Now." Vos' voice is tight as he stares at one of the hundreds of files he's pulled up from the chancellor's hacked datapad.
"What?" Mace rounds the smooth desk.
"Tell them that Palpatine has been removed from the chancellorship for treason. Immediately."
"What did you find?"
The Kiffar's eyes flash, furious and disbelieving. "Just do it!"
Mace stops. Very few Jedi are willing to take that tone with him. But he can feel the Force in the office writhing with Vos' fear and rage - treading close to the Dark side, but not truly part of it. Vos isn't exercising his famous disregard for rank and propriety—
—he's panicked, Mace realizes, and somehow that makes him feel colder. If Vos is panicked, with all he's seen, and all he's done—
Mace is thumbing open his comm to Ponds before he can think any further. The holo image of his impeccable commander springs to life, his posture a perfect at-ease stance.
"General. What do you need?"
"Sheev Palpatine is no longer Chancellor of the Republic," Mace announces steadily. "He has been removed from office on charges of treason for collaborating with Separatist command."
There is a long silence, and Mace can almost hear the curses going unsaid by the other man. Finally Ponds, being a consummate professional, manages a measured: "Understood, sir. Where would you like us to put him?"
Buried under the lowest levels of the city, where even the memory of his depravity is denied existence, Mace thinks in a most un-Jedi-like manner. However—
"We do not have him in custody, Commander. Under no circumstances are any of the men to approach him. He just killed two Jedi masters to escape. He is highly dangerous."
Even through the holo, Mace can see Ponds' surprise at the last statement. Small wonder. Palpatine had played the kindly old man so exquisitely well. If Mace had not felt his friends' fear and then their silence in the Force himself, he wasn't sure he would believe what he was saying.
"Tell all the men. And contact as many of your brothers who are commanders as possible," he orders.
"Understood, sir." Ponds snaps a salute and Mace cuts the connection in favor of contacting Kenobi's Commander Cody, followed by Skywalker's Captain Rex (who reported that they had apprehended Maul and were returning to the Temple with the Sith – another one, when Skywalker has already killed Dooku in combat, where do they keep coming from?), Yoda's Commander Gree and Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.
Fox expresses none of the surprise of his brethren. Mace bitterly wonders what else the Council has been missing as they dash across the galaxy, so busy on different war fronts that there has been no time to handle the reality confronting them at home.
The chancellor has played his game so very, very well.
"All right, Vos. They're spreading the word. What did you find?"
In the time Mace has taken to call the other commanders, Vos' face has drained of color and he flips the datapad around. It reads:
Contingency Orders 1-150 for the Grand Army of the Republic. Confirming that the Chancellor of the Republic is in sole command of specialized chip override.
"Look at sixty-six," the psychometric orders hoarsely. Mace skims the document until he finds it.
"In the event of Jedi officers acting against the interests of the Republic, and after receiving specific orders verified as coming directly from the Supreme Commander (Chancellor), GAR commanders will remove those officers by lethal force, and command of the GAR will revert to the Supreme Commander (Chancellor) until a new command structure is established."
A kill order. Tied solely to the command of a man who is the ancient enemy of the Jedi. Wired directly into the chips the Jedi were told had been placed simply to moderate behavior and subdue aggressive impulses. Wired directly into the brains of more than two million men, revoking their hard-won individualities, their loves, their prides, their stories. Their lives.
"That order would destroy them," Mace murmurs. Vos laughs, bitter and hard and unamused.
"That order would destroy all of us."
The cold in Mace's chest intensified, gripping his heart, tightening around his lungs. A shatterpoint cracked before him in magnificent, awful detail, blood staining every jagged edge. Every Jedi in the field. Every child in the creche. Every elder in the Temple.
A thousand years ago, we tried to wipe out all the Sith. And we thought we succeeded. Can I be so surprised that their revenge is to eliminate the whole of the Jedi Order?
888
"Sit," Obi-Wan orders his former Padawan when it's obvious that putting one foot in front of the other to get to the older man's quarters has taken all of Anakin's will.
The younger Jedi slumps on the edge of Obi-Wan's bunk, eyes unfocused and distant, remote in the Force. "I can't believe he…" his whisper ceases. He can find no words to describe his betrayal.
Obi-Wan is struggling himself. His brother. His son. His best friend. He has let this happen. Has given a Sith Master unfettered access to his dearest companion for more than a decade. Rage pools in him, cold and leaden, so different than the hot, slick fury of Satine's death and Obi-Wan knows…he knows that if the chancellor were in the room with them now, the Jedi would seize the Dark Side to kill the man.
"You should have chosen the Dark Side, Master Jedi…" And have no regrets afterwards, no matter what it made of him.
"Sith Lords are our speciality." Nausea swamps him. What a sick joke.
But this is not about him. He has not trusted the chancellor for a very long time, not since the politician had talked his way into holding his office far longer than the constitution permitted, not truly since he'd started taking such a keen interest in Anakin from a young age.
The Sith has wedged himself between them, encouraged the younger man to turn to him first, before the Order, before Obi-Wan. The Jedi master has chafed against that since Anakin was in his mid-teens, powerless to deny what had been an apparently harmless mentorship. Now he knows why, and it is worse than any perverse fear that used to keep him up at night.
He kneels in front of his student and presses their brows together, the way he's seen Cody and Rex both ground shinies fresh from the horror of loss and bloodshed, bringing them back to themselves. He syncs his breathing to Anakin's ragged exhales, and feels his former Padawan fall into rhythm with him almost automatically. Their bond is still closed, but Obi-Wan reaches into the Force around them, soothing the sour notes of distress and betrayal wafting in the small room.
"Padmé and I are married," Anakin blurts suddenly, eyes closed, forehead still pressed insistently against his master's.
Obi-Wan blinks, forcing himself to hold still. This is…not the conversation he expected to have. However. "I know," he offers quietly. That had required hours of meditation on a mission without the younger man when he'd figured it out, sorting out a mess of anger-jealousy-sorrow. Anger at Anakin for so blatantly breaking the code, jealousy that he'd just done it, as Obi-Wan had long wanted to wed Satine, sorrow that his Padawan hadn't trusted him enough to tell him before. And fear. Fear that he would lose the other man, that Anakin would forsake the Order for his marriage.
He still might.
"Good. I can't…I can't let him be the only one who knows."
Him. Only one person that can be, and Obi-Wan ruthlessly shoves a renewed surge of furious jealousy back. Palpatine has been manipulating his relationship with Anakin from the beginning. Being angry with Anakin now is not what either of them need.
"She's also pregnant," his brother continues in a whisper. "And I've started having dreams."
Obi-Wan's mind blanks at the first part. Padmé is expecting. Anakin is having a child. Anakin is having a–
He seizes the other man in an embrace. Worries, fears and this-is-going-to-be-a-mess-Anakin! all fade for a glorious moment as his love for this man supercedes everything else in the universe and for a shining instant, he allows himself the freedom to just to be happy –for Anakin and Padmé, for himself, for the celebration of new life after three years of unrelenting death.
"Congratulations, Anakin. I hope they're an unholy terror."
Anakin doesn't laugh, his return hug weak, and Obi-Wan withdraws to check his now-open blue eyes, pained and fearful. "What is it?" he asks gently.
"The dreams. Padmé dies in childbirth. And I don't know if our baby survives."
"I've started having dreams." Like the dreams Obi-Wan had encouraged him to release about his mother, to let go of his worries. He'd learned from Padmé some months later, after the headlong rush into the war, that Anakin's dreams had proven true, that his mother had been taken and tortured to death. It was one of the few times the Nubian Senator had been truly curt with him.
There are many things about Anakin's apprenticeship that Obi-Wan wishes he'd done better. None of them inspire the same level of shame and regret as Shmi Skywalker's brutal passing.
"What is past is past, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon's voice gently reminds him from some decades-old memory. "Focus on the present. Be mindful of now. It is the only thing you can affect."
"She will not die," he says firmly, hands settled on Anakin's shoulders, deliberately maintaining contact with those desert-sky-blue eyes. "And you will be beside her when your child comes into the galaxy."
Even as he speaks the words, Obi-Wan shivers, his peculiar prescience striking at the worst possible time.
Danger, the Force whispers, and the skin around Anakin's eyes tightens. Don't make promises you can't keep, it seems to taunt him.
Obi-Wan grits his teeth. Try me. He will stand between the entire damn galaxy and his brother if he must. Anakin will not suffer any more loss.
Not if Obi-Wan can help it.
888
"Master Jedi. Might I have a word?"
Mace turns to the expectant-hope-caution embodied by Senator Organa standing by the grand entry of the Senate Rotunda. The Senator from Alderaan has clearly been waiting for him to exit the building.
"Please, Senator. What's on your mind?"
"It's more a matter of easing yours, Master Windu. Allow me to invite you to my office, where we will not risk being overheard."
It might be late evening, but the Senate never slept. The corridors on their way to Alderaan's suite of offices are plenty full, aides dashing past with the hurried stride of all political climbers – not quite an undignified run, but much faster than a senior senator's leisurely, indulgent pace.
Organa's strides fall in the middle. He does not tarry, though they also do not run. A senator and a Jedi running through the halls might incite panic.
Not that panic would be wholly unwarranted, Mace thinks grimly. But the Sith are Jedi business. The Senate has no jurisdiction here.
He's left Knight Vos and Master Fisto to summon both CorSec and Commander Fox's supremely talented, if unofficially named, Hack Squad. They need as much information as they can possibly get on Sheev Palpatine's dealings before the Sith can access whatever failsafe he doubtless has in place and erase all evidence of wrongdoing.
Mace himself had been on his way back to the Temple to join the task force already preparing themselves to hunt the runaway chancellor when Senator Organa had interrupted him.
They enter the senator's office and Mace catches the flash of hand signs in Organa's fluttering fingers. He does not recognise these gestures, but three years on the front with his own men makes it easy enough to gauge the communication. In response to the senator's non-verbal commands, the neatly-pressed, grey-clad attendants, adjuncts and aides move almost as a single unit around the outer office, securing it as the senator and Jedi pass through another door and into Organa's private chamber.
The door closes behind them with finality, and Organa rounds his desk, gesturing for Mace to sit.
"Senator?" Mace queries, gripping the back of the chair rather than sitting down. He doesn't have time for a long engagement, even for a stalwart ally of the Jedi like Bail Organa.
"Master Windu. I am aware that I have interrupted you in the midst of the hunt, but I believe that your Order must proceed with the utmost caution at this juncture." His dark eyes lock on Mace's, evaluating.
"I would agree," Mace says cautiously, still uncertain what they're discussing and why it requires such a high degree of privacy. Organa should not be privy to the information that the former chancellor is a Sith Lord.
"You have removed Chancellor Palpatine from office, am I correct?"
Mace blinks, but keeps his footing on the rapidly-shifting political terrain. "We have discovered information that links him to Separatist High Command. He has been branded a traitor. We do not, however, have him in custody. He escaped."
"He killed two Jedi and escaped," Organa corrects grimly. Mace cannot stop his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, and Organa offers him a tired, close-lipped smile. "The Alderaani Relief Network has encountered more trouble than we might wish over the past three years. Subsequently we have some…very discreet security officers with a knack for being in exactly the right places at precisely the right times."
Spies, the man means spies, and if they saw what happened, who else did?
"Allow me to jump to the conclusion that our dear, power-gathering, would-be-dictator, former-chancellor is also a Sith Lord."
This time, Mace is so startled he coughs on his next breath. "How…?"
"Not all history is so buried as some would like to believe. And my wife and I are good friends with Senator Amidala."
Senator Amidala, who had been attacked by a Sith Apprentice when still a teenage queen. Who is the lover of Knight Skywalker. Who himself has faced the Fallen Dooku more than once.
The Sith are no longer a Jedi secret. He is surprised to find that his primary emotion is relief. "He is," Mace acknowledges, "which is why it is the Jedi and only the Jedi who must find and confront him. In overwhelming numbers."
Senator Organa tilts his head in acceptance. "And that, Master Windu, is why I am here. Whatever the Jedi must do to contain the threat of the Sith, it cannot be known by the general public until the appropriate groundwork has been laid and the Order is ready."
Mace frowns. "The Order is ready now. We are able to step in and help the Senate effect a peaceful transition of power."
The senator winces. "That is one thing I must beg you not to do. For your own sakes." He takes a deep breath. "If there was one thing our ex-chancellor excelled at, it was manipulating events to fit his designs. I cannot tell you the number of times we—" Organa's nostrils flare in pique as he cuts himself off. "Suffice to say, there are many times that I or my colleagues have stepped forward in the chamber, convinced we were upholding democracy, only to have it twisted back around on us in ways that we never intended or foresaw, handing him greater power with every bill passed. His danger to your Order is more than just his bloodthirsty heresies. He has laid your decline piece by piece. Public trust in the Jedi is at an all-time low. The majority in the Senate could be easily swayed into believing that you had removed him to further Jedi ambitions to rule the Republic."
The Haruun Kal knows his face is a picture of unflattering disbelief. Three years on the war front to defend the Core from the Separatist armies and the droids wreaking havoc on the Outer Rim and now…
Maybe we just should let the Sith take them, his own dark thoughts whisper uncharitably.
"But you have some thoughts on how to…mitigate the damage?" he asks instead.
Organa flashes him a different smile, sharp, fleeting and entirely predatory. "The Jedi are not the only ones finding fault with our beloved leader's tactics. I am part of a delegation representing two thousand systems that has been preparing to demand that Palpatine step down. We can help you and your Order, Master Windu."
888
The Negotiator drops out of hyperspace near Coruscant to the sight of her sister, the Tribunal, and Earshot on comms is opening a channel before either Obi-Wan or Anakin can request it.
Ahsoka pops into brilliant blue definition, face serious. "What's this about the chancellor being a traitor?"
"You've already heard?" Obi-Wan asks, surprised.
"I received a direct comm from General Windu, sir," Rex joins her, "saying that the chancellor has been removed from office for collaboration with the Separatists and treason against the Republic."
"That's one way to put it," Anakin mutters, and Obi-Wan winces at the cold blackness of his anger, treading close to the Dark Side.
"He's the Sith Lord. The master behind the whole war. Isn't he?"
Obi-Wan is grateful to see that he's not the only one who turns a shocked expression on the ex-Padawan. Rex is staring at her in total disbelief. "How do you know that?" the captain demands.
"Maul. He's said…a lot of things." At this, her intense gaze, relic of the Togrutas' predatory past, pins Anakin, relief evident even in hologram. "Glad to see you're still here, Skyguy."
He frowns at her. "Where else would I be?"
"According to Maul, his master wants you as his next apprentice."
The Dark training bond, which slimes over their bond like oil now that Obi-Wan has found it, slithers in a satisfied way and Obi-Wan mentally snarls at the intruder. "Over my dead body," he growls.
"That is probably the plan," Ahsoka offers without a shred of comfort.
"Since when are we trusting Maul?" Anakin snaps.
"Trust? Not so much. But one thing the creche tales are very clear on is the competitiveness of the Sith," Ahsoka shrugs. "Maul has more insight into his master than anyone."
Every cell in Obi-Wan's body rebels viscerally at the thought of trusting Maul in any way. He can still hear the vicious thrum of the Darksaber, Satine's sick, wet gasp as he impaled her on it, his own impotent rage, the Darkness held in check only because he knew her shade would never forgive his Fall to the Dark…
"You should have chosen the Dark Side, Master Jedi…"
He comes back to himself with Anakin's hand on one shoulder, Cody's familiar warmth on the other. "We'll meet you on the Tribunal and help you transport Maul to the surface," Anakin is saying, his face and voice uncharacteristically serious. "The…Sith…escaped Master Windu. We don't want to give him a chance to regroup with any allies."
Ahsoka tilts her head in acknowledgement and signs off.
888
Anakin lands their shuttle by rote, already looking forward to offloading Maul on his fellow council members and taking Ahsoka and Obi-Wan to visit Padmé. He needs to see his wife, to confirm again the strength of the life growing in her, to feel that miracle without worry. Ahsoka is here. Obi-Wan will help them. He's on the Council. He can…see a way through to a future that excites him, that has promise, for the first time in…he's not sure how long.
Since he'd been sent to negotiate with slavers on behalf of the Republic.
Since the beginning of the war.
Maybe since Qui-Gon's body had been placed in flames on Naboo.
So when they land and Masters Windu and Yoda are standing in the hangar, he believes for a single moment that the Force has made it easy, for once.
Then he sees their expressions and feels his soul wither, cold seeping around them, soaking the air with sorrow and guilt.
"What's happened?" Obi-Wan asks his fellow councilors brusquely.
Both of them are looking at Anakin, and he can feel their grief for him swelling, and he doesn't want to hear, doesn't want to know–
"Darth Sidious escaped Coruscant." The way Master Windu said it left no doubt that there was more than just what they already knew.
No. No. Nononononononono. Their dread, his own sudden panic…Anakin can feel the shape of what the master's are going to say before they say it, the Force radiating with sorry-sorry-sorry.
"Sorry, we are, young Anakin," Yoda rasps, and Anakin hits the ground, feels a stubby-clawed hand on his shoulder, his knees protesting his sudden collapse.
"And we underestimated him. He's taken a hostage with him," Windu's exhausted voice continues over his head, through a sea of conflicting pain.
"Senator Amidala."