"A child who is trusted becomes worthy of that trust."
- Lwaxana Troi,Star Trek: The Next Generation, "Cost of Living"
One moment, Mace was standing in the Chancellor's blood red office, his amethyst blade glowing as he held it to Palpatine's throat, watching helplessly as Anakin Skywalker's eyes shifted from brilliant blue to gleaming gold.
The next, he found himself in a bustling hall of the Jedi Temple, his vision coming back into focus just in time to see a trio of young Padawans race around the nearest corner and then slow to a sheepish walk the instant they noticed him.
Too dazed to scold the children, Mace blinked, trying to gather his wits and register whatever it was that had transpired. The atmosphere of the Temple was serene and cheerful, with none of the ever-present gloom and constant tension that had hung in the air throughout the war like a noxious cloud.
Instead, Knights were laughing with one another as they chatted with friends, and Padawans were having good-natured arguments about which nearby bakery sold the best pastries. Out of the corner of Mace's eye, he glimpsed Coleman Trebor in an animated discussion with Master Tholme regarding the latest update from the Corellian Order of Jedi.
Wait. Mace blinked again. Coleman Trebor had died at the First Battle of Geonosis. So how—?
Then he blinked for a third time as he spotted a group of Initiates trailing after their instructor, Darra Thel-Tanis, Kass Tod, and Zule Xiss amongst them.
All three of them had died before becoming Knights. Darra Thel-Tanis had been killed in a blaster shootout with Granta Omega on a mission to Korriban before the Separatist conflict even began. Kass Tod and Zule Xiss had lasted only a few weeks into the war, both perishing on Jabiim in a heroic but futile last stand in an attempt to change the tide of a hopeless battle. They'd died along with the rest of the Padawans Mace had sent to the planet in a desperate effort to save one of the last Republic strongholds.
Yet here they were, alive and well, and, if Mace didn't miss his guess, not yet ten years old.
How could this be?
Couldit be?
A frenzied longing surged through him, and more than anything in his life, he wanted the scene around him to be real. He wanted the Temple's children to be blithe and carefree in their spare hours, not learning battle strategy in class and evasive maneuvers during breaks. He wanted his friends and fellow Jedi alive, with the time to devote themselves to their interests and personal pursuits, not mired in an endless war that left him sending out condolence letters daily. And more than anything, he wanted to be able to step into a Temple corridor and feel it pulsing with life and joy and love, not clouded with grim resignation about what latest sacrifice would be next demanded of them.
He wanted this life. He wanted this reality, be it a truth or a lie.
But, as he extended his senses into the Force around him, he couldn't recognize any facet to cause misgivings or indicate a deception. There was nothing to indicate that his surroundings were a lie.
Which left him to reason that the Force had brought him here. And with each passing second, he found himself growing more certain of this conclusion.
But why? For what purpose?
A chime sounded from his hand, and belatedly, Mace realized he was holding his official Council datapad. Automatically, he lifted it up to glance at the screen, and nearly staggered when glimpsed the date: ten years before the start of the war, at least.
And his latest comm contained another surprise: Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi had returned, safely escorting Queen Amidala to Coruscant, and now requested an urgent meeting to discuss the conflict on Naboo.
Duty called, and even if he'd been shifted back in time to more than a decade ago, Mace was still the Master of the Order.
He had a meeting to attend.
Without consciously thinking about his path, Mace made his way to the Jedi Council Chamber at the peak of the southeast tower, his mind whirling. Tapping away on his datapad, he frantically scanned news headlines from the HoloNet, trying his best to determine why the Force would have brought him back to this particular day. His mind was foggy with weariness, and his body still ached with the endless exhaustion from too little rest or meditation throughout the years of the war, but Mace refused to allow himself to be distracted.
There must be a reason why he was here. There had to besomething—a mistake that required correction, a decision that necessitated a different path. And if he could resolve the situation now, he could save thousands of lives from being lost in the war.
But as Mace stepped off the turbolift and over the threshold of the small larmalstone lobby outside of the Council Chamber, he paused at an unexpected sight. A tiny figure was hunched over in one of the seats in the waiting area, the large armchair dwarfing the waifish frame.
It was a child, impossibly thin and frail, as if it had been years since anyone had provided him with a proper meal. He was fiddling with some small piece of machinery in his grease-stained hands, and oil spots dotted the oversized, dust-coated tunic that hung from his narrow shoulders.
The child briefly raised his head at Mace's approaching footsteps before dropping his eyes again and huddling in on himself further. In a fraction of a second, Mace recognized those blazing blue eyes piercing through the shaggy bangs of his tousled hair.
Anakin Skywalker.
Of course. Queen Amidala had fled from Naboo alongside Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, but their ship had been critically damaged from the Trade Federation's blockade, requiring them to seek refuge on Tatooine. And there, Qui-Gon had found Anakin.
Slowing his pace, Mace paused to contemplate the boy, studying the individual who had destroyed the Jedi Order, who had betrayed them all and turned on Mace as he begged for aid.
But it was impossible to feel any lingering resentment toward this pitiful child, not when Mace could easily see him trembling beneath the weight of his stare.
Mace knew Anakin best as a brash, confident young Knight, one who was worshipped by the HoloNet for his good looks, admired throughout the galaxy for his heroism, and idolized by Jedi Padawans and younglings for his courage during the war. And he had forgotten that before Anakin was a revered general in the Republic's army, he was a scared little boy who'd stood before the Council and tried his best to seem like a worthy candidate for the Jedi Order.
But had Anakin truly been this thin, this malnourished and sickly, when he first arrived at the Temple? Had his clothes always been so ill-fitting and threadbare, his boots barely holding together?
And had none of them—not one of their twelve—recognized his circumstances and offered him compassion?
Racking his brain, Mace frantically tried to recall a word of sympathy even one of them had spoken to Anakin. But there weren't any he could remember; the Council had been far more concerned with the vote of no-confidence regarding Chancellor Vallorum than Anakin's fate.
There had been no fresh clothing provided the child slave brought before them, no offer of a jacket or sweater, even when the child shivered with cold. No hearty meal for the boy who looked like he'd be carried away by the breeze of a passing speeder—had he even been given anything to drink? And certainly no one had thought to send him to the Healers for a medical exam to ensure he was safe and healthy after his years in slavery, though from the look of him, it should have been their second priority—with the first to get him something,anything, to eat.
Well, Mace mused, no better time to make amends for past mistakes than the present.
He crossed over to the semi-circle of chairs where Anakin sat, the artificially-amplified sunlight spilling in from the vast windows shifting and splintering as he strode over the illuminated patches that dappled the marble floor.
At his approach, the child curled in on himself further, his anxiety and trepidation spiking, flooding into the Force around him.
Without a moment of hesitation, Mace dropped to a knee before Anakin's chair, projecting warmth, comfort, and safety into the Force surrounding them beneath, welding it into a raft Anakin could cling to, preventing him from drowning in a sea of fear.
"Hello," he said, his voice calm and gentle. "My name is Mace. What's yours?"
"Um." The little boy barely dared to look up at Mace before looking down again. "Anakin. Skywalker."
"Well, Anakin," Mace said, keeping his tone even. "It just so happens that I didn't get breakfast today, and it's nearly lunch. Would you like to join me for a meal?"
That got Anakin's attention, and he whipped up his head to stare at Mace. "I get to eat?"
" . . . of course," Mace replied, his heart sinking even as he refused to allow his dismay to show on his face. "Why wouldn't you?"
Anakin hesitated, his small face puckering into a worried frown. "There wasn't always food to eat back home," he explained. "And not enough for everyone, sometimes. I don't want to eat anything if it means taking it away from anyone else. Especially if their owner hasn't been feeding them."
"There are no owners or slaves here," Mace replied mildly, even as his mind raced, trying to recall the full details of Anakin's background. He'd been a slave for some time, Mace knew that much, but had he been a slave all of his life?
Had he or anyone else ever even thought to ask?
But now was not the time for recriminations. There was a frightened child before him, and it was up to Mace to comfort him.
"There will be plenty of food for everyone," he continued, doing his best to project reassurance and steadying calm into the Force around them. "No one will have to go hungry. And afterward, I was thinking of visiting my friends at the Halls of Healing. Have you ever met a Healer, Anakin? Or a doctor or med droid?"
Anakin shook his head. "Nope. But I did just see a det-ton-nation technician to get my slave chip turned off," he told Mace, leaning forward conspiratorially as he spoke, with the delighted furtiveness of a child sharing a secret.
"Detonation?" Mace echoed, dreading the explanation to follow.
"Oh, yeah. I got my slave chip turned off as part of my prize for winning the Boonta Eve Classic," Anakin informed him, pride seeping into his voice. "I'm the only human who ever did!"
"That's very . . . impressive," Mace replied, trying his best to remain genuine even as his mind raced for answers. Had his Skywalker ever had his slave chip removed after arriving at the Temple? With a disconcerted twisting in his stomach, he realized he had no idea.
No matter. He'd take this Anakin to the Healers immediately. It would be his second priority—rightafterhe made sure the child was given a meal.
"Well, then," Mace said gently, rising to his feet. "Shall we go in search of sustenance?" He gestured toward the door.
Still, Anakin hesitated. "Master Qui-Gon told me to wait here," he hedged. "I don't know if I should leave . . ."
"Master Qui-Gon answers to me," Mace responded smoothly.
Immediately, he could detect the problem: Anakin, so recently freed from slavery, was reluctant to disobey a direct order. It was the after-effects of years of abuse. When he brought Anakin to the Healers, it would probably be best to have the child examined by a Mind-Healer as well.
And yet, Mace was once again reminded that in this same meeting in his previous life, neither he nor anyone else on the Council had been looking out for Anakin's best interests in this way. Instead, they'd required him to stand before them and open his mind to them, with no concern for the anguish and violations this child had already experienced. Then they'd chided him for being afraid.
But what else did a child who'd spent years in slavery knowbutfear?
No. Mace would not repeat those same mistakes.
Now, he lifted his datapad, typing out a short message.
"I'm sending a comm to Qui-Gon and the rest of the Council to let them know where we're going, and that you'll be with me the whole time," Mace explained soothingly. "That way, you can come with me, and there won't be any trouble. Is that acceptable to you?"
Anakin nodded eagerly, the light bouncing off his hair, shy excitement beginning to ebb into the Force around him.
Affection for this child's unabashed enthusiasm blossomed in Mace's chest, catching him off-guard. He'd forgotten how open and earnest Skywalker had been as a child—though he supposed himself and the rest of the Council hadn't done much to encourage either attribute. But now, perhaps due to watching the war carve Skywalker into a Jedi far too jaded and cynical for his years, this child's sincerity was like a soothing antidote to a fiery wound—one Mace hadn't realized even existed until this very moment.
But his emotions toward this child were more than just protectiveness, or pity for his circumstances, or even outrage for the injustices he'd suffered at the hands of his slavers. No, Mace found himself intrigued by the boy who eagerly confided his podracing victory just before worrying that wandering off would upset his Jedi rescuer, who spoke cavalierly of the bomb in his neck but also fretted that eating his fill would take food away from others who needed it.
In the past, Mace had known this child for years, watched him grow into a man and worked alongside him regularly throughout the war. And yet, he truly knew so little about him.
Maybe it was the knowledge of what Anakin would become in the future. Maybe it was his own regret. But this time in his interactions with the child, Mace vowed to let compassion and concern be his guide when it came to Anakin and to unearth the various ordeals he'd suffered through before Qui-Gon brought him to the Temple.
"Do you have any pallie fruits here?" Anakin asked timidly as he scooted off the large chair and landed on both feet, taking his place beside Mace. "They're in season on Tatooine. They're my favorite."
"I don't think we have much food from the Outer Rim," Mace told him apologetically. "But let's see if we can't find you something that's comparable, all right?"
The two of them exited the lobby together, though once they began moving, Anakin almost had to jog to keep pace with Mace's much longer strides. Not wanting to cause the child any extra strain, Mace deliberately slowed his footsteps, and as he did, another thought occurred to him. Initially, he considered bringing Anakin to the Council's private dining chamber so the child wouldn't be overwhelmed. But given what Anakin had mentioned regarding food, perhaps it would be more comforting if he could see for himself that Temple residents were able to eat their fill and no one went hungry.
"We'll be going to the eastern refectory," Mace informed Anakin lightly as they stepped into the turbolift and Mace punched their destination into the keypad. "I noticed the schedule earlier, and they're serving Lothalian food today, I believe."
"Okay," Anakin said, clearly preoccupied. He was glancing up and around with unashamed curiosity, obviously trying to take in as much of the turbolift's inner workings as possible. Though the sight was mundane to Mace, it must have been fascinating to a child who'd never so much as glimpsed it until this very day.
As he was watching in fascination as the floors flashed by, Anakin almost absently slipped his hand into Mace's, latching on, and Mace had to do his very best to startle at the unexpected touch. As a rule, Jedi were not tactile and were instructed from an early age to respect others' space and avoid potentially unwanted contact.
But Anakin, uneducated in Temple ways, had easily reached out and grasped Mace's hand without concern, just as any other child would take the hand of an adult they trusted.
Trust.
For several seconds, Mace stood in silence, ghosting a thumb over Anakin's knuckles, noting the calluses on his palm that most Jedi earned from years honing their lightsaber talents. Anakin, however, had gained them because of a life of forced labor and suffering.
Trust.
Had his Skywalker ever trusted him? Trusted any of them? And if he had at a point, had that trust last beyond when the Council had mistakenly expelled Ahsoka Tano from the Jedi Order?
Mace did not have an answer.
But this time around, Mace could earn his trust. Theyallwould. They would care for this child, raise him with recognition of his background that set him apart from other Jedi, acknowledge his differences instead of expecting him and all others to ignore him. The Jedi were a family, and Anakin being an oddity amongst the Order did not restrict him from being a part of that family.
By now, he could see the Force's intention in returning him to this particular point in time. It wasn't about setting right what had once gone wrong. It was about showing compassion to an individual who sorely needed it: a little boy who had been a slave up until a few days ago, who knew nothing about living with either freedom or choice, and who had no other person in the Republic to look out for his well-being.
And if Mace had to be the first Jedi Council member to show concern for Anakin and act on it, if he had to be the one to convince them to accept this child into the Order instead of first rejecting him, then so be it.
He would need to encourage the child to talk about his past, ensure he knew that no one expected him to forget or ignore of all elements of his previous life as a slave. He'd lived a hellish life, and it would do none of them any good to refuse to acknowledge the fact. Plus, didn't Anakin have a mother who remained in slavery? They'd have to take action to secure her freedom as well.
"Tell me—," Mace began, but then cut himself off. He didn't want to give a recently freed slave a direct order. He rephrased the sentiment. "Anakin, would you tell me more about Tatooine?"
End
Author's Note:
I know I'm probably retreading old ground with this fic, but I'm so tired of fic and meta that criticize Anakin for not knowing how to act when he first arrived at the Jedi Temple, and I wanted to write a fic about someone during that time being nice to him and showing concern for him. It really, really bothers me how no one seems to care about his health or what he's been through, and while I know things needed to happen a certain way for plot purposes, it really strikes me that out of fourteen adults, not a single one cares about what he's going through or tries to make sure he's okay. And I love Mace, so I decided the Jedi involved in looking out for Anakin should be him.
Also, I've not sure if anyone is still interested, but I've been working on the next fic in my series about Mace training Anakin, and I aim to update soon! I know it's been forever since I updated, but I just wanted to let anyone out there hoping for an update that the series in not forgotten.
Regarding Anakin's master in this universe: I think Mace would convince the rest of the Council that if Anakin is the Chosen One, he needs the full wisdom of the Council to guide him, and so, everyone on the Council trains Anakin. You join the Council, you get an Anakin. That's just how it goes.
Thanks for reading! Hope your day is awesome!