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Chapter Text

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Yan Dooku can immediately sense, before he even enters the throne room, the terrible tragedy that has happened within its walls. He doesn't hesitate, however, to stride purposely onto its floor, his dark boots clashing against the light tile. He has, after all, experienced- and caused- far worse tragedies.

The room lives up to its reputation of Mandalorian glory, yet it is clear that quite a battle occurred here. Saber and blaster marks decorate the floor and walls, seemingly splayed across the whole space. There are three rings of shattered glass in the center of the room, presumably from the grand chandeliers that appear to have just… exploded.

And at the hall's head, lounging almost lazily on the now-cracked throne, is his grandpadawan.

If Dooku couldn't feel his Force signature, he may have mistaken him for asleep- or dead. His forehead rests on his gloved hand, which rests on the throne. He is wearing red Mandalorian armor, spattered with minute amounts of blood and scratched copiously, even burned by blaster fire- a far cry from his usual Jedi garb. His normally-impeccable hair is tousled and shadowing his face, but Dooku has a faint idea of what he will find there.

"You just missed the funeral, Dooku," the slumped, still figure says, voice weary and cracked. "How kind of you to pay condolences."

"Kenobi," Dooku replies. He attempts to get a better read on the young Jedi's emotions, but be it the distance or Obi-Wan's mental fortitude, something is limiting his reach. He begins to walk closer. "I was not aware of the funeral."

Or who the funeral was for, for that matter, but looking around the room, he could guess.

"Of course you weren't," Obi-Wan says, almost musingly. He looks up, eyes glowing an unfamiliar yellow, and Dooku tries not to react. Suddenly his shielded Force presence makes more sense. "So why are you here, Count?"

"You Fell."

Obi-Wan's face hasn't changed, but previously unnoticed tear tracks glint in the faint light of the sunset. "I suppose I did."

Dooku says nothing, but reevaluates the scene once more, before returning his gaze to those eyes- the eyes he's seen on his master previously. "What happened here, young one?"

The Jedi- Fallen Jedi, now, Dooku supposed- waves in the air, uncrossing his legs. "What hasn't happened here?" He asked. "Kidnapping, murder, mental instability, overthrowing governments, more murder- all of it's happened in this room, and that's just the past two days. Oh, and you can't forget the corruption of a Jedi Council member. Shame."

Out of all the ways Dooku had expected a Fallen Obi-Wan Kenobi to act, completely apathetic was not one of them. He blinks as another tear tracks itself down the other man's cheek. "The Jedi Council- where are they? I would have expected them to come running to investigate by now."

"Well, I didn't tell them where I was going, otherwise, I suppose they would have."

That surprises Dooku further. He supposes the padawan's penchant for disobeying orders has finally rubbed off on the master. Or perhaps Obi-Wan has more of Qui-Gon in him than he thought.

He raises his chin. "Have you given any more thought to my proposition?"

"Your proposition?" Obi-Wan's face shows genuine confusion. "And which proposition would- oh. Oh. I see how it is- now that I've Fallen and control an entire planet, you assume you can take advantage and lure me to your side. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything else."

"And what else would you do?" Dooku steps ever closer, over fallen glass that crunches beneath his boots. Now that he has a proper view of him, he can see the two hilts at Obi-Wan's sides- Maul's, or maybe his brother’s, and none other than the Jedi-Killer, the Darksaber. His own blue blade is nowhere to be seen. "Return to the Jedi? To your Republic? Do you really think they'd welcome you back?"

"Oh, no, I have responsibilities now, Grandmaster," Kenobi replies, and the title chafes at Dooku- it only reminds him of Qui-Gon. He notices Dooku eyeing the Darksaber and draws it, smiling slightly. He inspects the blade. "They call me the Mand’alor. I can't abandon her- the people now."

Dooku notices the slip-up. And how yet another tear falls into his armor.

"You killed Maul," he says aloud.

Obi-Wan snorts. "Of course I did. What else was I going to do?" He sheaths the blade and clips the Darksaber back to his belt. "I guess they have decided that makes me the ruler now."

It is then that Dooku spots the out-of-place horns adorning the back of the Mandalorian throne, horns that could only belong to one former Sith Zabrak.

Oh, he can work with this.

"Ruler or no," he says, "you can still make the decision to end this war."

"'End this war'?" Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow, further accentuating those unsettling yellow eyes- no, not unsettling, Dooku, what are you thinking? This is what you wanted. "And how exactly do you suppose I do that? You, a Separatist Sith, are going to guide me?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Grandpadawan," Dooku enunciates coldly, "but you're not exactly entrenched in the Light, currently, either. What would your master say?"

Obi-Wan flinches slightly at that, but then his face turns steely. "The same he'd say to you, I'd expect."

Silence. Even Fallen, Kenobi retains his sharp wit. That's a good sign.

Dooku straightens, then reaches out with the Force, finding the one piece of recording technology in the room. He then weaves a web of darkness to jam it.

Obi-Wan just looks at him.

"Oh, come now, don't act as if you weren't recording this for the Council to find."

He doesn't respond, instead standing at last. The sabers at his hips swing loosely, and Dooku resists the urge to step back. Kenobi has always been a worthy adversary, and he doesn't particularly want to find out how his combat skills have improved by Falling.

"What is your endgame, Dooku?" Obi-Wan asks, voice flat. "Why come here? To me? What are you trying to do?"

"I told you, end the war." Dooku looks him straight in the eyes, attempting to make his honesty clear. "Sidious plans to destroy both the Republic and the Confederacy and declare himself ruler of the galaxy, and should no one stop him, that plan will become reality. If you choose to help me, we can prevent that."

"And how are you so certain that Sidious is going to succeed?" Obi-Wan asks, but Dooku can see the fierce contemplation in his expression.

"Because I know who he is," he replies simply.

"And are you going to tell me?"

He hums. "In time. Once you prove your worth."

Obi-Wan scoffs. "Of course."

"No direct attack on him at this time will work," Dooku continues. "Neither will a ceasefire, or a treaty, or a surrender. The way the Jedi are fighting him is never going to succeed. His claws are gripped too tightly into both parties for that."

"And how do you propose we fix that?"

We now, Dooku notes. He smirks lightly.

Then he tells him his plan.

Kenobi, for his credit, listens intently, eventually beginning to stroke his beard in thought. His frown doesn’t leave his face, and Dooku understands completely. This plan, what he’s asking of him- the old Kenobi would never agree to it.

Luckily, this isn’t the old Kenobi.

“It’s risky,” he says. “Too risky. I don’t like it.”

“What are your other options? Run back to the Order and hope they don’t arrest you? Stay here and keep your nose out of the war entirely, sitting back while Sidious wins?”

“There are too many variables.” Obi-Wan begins to pace, nearly bursting at the seams with anxious- no, dark - energy. “If the Council suspects me, if the Sith Lord suspects me, the plan will unravel in an instant. And what of Anakin, or the 212th, or even the other Generals? When they get word that another Jedi has Fallen-”

“That word will be released no matter what- you made sure of that,” Dooku says patiently. “Your padawan, grandpadawan and battalion will be fine without you. If I recall, a moment ago, you weren’t even planning to go back to them at all. And before you say it, Mandalore will go on without you, as well. They always have in the past. As for the Council and the Sith Lord,” he smirks a little, “we’ll just have to make it airtight, my new apprentice.”

Obi-Wan stops, then mouths the word apprentice . He turns back to the Count, and he can read the answer in his aura before he says it.

He releases the jam on the holorecorder- he wants the Council to see this.

“I accept,” Kenobi says. “But on one condition.”

“Of course,” Dooku thought there would be a condition, or multiple. Ever the Negotiator, Kenobi is.

“You-” he lights the Darksaber once more, holding it in a reverse grip and pointing it directly at the elder’s neck. If he wants to, he can end his life right this instant- not that Dooku wouldn’t see it coming. “You do not touch those I love. Not Anakin, not Ahsoka, not even Commander Cody. I have had enough -” he practically growls, “-of Sith messing with my family.”

“That sounds an awful lot like attachment, Jedi, ” Dooku says, knowing exactly the reaction it will elicit.

“I. Don’t. Care. I am no Jedi.” The realization seems to hit him at once, and his voice lowers a bit. “Not anymore.”

And with that, the Sith is satisfied. He clasps his hands behind his back. “I’m glad you realize that. And now we can make it final, Apprentice.”

Kenobi pauses for a moment more. For the first time since Dooku entered the room, his mental shields fail, and the count can feel his remaining rage, his eternal sorrow, the conflict that still is warring over whether or not to join him. Then, it’s as if something snaps, and Dooku notices his eyes focused on one specific spot on the floor. He can feel the darkness radiating from the area, and deduces that that was where he Fell, where his precious Duchess was stabbed in front of him.

The new Darksider deactivates his blade and replaces it, eyes flashing with newfound anger. He slowly, deliberately, falls to the ground on one knee, then the other.

“I…” he swallows, then looks to the ground. “I pledge myself to your teachings, Master.”

“There it is,” Dooku says, not quite smiling, but not frowning, either. “You were wise to come to your senses. You have always been powerful- and together, we can truly end this conflict once and for all. From now on, you will be known as Darth Acheron.”

Kenobi snorts.

“Is something amusing, Apprentice?” Dooku raises an eyebrow.

“You Sith and your over-the-top names,” he says, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “We’ll come back to that one later.”

“Perhaps. Rise, and we can begin, young one.”

He does so, and Dooku notices that the tears have stopped, though their tracks remain. “I suppose I should contact Bo-Katan.”

“That would be preferable, yes.”

Obi-Wan- Acheron, now- pulls his communication device to his mouth. “There’s been a change of plans, Bo. I’m going to be off-world for a while- could be days, could be months- and I need you to take charge while I’m gone.”

Her voice is indignant, while still slightly terrified- she doesn’t like this version of Kenobi, Dooku can tell. “What? Manda’lor- ”

“This is non-negotiable,” he continues, his voice taking on a harsher tone. “Restore Mandalore to its former glory in my absence- but make sure you do it right . If you don’t…” his voice lowers even further, “being Satine’s sister will not spare you from my wrath.”

“And you say I’m one for dramatics,” Dooku comments after the call has ended.

Acheron throws him a glare, then gestures to the exit. “After you, Master .”

“Very well.” Dooku glances one more time at the holorecorder, then raises his hand and crushes it in one motion.

The other snorts. “Smooth.”

“Just a precaution,” he replies, then steps over the broken glass towards the door. “Come, Apprentice. We have much work to do.”

<()><()><()>

Normally, Anakin wouldn’t be so worried, but something is wrong.

He felt it first two days ago, just a few hours after he leant Obi-Wan his ship for… some sort of mission. He felt the extreme sorrow, the fear, the anger (Obi-Wan? Angry?) that burst across their bond, exploding with no warning and then disappearing once again. Since then, their bond has gone silent, and it’s been driving him crazy- he rarely hasn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan’s presence, and he’s never gone silent after such a sudden outburst of emotion.

But now, it’s worse.

It’s as if their training bond just… snapped. He can’t think of anything that would be able to do something like that to Obi-Wan, and it scares him.

Which is why he headed back to Coruscant as soon as possible.

“Thank you for meeting with me, Masters,” he says, bowing his head in respect. Ahsoka does the same next to him- after feeling nearly the same emotions he had, she now has now refused to do anything except accompany him to the meeting. “I’ll get to the point- I’m worried about Master Obi-Wan.”

To his confusion, none of the Council seems surprised by this. In fact, looking around the room, he only sees troubled expressions, faces of sorrow, of grief.

Suddenly, his heart drops even further.

“Glad you are here, we are,” Master Yoda says. His ears are drooping- never a good sign. “Just about to summon you, we were.”

“You were?” Ahsoka questions. Anakin elbows her lightly.

“We were,” Master Windu confirms. He tilts his head. “Were you aware that Master Kenobi was planning to leave the planet?”

Anakin and Ahsoka exchange a glance. “I was,” he says. “He borrowed my ship.”

Master Mundi shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have let him.”

A pause, in which Anakin tries to puzzle out his implications.

“To Mandalore, Master Kenobi went,” Yoda continues. “Alone.”

For a second, Anakin’s brain short-circuits. “What- but wasn’t that- against your orders?”

“Yes.”

Anakin’s mind is racing. He had assumed Obi-Wan just needed a non-Republic ship, not that he was actually disobeying the Council. And now he was off-world, and their bond…

“We received a holorecord transmission from Mandalore a standard hour ago,” Master Unduli says, and her voice is weighed. "We think it would be best if you two watch it."

A holorecord? Why wouldn't Obi-Wan just send them a transmission directly?

"It may be best if you sit down," Master Windu says.

Anakin and Ahsoka exchange another glance, then sit on the two conspicuously empty chairs. He wonders if they brought them in specifically for this purpose.

The video starts in the center of the room, and immediately both of them straighten. With dread, Anakin recognizes Darth Maul and another Zabrak at the front of the room, the Duchess Satine hanging in the air next to him. The Sith has always had it out for Obi-Wan, and he knows he'd never stop on his quest for revenge.

Revenge. Duchess Satine. Obi-Wan.

A horrible picture starts to paint itself in his mind.

"You can kill me, but you will never destroy me," his former Master is saying. It's strange to see him in an outfit other than Jedi robes. "It takes strength to resist the Dark side; only the weak embrace it."

"It is more powerful than you know," Maul replies.

"And those who oppose it are more powerful than you will ever be!" Obi-Wan's defiance is clear. "I know where you're from. I went to your village. I know the decision to join the Dark Side wasn't yours- the Nightsisters made it for you-"

"Silence!" Maul rages, temper scalding even through the video. "You think you know me? It was I who languished for years thinking of nothing but you, nothing but this moment! And now, the perfect tool for my vengeance is in front of us. I never planned on killing you- but I will make you share my pain, Kenobi!"

It is then that Obi-Wan seems to realize his plan, and attempts to start forward, but the warriors behind him force him to the ground. Maul brings Satine closer, drawing the black-bladed lightsaber at his side, and Anakin can only watch in horror as he stabs her straight through the chest.

Oh no.

Oh no.

This could break Obi-Wan.

Maul drops her to the ground, and the Jedi races to catch her, just barely too late. He turns her over, brushing the hair out of her face, and the sheer agony on his face makes Anakin want to vomit.

"Remember, my dear Obi-Wan," she says, breaths turning shallow, "I've always loved you, and I always will."

Then her body goes limp, her chest stops moving, and slowly, tenderly, Obi-Wan brings her hand to his lips.

"Do we kill him now, Brother?" The other Zabrak asks, and Anakin wants to yell, to cry, to punch something. That's his Master they're talking about, that they're torturing.

"No," Maul says, and his face radiates triumph. "Imprison him down below. Let him drown in his misery."

The Mandalorians come forward to pull him away, but then it's as if a switch is flipped in Obi-Wan, and Anakin knows instantly that that was the source of the rage he felt two days ago. The Jedi straightens against their holds, then reaches out with his hand.

The other Zabrak's lightsaber flies off his belt- double-bladed, like Maul's, Anakin notes- and lands in Obi-Wan's hand (where is his own saber?). To his astonishment, Obi-Wan doesn't hesitate to stab one Mandalorian around the armor and decapitate the other. The remaining pair race forward, but are thrown back when he raises his other hand. The walls seem to shake at their impact, and they fire off a few shots before dropping their blasters and clutching their throats.

Obi-Wan is Force-choking them.

Maul chuckles. "Oh, this is much better than I could have hoped for!"

Glass appears to begin to rain down out of nowhere with a loud shatter, and Obi-Wan doesn't even flinch as it lands on his head, just continues to stalk forward. He drops the pair of Mandalorians, who crumple to the ground in a heap. He races towards the taller of the two Zabraks.

Without a weapon, he never stood a chance.

The man’s body drops, and Anakin hardly processes it. He’s never seen Obi-Wan kill so- so violently before, or with such anger- let alone an unarmed man.

Kriff. His master is scary sometimes.

He then steps towards Maul, who just smiles as he draws the Darksaber. “Do you see now, Kenobi?” He spreads his arms. “Do you feel it? This is the power of the Dark Side- a power you Jedi so ignorantly deny!”

No.

No, no, Obi-Wan, you can’t.

Anakin can’t see Obi-Wan’s eyes in the recording, and instead, turns to the Council. None of them will meet his gaze, and the shared feeling of grief-pain-loss-sadness reverberating around the room confirms his worst fears- and Maul’s words.

Could Obi-Wan- did he really-

“You,” Obi-Wan says over the recording, voice thick with either tears or rage- maybe both- and Anakin snaps his attention back to the video. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Oh, but I do.” The man laughs again, blocking a strike from Obi-Wan- Anakin is so used to him using Soresu that watching his offensive approach has thrown him off more than a little. “Look at you now! Broken, lost, and Fallen? You said I could never destroy you, yet I-” He blocks quite a few more strikes, saber spinning wildly. “I beg to differ.”

“No, he wouldn’t…” Ahsoka murmurs next to Anakin, and he spares a glance at her. Her features are drawn in horror, skin paler than usual, and honestly, he feels the same way. “Master Kenobi wouldn’t…”

Anakin agrees under his breath, but inside, he can feel something breaking, just like the bond between him and his master.

“Tell me, how did it feel?” Maul continues, that grin never leaving his face. “How did it feel when you lost her? When you lost your master? When you lost your Light?”

Obi-Wan lets out an almost primal yell, and nearly everyone in the room flinches, Anakin included. He doubles his advances, and it’s like he’s trained with a double saber his entire life, with the way he forces Maul to retreat. He just keeps coming, blow after blow after blow, spinning and dodging and even using his armor to deflect Maul’s blade.

Then, finally, he gains the upper hand- or, rather, Maul’s hand.

The limb falls to the ground alongside Maul, and Obi-Wan uses the Force to call the Darksaber to his hand. He places a foot on Maul’s chest, kneeling over him, and crosses the two blades at his neck.

Anakin now has a full view of Obi-Wan’s face, and his rattling gasp nearly causes him to choke.

His cheeks are shiny with tears, lips pulled back in a growl, revealing bared teeth. Every line on his face screams painpainpain , every inch displaying the pure agony he feels- but none of that is what disturbs Anakin. Instead, his focus is on his eyes- even through the blue of the holorecording, his master’s eyes burn a bright, striking yellow.

The yellow of the Fallen.

The yellow of the Darksiders.

The yellow of the Sith.

Next to him, he hears Ahsoka release something like a choked sob, and he wants to move, to comfort her, but he is frozen, pinned to his seat by the color yellow-

“Death is too good for the likes of you,” Obi-Wan says, and it seems to surprise him, too, unnatural eyes flashing.

“Oh, yes, I agree wholeheartedly,” Maul says, and even at his mercy, missing a hand, his smile has never wavered. “After all, you wouldn’t want to be seen as a murderer by all these people, would you?”

Obi-Wan turns, and the video captures tens more of Maul’s Mandalorian followers entering the room. He snarls further, then turns back to Maul.

If Anakin blinked, he would have missed it.

One moment, Obi-Wan is still kneeling over his downed foe; the next, Maul’s head is separated from his body and the Jedi- Fallen Jedi?- stands to face the multitudes aiming blasters at him. He clips the double-bladed saber to his belt, gripping the Darksaber with one hand.

“Come on!” he practically yells at them, taking his signature taunt stance. “I’ve nothing to lose now!”

And it breaks Anakin’s heart.

Obi-Wan slashes his way through Mandalorian after Mandalorian, aiming around their armor and sparing no one. He breaks bones, removes limbs, aims for the neck, fights so unlike himself that Anakin really does believe he’s going to throw up soon. A few warriors attempt to escape, but Obi-Wan reaches the exit before them and cuts them down anyway.

Maul’s won.

The realization comes unbidden, and it takes all of Anakin’s willpower not to break down then and there. The Zabrak got what he wanted- he broke Obi-Wan, forced him to Fall, to draw on the Dark Side. He killed Qui-Gon, all those years ago, and then Satine, and smiled the whole time.

Even dead, he’s won.

Anakin feels numb, like the events on screen couldn’t possibly be happening. Have happened. Two days ago.

He doesn’t know when it happened, but now, not a single Mandalorian is left standing, and Obi-Wan is back at Satine’s side. A time skip appears to have happened, and he watches blankly as a female Mandalorian wearing different armor enters the room and stops when she sees the carnage left behind.

“I thought Jedi didn’t kill innocents,” she says, and Obi-Wan’s face whips up to meet hers.

“They were not innocents,” he growls, but his expression is apathetic, empty, despite the tears running down his cheeks.

“They weren’t,” she gestures to the room, “but she was.”

A spear of anger makes itself known across his face, but he does not rise. “I did not kill S- her. Maul did. I only returned the favor.”

She studies him for another moment. It is clear she is uneasy, unsettled by the scene before her. “If you defeated him in combat, if you claimed the Darksaber, then you are now Manda’lor.”

She kneels, as much as it seems she doesn’t want to, and he doesn’t acknowledge it.

The scene flickers, and now, the bodies are gone, yet the blast marks and lightsaber cuts remain. Obi-Wan sits on the throne, unmoving. With no small amount of horror, Anakin realizes the throne is now decorated by miniscule black horns.

Maybe if he wakes up, he’ll find this is all some twisted nightmare.

Another figure enters, and Anakin jolts when he recognizes him. How Dooku managed to find Obi-Wan before they did, he can only guess. His heart drops further when he realizes why the count must have come.

The conversation between the two passes in a blur, and the only thing that strikes Anakin is Obi-Wan’s display of nonchalance and not-quite-refusal to join Dooku. When Dooku mentions Qui-Gon, anger cracks through him, and he glares at the man.

Then the recording dissolves into static.

“Wait,” Master Yoda says. “More, there is.”

Anakin really doesn’t want to- he doesn’t know if his emotions can take any more, if Ahsoka, who is silently crying, can take any more. He sincerely hopes Obi-Wan will come to his senses.

The video flashes back into focus, and though it has only been a few seconds, it is clear that some time has passed in the recording, at least a few minutes. Obi-Wan now stands across from Dooku, and his face is now one of dark contemplation.

“I accept,” he says, and it feels like Anakin’s world is crashing around him. “But on one condition.”

“Of course.”

Obi-Wan directs the Darksaber to the count’s neck, and, yet again, Anakin is surprised by his actions. He doesn’t quite know why, at this point. “You do not touch those I love. Not Anakin, not Ahsoka, not even Commander Cody. I have had enough -” he practically growls, and Anakin flinches, “-of Sith messing with my family.”

That is the broken-mirror image of the Obi-Wan Anakin knows, the one who follows the Jedi Code so strictly, and he’s beginning to think he may never get that Obi-Wan back.

“That sounds an awful lot like attachment, Jedi.”

“I. Don’t. Care. I am no Jedi.” His amber eyes widen. “Not anymore.”

And Anakin can’t hold it back anymore. Tears begin to fall along his cheeks, not unlike his master's. He looks away from the recording, placing his head in his hands, and tries to imagine that Obi-Wan is next to him, safe and sound, still firmly in the light.

He doesn’t look up as Dooku names Obi-Wan his apprentice, as Obi-Wan pledges himself to the count, to the Dark Side. He doesn’t look up as Obi-Wan calls him his master, as Dooku gives him his new name. He doesn’t even process what the name is, exactly. He does, however, laugh a little at Obi-Wan’s comment about Sith names- maybe it’s the grief, or the confusion, or maybe he’s just going crazy.

Obi-Wan- can he even call him that, now?- contacts Bo-Katan, the woman from earlier, and Anakin vaguely registers that he refers to her as Satine’s sister. Then he calls Dooku ‘Master’ once more, and the recording ends.

He still doesn’t look up. He doesn’t know if he can face the Council at the moment, or his padawan, for that matter.

“Harrowing, this is,” Master Yoda says. “Fallen, a great Jedi has. The Obi-Wan we knew, he is no longer.”

“There has to be a way to get him back,” Anakin says, and he removes his head from his hands, avoiding eye contact. He knows he must look like a wreck, but right now, that’s the least of his worries. “He wouldn’t just- we need to try to bring him back.”

“Trying won’t change anything, Skywalker.” Master Windu shakes his head, and his voice is slightly gentler than usual. “He has been corrupted, turned against the Light. We can’t do anything for him now- not while he is under Dooku’s thumb.”

"But- but that's not fair!" Ahsoka says, standing, and Anakin doesn't even have the heart to pull her back. "If it were any of us- if it were Anakin-" Anakin flinches, "-Obi-Wan wouldn't hesitate! He'd come running to bring us back!"

"Perhaps that loyalty is what caused him to Fall in the first place," Master Unduli says, but her eyes are glistening as well.

Her words are like yet another knife to Anakin's already-trampled heart. It's true, Obi-Wan has always been loyal to those around him- but the only one he is sure his master ever loved was Satine Kryze.

Now Satine is gone, and so is Obi-Wan.

Quite a few choice words dance around his head in a maelstrom of emotion, but he settles on: "Kriff." He looks around the room once more, to those who will and those who won't meet his eyes, to those holding back tears and those carefully collected. "How are we going to tell the 212th?"

Chapter Text

<()><(2)><()>

To Obi-Wan, the Light has always been his home. Ever since the day he was brought into the Temple for the first time, he has known nothing but the code of the Jedi, the guidance of the Masters and the kinship of his fellow Padawans, Knights, and later, Council members. He has learned from the Light, found comfort in it, confided in it, trusted it.

Then the Light failed him, and he turned to the Dark.

The Dark is so similar to the Light, yet so different. While the Light is comforting, the Dark is… intoxicating. It whispers and it screams, curling at the edges of the Light, promising vengeance, glory, anything the user could desire, if only they give into it. It is not a warm embrace, but an icy grasp, a mesmerizing lure that draws one in deeper, deeper, deeper, until there is nothing left but its knowledge, its power, its eternal temptation.

Obi-Wan would be lying if he said he hadn’t touched the Dark before. During his original fight with Maul, after the creature killed his Master, the closest thing he had to a father, he felt it. He was so angry, so lost, and the little brush he had with the Dark Side of the Force was enough to give him the strength to win the battle.

Now, though… now is nothing like that. He isn’t just brushing with the Dark, he is entangled with it, thoroughly steeped in it, and he doubts he can escape its clutches if he tries. But now that he’s tasted the power the Dark gives him, the trenches of knowledge it promises, he’s not sure if he wants to turn from it.

Of course, he’s not sure of anything anymore.

In the throne room, watching Maul taunt him, watching him threaten Sa- her, he reached out to the Light, asking it for strength, trying to ignore the whispers that his fear brought, the shadows calling out to him. But the Light didn’t strengthen him, didn’t comfort him- it rested within him, watching as his only love was taken from him.

Then the dam broke, and the Dark came flooding in, and he embraced it.

It was different from anything he had ever felt as a Jedi, the lightning running through his veins and fortifying his skills in battle, the sheer Force that converged around and exploded from him, stoking the fires of his anger, drawing strength from his anguish. He didn’t even consider minding his emotions, as his Jedi training taught him, instead surrounding himself with them, allowing them to form his sword and shield as he killed Savage, killed Maul, killed the rogue Mandalorians.

There is a part of him that was- and still is- horrified at what he did. He always followed the Jedi Code so rigidly, turning from the Dark at any moment it presented itself, detaching his personal feelings from his duties to the galaxy. He was taught to be compassionate, to be merciful, to help those around him and defend the innocent, no matter the cost.

He snorts a little at the thought. What he did in the throne room, that was neither compassionate nor merciful, but he always intended to defend the one innocent in the room, and the cost was his own soul.

Was it worth it?

He recalls the plan Dooku proposed to him, the benefits and the risks, the lives he could save by implementing it. He recalls the battlefields that the planets across the galaxy have become, the clones- the men- dying left and right of him. He recalls the feeling of the Darksaber slicing through Maul’s flesh, the feeling of being the only true power in the room, the feeling of Mandalorians following his orders, the feeling of Satine’s last breath on his skin.

Yes, he decides. It was worth it.

“I do hope you’re done with your… self-reflection, my apprentice.”

Obi-Wan opens one eye to find Count Dooku- Lord Tyranus - watching him from the doorway. He closes it again. “And I do hope you aren’t planning on watching me all day, my master.”

Dooku chuckles deeply, then a tendril of painhotdarkpain attacks Obi-Wan’s mental defenses, and he stands with a jolt of surprise. The Sith watches him closely. “Show such insolence to Lord Sidious, and he will do much, much worse.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Obi-Wan sighs, then his newly-colored eyes widen as he mulls over the other’s words. “He wants to meet with us?”

“Immediately,” Dooku says, his gaze narrowing. “So, if you value your life at all, I would suggest we do not keep him waiting.”

Obi-Wan considers making a comment about just how much he values his life, sighs once more, then follows the other Darksider out of his room.

The Count’s palace on Serreno is not quite what Obi-Wan is used to, but it is lavish, and accommodating, and so, so strong in the Dark side. He’ll have to get used to the low lighting and twisting hallways, but for the most part, there is something comforting about the building, about its enveloping presence in the Force- much like the Jedi Temple, only… darker.

They make their way to the central room, Dooku instructing Obi-Wan quietly along the way. “Do not speak unless spoken to,” he says. “Kneel when I introduce you, and do not rise unless he instructs you to. Lean fully into the Dark Side, into your hatred- he will be reading your Force signature, and we want him to consider you a valuable ally. If he does not, he will dispose of you, and our plans will be over before they start.”

Obi-Wan nods silently, running every possible scenario through his head. They reach the central room, and Dooku gestures for him to stop as he continues to the large desk, activating the holoprojector atop.

Immediately, a robed, imposing figure appears in hologram form, and though Obi-Wan cannot see his face, it feels as though the Dark surrounds him, bends to his will.

This man is dangerous.

“You are late, Tyranus,” he says in a voice that is vaguely familiar to Obi-Wan, but one that he can't quite place. Interesting. “I expected you nearly an hour ago.”

“I apologize, My Lord.” Dooku kneels, not looking the man in the eye- if there are eyes under the shroud of that hood. “I was sorting out matters with my new apprentice.”

“Do you not think it unwise to train another follower?” The Sith Lord asks, words dripping with venom. “After all, your previous two became quite the… nuisances.”

“I think you will find this one satisfactory to our needs, My Lord,” Dooku replies, and Obi-Wan sees that as his cue. He steps into Sidious’s line of sight and drops to his knees, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. “I believe you know of Obi-Wan Kenobi, former Jedi Master.”

For a moment, there is a tense, strung silence, and Obi-Wan hardly dares to breathe, as his fear, his rage, his sorrow swirls around him. He remembers Dooku’s instructions, and enfolds himself in these emotions, truly feeling the pain of his loss, the thrall of the Dark.

Then Sidious laughs. It is cold, it is cruel, it is sharp, and it grates against Obi-Wan’s ears like nails on the blackboard his Crechemaster used to teach with. He immediately knows he never wants to hear the Sith’s laugh again, though he also knows it may be unavoidable in the future.

“I heard of the slaughter on Mandalore,” Sidious says, and his tone sends an icy shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine. “I felt it when Maul was killed, and I heard whispers of the new leader of the Mandalorian people. I must admit, I did not expect the information to be true.”

The hologram steps closer, and still, Obi-Wan does not look up. “Rise, young one,” he says. “Tell me of your Fall.”

Immediately, Obi-Wan stands, looking just below the Sith's shielded face, his master rising with him. He can feel a… presence pushing against his carefully-crafted mental barriers, and releases them, allowing the full force of his hurricane of emotion to reach the man. Taking a deep breath, he begins his tale.

"I received a distress call from- from the Duchess Satine three standard days ago. We have always- had always been very close, and she asked for me specifically, but the Council forbade me to go.” A spark of rage runs through him, engulfing his senses for a moment. If the Jedi had let him attend with backup, with actual troops behind him, then Satine may still be alive. “I went against their wishes and flew to Mandalore. But it was a trap, and Maul had succeeded in luring me there.”

His voice is almost a growl now, and he instinctively tries to push down his anger, before instead allowing it to burst at the seams. “He captured me, and killed Satine as I watched.” He laughs once, bitterly, watching the Darksaber flash by in his mind. “It was then that I realized that the Light had failed me. I turned to the Dark, and killed Maul, and his brother, and his followers. The Mandalorians, for whatever reason, decided that made me their leader. Then Dooku came to me, and he helped me see through my ignorance.” Now it is time for the presenting of half-truths, an act he has always had talent for. He spins his anger at Maul and his desire for vengeance into his words, hoping the Sith Lord does not sense its true origin. “He showed me the corruption in the Jedi and the Republic, the hypocrisy of the Council and its members, myself included. He showed me the power of the Dark Side, and promised to teach me in a way the Jedi never could. And in return, My Lord,” he bows his head, allowing his sorrow to wash over him once more, “I swear to serve the Dark Side with all my power, to learn the ways of the Sith and bring the Jedi to their knees.”

Sidious chuckles once more, and his presence slams into Obi-Wan’s mind, causing him to stumble at the sheer intensity of the Dark Force assaulting him. He can feel every second as the Sith probes through his memories, his emotions, every knot in the dark thread now tangled around his soul. Evidently, the Sith finds what he is looking for, because a moment later, the discomfort and pain withdraws and leaves him gasping.

He hadn’t realized he was on the floor once more.

“Such pain,” Sidious says, and Obi-Wan wishes deeply that he could erase the image of that crooked smile from his mind. “Such anguish. Such hatred. The Jedi were ignorant to hold you back. You will make a powerful Sith, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and your hand will be the Jedi’s downfall. Have you given him a name, Tyranus?”

“Yes, My Lord,” Dooku replies. “I proposed the name Darth Acheron, though my apprentice seems to think it a bit… over-the-top.”

"Does he?" Obi-Wan can feel the man's gaze on him, and keeps his eyes downcast. "I think it perfectly suitable. Lord Acheron, I believe we are going to work together very well."

Finally having recovered his breath, Obi-Wan exhales slowly. "Thank you, My Lord."

"And, if I could make a suggestion," he continues, but his tone makes it clear there is no room for argument, "keep the armor, though perhaps repaint it. As a Sith-trained Mand'alor, you must look the part, don't you agree, Acheron?"

For a moment, his breath hitches in his throat at the thought of wearing something tied so closely to Satine's culture, even if this specific set of armor belonged to one of Maul's followers. "Of course, My Lord."

"Head to Coruscant when you can. I wish to meet you… personally." Oh. Something to look forward to. Perfect. "In the meantime, train with Tyranus. Stay in close contact with Mandalore. They were once a warrior race- if you can rally them to our cause, they will become a worthy ally."

Obi-Wan voices his assent, though deep within, he knows this is not what Satine would have wanted for Mandalore, for her planet. She always wanted peace, vehemently protested violence, tried to use her vision to protect her planet in the ways she thought were right. But that vision died with her.

What would she think of me now?

Another pang of bitterness and anger and shame unconsciously runs through him, immediately hardened by the Dark surrounding him.

"I originally called to discuss certain minutiae concerning the war effort, Tyranus." Sidious turns to the elder in the room. "However, Grievous can manage it for you. For now, stay here, and help mold this young ally into his true potential."

"It shall be done, My Lord."

The hologram disappears, and Obi-Wan feels the heavy presence finally disappear from his mind. It feels as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, the Dark no longer swirling around him but calm, still.

"How did I do?” he asks, smiling a little.

“Very well.” Dooku nods slightly. “If I didn't know any better, I would say you are trying to replace me, Apprentice.”

“Oh, I would never do that, Master,” Obi-Wan replies, smirking.

“Of course. Nevertheless, Sidious approves of you, and approves of you as a Sith apprentice, despite the previous Rule of Two from the days of old. Which means I must train you as one.” He straightens. “Do you understand what you will go through in this training? The regimen is nothing like the guidance of the Jedi you are used to.”

Again, the plan runs through his mind, as well as the thousands of people who are now under his rule, all accompanied by the blanket of Darkness that surrounds both him and Dooku. “I am ready to learn, Lord Tyranus.”

At that, Dooku’s mouth curves up into a whisper of a smile. “Just ‘Master’ will be fine.”

“As you say, Master.”

The lightning comes out of nowhere, throwing him to the ground as pain crackles through each one of his muscles. He is thrashing, but he can hardly feel it, can think of nothing but the pain-

And then, like a switch has been flipped, it disappears. He pants against the cool floor, watching as Dooku steps closer through a blurry haze. “The first lesson of any Sith is pain,” he says, and his voice holds none of the vague warmth it did earlier. “I hope you are truly prepared, Apprentice.”

Then yet more electricity flies from his hands, and Obi-Wan knows nothing else.

<()><()><()>

“I can’t accept this!” Anakin exclaims, pacing furiously. “I mean- I understand losing control, but- joining the Separatists? Dooku must be manipulating him somehow, or-”

“With all due respect, General,” Rex interrupts, watching him closely, “if you pace any more, you’re going to wear a groove into the ground. Not to mention, I’m getting dizzy just watching.”

Anakin stops, turning to face him. The captain has a very distinct line of concern crossing his face- and rightfully so. He doesn’t know quite who Anakin is talking about, but considering they are waiting for Commander Cody in the command room of the Negotiator, he has likely guessed. Not to mention, both he and Ahsoka approached him looking absolutely miserable, before she turned on her heel and mentioned something about finding Master Plo.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the door opens, and he straightens at the sight of Marshall Commander Cody, trailed closely by Boil. Anakin feels a rush of relief run through him- he doesn't want Cody to be alone when he breaks his heart with the news.

No, that’s not right, he tells himself. Obi-Wan will break his heart- Anakin’s just the messenger.

"Sir." Cody salutes as he steps into the room, straight-backed with his helmet removed. "You wanted to meet with me?" The man stands at attention, but his eyes flick between Anakin and Rex. No doubt he can sense something's wrong- Anakin has never been the best at masking his emotions, and Rex is still concerned, flicking his gaze back to him every few seconds.

"I wanted to talk with you about O- General Kenobi.” It hurts to say his name, stings against his tongue, and he attempts to keep his focus.

“Has something happened to him?” Cody asks, a little too quickly, and he immediately tacks on, “Sir.”

“You could say that,” Anakin mutters, rubbing his face with his non-mechanical hand. Finally, he decides to bite the bullet. “General Kenobi has fallen to the Dark Side.”

Cody’s face remains neutral, though Anakin can feel the sudden horror and panic that has overtaken the clone. Behind him, Rex has gone impossibly still, and he can see Boil’s face falling. Still, he can tell they don’t quite understand, and Cody lets out a slightly-strangled, “Sir?”

Sithspit, this is hard. Anakin sighs, trying to release his emotions into the Force. He doesn’t think he quite succeeds. “He decided to head to Mandalore three standard days ago, alone and against the Council’s orders, to confront a former Sith who had taken the Duchess Satine hostage.” He swallows, attempting to keep the pain off his face. “But something went wrong. Maul killed the Duchess, and Obi-Wan… he k-killed everyone in the room, and then joined Count Dooku, who conveniently decided to show up when he was at his lowest. He… he’s Dooku's new apprentice, and leader of Mandalore.”

The words hang in the air, and though he said them, Anakin can’t quite believe them. The video replays over and over in his head, of Obi-Wan killing Mandalorian after Mandalorian, of him holding Satine close to his chest, of his voice calling Dooku ‘Master’...

“Kriff,” Cody says under his breath, and Anakin knows the anger in his tone is just to mask his sorrow. Everyone knows how close Obi-Wan and Cody are- were. “That idiot.”

The commander takes a shuddering breath and straightens once more. There is so much he’d like to say, it’s written on his face and in his Force signature, but he doesn’t say any of it, instead asking, “What are our orders, Sir?”

Anakin nearly laughs at his directness, at the absurdity of it all. This is so messed up. Obi-Wan should be here, leading his battalion, smiling and destroying droids and arguing alongside him. “As of right now, we’ve been told not to go after him, and the Republic has no jurisdiction on Mandalore to conduct an investigation, not until the Senate debates it.” Cody’s stoic face falls further. “As Marshall Commander, you have the authority to keep the 212th intact, but the Council has requested that I be placed in charge of you nevertheless. However, keeping the battalion intact would mean you’d be put in charge of most battle strategies for your men, not me. You can also request to be placed under a different General…”

He trails off, and Cody looks him right in the eye, though Anakin can still feel his inner turmoil. “The men and I would be honored to be led by you for the time being, General Skywalker.”

For the time being. He thinks it’s temporary, or maybe hopes, like Anakin. There’s no way Obi-Wan is gone for good. “Thank you, Cody.”

The atmosphere is heavy now, and he wants to exit as soon as possible, to give Cody the privacy he obviously needs to process this. “We’re heading back to the front in four days standard. Thank you for meeting with me, Cody.”

“Of course, Sir,” he says, but it sounds robotic, flat.

Rex moves then, striding towards Cody with purpose in his gait. He puts a hand on his shoulder and speaks quietly to him, and though Anakin tries to not eavesdrop, he hears the words “time” and “vod”. The captain brings the commander’s forehead to his briefly, then returns to Anakin’s side.

Cody doesn’t meet Anakin’s eyes now, so instead, he nods solemnly at Boil, and he and his captain exit the room.

As he walks the hallway out of the ship and hears the announcement instructing the 212th to review their battle orders, he hopes that the Negotiator will learn to fight without its namesake.

Just as he must.

<()><()><()>

Cody’s helmet is placed firmly on his head, despite him being the only one in the room- he doesn’t think he will remove it anytime soon. It took him less than five minutes to write up the order report, and now his finger hovers over the release button, poised and waiting. He knows this will not be the hard part, the hard part will be actually addressing his men, but-

But he can’t do it.

“Another job well done, Cody.”

The commander smiles slightly and removes his helmet. “You weren’t so bad yourself, General.”

“This is what we do, I suppose.” Kenobi gives him an easy grin and begins to walk off.

“Hold on, General!” Cody stops him with a touch to the arm, and the Jedi’s eyebrow raises to form a look he has seen directed at General Skywalker many times before. The clone levels a short glare at him and holds out a cylindrical silver weapon. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to lose your only weapon.”

“Ah… yes,” Kenobi replies, grabbing the lightsaber, looking slightly sheepish. “Thank you, Cody.”

That does nothing to ease Cody’s worries, however, and as they make their way back to the gunships, he mutters under his breath about Jedi recklessness and endangerment of lives and “leaving their robes and their weapons all over the kriffing place.”

Kenobi chuckles slightly, causing Cody to pause his tirade. “I once told Anakin that a lightsaber is a Jedi’s life,” he says, inspecting the hilt.

Cody snorts in disbelief. “Well, with all due respect, General, you don’t seem to have great respect for that thing, yourself.”

That draws another laugh out of the man. “No, I suppose not.” His eyes land on the sight of the wounded being pulled into the gunships, and all humor drains from his face. He sighs heavily. “The problem is, now, I am not just responsible for my life. The 212th relies on me- and on you- to keep them safe, and still, more soldiers fall every day.”

Cody can see the true pain in his expression, the guilt at leading his men into battle, and decides to do something about it. “Sir, that’s what we are- soldiers. We were made for this fight, General.”

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Kenobi says, rubbing a hand over his face. "Each battle, we lose more and more men, and it hurts. It hurts because I want to know each and every one of you, and yet, there are men dying before I get the chance. You aren't like droids, you have personalities and lives and souls, and yet, I can feel those souls disappearing the longer this war drags on. Every time we step on to the field, I can feel more of your brothers being lost, killed indiscriminately by battle-" He cuts off, inhaling sharply.

Cody watches as the man's face falls, and though he mourns each time one of his brothers falls, he can't even imagine what it must be like to feel them die, each life snuffed out in the Force. "That's… awful, Sir."

Kenobi laughs once, short and bitter. "Being a Jedi does have its downsides, I suppose. We call ourselves peacekeepers, and yet-” he gestures to the wounded surrounding them, to the battlefield as a whole. “Sometimes I wonder if Satine is right about the violence. If all this death has a purpose.”

Well, that doesn’t sound worrying at all. Cody stops and faces his general, looking him straight in the eye. “Sir, the way I see it, these battles are the only way to keep the peace. Without us, without you, billions more would die than those on the front. The loss of our men is essential when compared to the loss of the galaxy. It’s our duty, Sir. And duty always comes first.”

Obi-Wan nods slowly, then the dark contemplation disappears from his face. “You’re right, as always, Cody.” He pats him on the shoulder, then chuckles. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably lose your lightsaber a lot more often, Sir,” the commander replies with a hint of indignance.

Kenobi laughs, drawing a small smile to Cody’s face, and the pair board the awaiting gunship.

Cody pulls himself out of the memory, noticing his clenched fist and loosening it. Reviewing everything his general has ever done, every conversation they have ever had, every battle they have ever fought together, he just can’t believe that Kenobi would turn his back on the Republic so quickly, on the clones. He doesn’t claim to be an expert on however the kriff the Force works, but he highly doubts that “Falling” (or whatever General Skywalker called it) would be enough to get the Negotiator, the most loyal Jedi in the GAR, to join Count Dooku of all people.

There has to be something else going on here.

“Do you want me to send it out, Commander?”

Cody jolts so violently that he almost drops the datapad. Boil is back in the room, somehow having entered without the commander noticing. His bucket is on, too- likely for the same reason that Cody’s is.

He sighs. “No, but thank you, Boil. It’s my responsibility."

Boil nods, but doesn't say anything more, hanging behind his back in silent solidarity.

Cody returns his attention to the screen, then decides to just get it over with, and he presses the send button. It feels an awful lot like placing the lid on a coffin.

"He's going to come back, Sir," Boil says, but his voice is heavy. "I know he will."

It's our duty, Sir. And duty always comes first.

"Get some rest, trooper," is all he says.

"I mean it, Commander," the other continues, and some semblance of half-hearted encouragement enters his voice. "He's never let us down before-"

"I get it, Boil!" Cody doesn't mean to snap, but it comes out that way nevertheless. He sets his datapad on the desk, hard, and attempts to run a hand over his face before remembering his helmet.

Boil apologizes softly behind him, but Cody is only half-listening. He reads through the mission orders once more, now available on every 212th trooper's datapad.

"Get some rest," he repeats, not looking back to see if the order is followed, wishing desperately he could do the same. Then he raises his comm device, connecting it to the overhead speakers and the open-comm system.

"This is Marshall Commander Cody to the 212th battalion. I'm going to elaborate on the report that was just sent out." He takes a deep breath, and can hear it echo over the intercom. "General Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Republic."

Chapter Text

<()><(3)><()>

He's been here before- many times, but only ever in his mind, in meditation. It is a wide, open expanse of rolling plains and tilted rocks jutting from the ground, and has always been a source of comfort from his most painful memories as the wind surrounded him and the light warmed him, sung to him.

Now, it is dark, cold, and tuneless.

He stands next to a gnarled, twisted husk of a tree- a tree he knows was never there before. Its bark is a pure, almost glittering black, its branches entirely still in the lack of wind, and there is an almost… ethereal quality to it.

He places a hand against it.

Immediately, the world goes silent- he hadn't even noticed the building white noise and pressure in his ears until now, the discomfort having disappeared. He straightens, wondering at the silence, at the chasm that seems to have opened inside him, until-

"Hello, my love."

The voice steals the breath from his lungs, and when he turns, he does so with dread, fearing what he may find.

Nothing can prepare him for the sight of Satine Kryze, standing straight and hands clasped, a distinct wound in her chest marring her otherwise flawless form.

He says nothing, the pure sorrow he feels choking his voice, blanking his thoughts. He studies the wound she sports, where the Darksaber entered her body, and his fist clenches instinctively.

The darkness around them seems to swell with his emotions.

Satine- not Satine, Satine's dead- sighs, taking a step closer. "It has only been a few days, Obi, and yet you have nothing to say?"

"You aren't… really here," he forces out, though he can barely hear it over his own pulse pounding in his ears. She isn't here, and it hurts, because she will never stand in front of him again, and she was killed in a plan to get to him, a plan that succeeded, and she looks just as beautiful as she did when she died in his arms-

"I may not be," she responds, her fair face twisting with sadness, "but that does not mean I cannot attempt to bring you comfort."

Comfort. The word sounds so strange, foreign, now. In the past, he has found comfort in Anakin, in Ahsoka, in Cody, in his men, in Quin, in Satine, in the Light.

Now, he has only the Dark.

Yes, the shadows whisper. Embrace us. You are alone but for us.

Satine scowls as if she can hear them- and maybe she can. After all, she is only a manifestation of his thoughts. She says, "This is the stellar company you've chosen to keep?"

He nearly snorts- it sounds so like her that it's almost comical. Instead, he says, "It's a necessity."

"A necessity," she repeats, voice hard as she draws closer. He resists the urge to flinch back. "Was it a necessity to kill for me, Obi-Wan?"

He doesn’t respond, guilt and anger and grief and vengeance swirling around him, strengthened by the tendrils of Dark.

Yes, the shadows coax, more insistent, now. They deserved it. He deserved it. You made the right choice.

“I don’t regret my actions,” he says, not acknowledging the shadows, but not ignoring them, either.

Liar, they refute with glee. You regret everything.

Satine’s expression is one that he knows well- she always dons it before she reprimands him, that cool steeliness intertwined with hidden sadness. “You should regret them. You have never been one to take life indiscriminately- I am perplexed that you’d start because of my death.”

The words hurt, though the darkness almost purrs when he recalls the massacre in the throne room. “I did nothing but rid Mandalore of the evil that had invaded it.” His voice is cold, hardened by the shadows creeping along his back.

She seems to study him then, and he holds his ground, avoiding looking at the gaping hole in her chest. She moves, and before he can blink, her hand is against his cheek, and he shudders at the cold touch. He hadn’t expected her to actually be able to interact with him.

“You used to have such beautiful blue eyes…" she murmurs, and her own eyes widen with sorrow. “Is this the weakness you yourself cautioned against, ner cyare? Is this the darkness you swore to your master you’d never succumb to?”

The mention of Qui-Gon only serves to stoke his anger. Memories come unbidden, of being left on a war-ridden planet at fourteen, of second hand attention and half-hearted instruction, of being cast aside for a nine-year-old boy at the first possible opportunity.

Good. The darkness seems to smile at his pain.

He pushes Satine’s ghostly hand away, taking a step backwards, feeling the lower branches of the dark tree brushing at his back. “Have you come only to lecture me, Satine?”

He pretends his voice does not hitch on her name.

She does not react to the rejection, letting her arm drop. “I only wish to help you, Obi. I’ve come to ask you why you Fell, to see if you know why you Fell. You are no stranger to hardship, and yet, you have never Fallen before now. What has changed? Why have you rejected the Light only now?”

She has a point, there. The only other time he's come close to Falling was at the death of his master, again when fighting Maul. That little contact he had with the Dark was enough to best the Zabrak in combat before, and he had dispelled it once he believed the Sith dead, as hard as it was to release his anger and grief into the force at the time, and then again periodically for months. Since then, he’s always avoided the Dark side like the plague, even in intense pain or fear, clinging to the Jedi Code with a nearly panicked devotion, almost out of fear of what lay on the other side of the Force.

What is different now? What is different from the loss of Qui-Gon Jinn, different from the brutal treatment the Zygerrians inflicted on him, different from feeling his men fall at the left and right of him, different even from becoming a leader of children in a bloody civil war?

He knows the answer, deep down. Maul was right- Satine is (was) and always has been his weakness, he has always been much more emotionally invested when it comes to her than anything else. Feeling her signature disappear in the Force, feeling her go still for the last time, and attributing her murder to the one who killed his master so long ago- how was he supposed to beat back the single-minded vengeance that overcame him? How was he supposed to accept the inaction the Light had brought him? How was he supposed to refuse the Dark once more?

If Dooku had not found him on the throne, he doesn’t know whether or not he would have been able to claw his way back to the Light, or even if he would have made the effort. Now, however, he’s glad for his Fall, for the outcome that has stemmed from it, the plan that he can now carry out, and even the training he is now receiving.

“I have a purpose this time,” he says aloud, but he has a feeling she was able to follow his entire thought process from the steely look she levels at him.

"A purpose you gained after the fact." Again, she has a point. "That is why you joined Dooku. I am asking why you Fell."

He doesn't respond, though the darkness around him whispers of power, of knowledge, of revenge. He lets it surround him, opening his emotions to the Dark, feeling it grasp onto and amplify them tenfold. He gasps at the intensity of them, at the despair and anger and pain that has resurfaced, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He focuses on the face of his love, vision blurring, and tries to find the words to speak.

"I… I fell for you," he chokes out, tears flowing freely now. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, Satine."

She smiles sadly at him, and it could be his own gaze deceiving him, but her eyes seem misty as well. "That was certainly part of it, my dear Obi-Wan," she says, stepping back, "but it was not all of it. Search for the true reason. Only then can you accept it- only then can you do what you need to."

“What do you-” he begins, only to realize she is fading into the darkness, that sad smile never leaving her face. “No- wait-!”

He reaches out, and his fingers close on nothing but mist. Then he truly is alone but for the shadows, and their whispers grow louder, filling his ears, bringing him to his knees with the sheer volume of their power-

Obi-Wan awakes with a shuddering gasp.

He breathes heavily for a moment- in, out, in, out. He blinks until he can no longer see the Duchess's face across from his. The beckons of the Dark have not receded, and he pushes them to the edges of his mind the best he can. There will be a time to heed them- later.

For now, he needs to contact Bo-Katan.

He slips on his outfit, taking note of how it feels. Dooku was the one who provided him with the supplies and means necessary to re-forge and paint his armor (though how the Sith obtained Mandalorian forging molds, the texts required to use them, and an ample amount of beskar , he has no idea). Because Obi-Wan is not a goran, the metal is slightly asymmetrical, dented in some places, and he's pretty sure the dullness of his left knee plate is due to him forging at the wrong temperature- but otherwise, he's proud of it. The beskar itself (minus his knee) is shiny and dark, nearly pure now, all traces of the previous Maul-red gone. He is quite satisfied with the way the colors turned out, and with how the beskar'gam fits his body- though he's going to have to get used to fighting in it.

Perhaps he will practice today.

He hesitates only slightly before punching in the Mandalorian’s comm code. After the dream he just had, he’s certainly not in the mood for any reprimands, but he decides he had better just get it over with.

“Mand’alor.” The form of Bo-Katan Kryze fills the flickering hologram. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

“Kih ca'nara liser slanar a munit ara,” Obi-Wan replies in Mando’a. A little time can go a long way. “How has it been, my advisor, reuniting Mandalore?” He's already contacted what little remains of Satine's most trusted advisors, but he wants to hear from Bo-Katan directly.

She seems momentarily stunned by the title, then regains her composure. “It could be going better,” she says, and her voice holds no small hint of bitterness. “Without you here, the people have no physical symbol to rally behind. We are still in mourning for…" she looks down, before her gaze turns accusing, "...our Duchess, and you have not stepped in to lead properly, or proved to the people that you will be the leader we need. In short, it’s a mess, Kenobi.”

"I was afraid of that," he says, putting his hand to his chin. "I suppose we'll just have to change it, won't we?"

“Kenobi-”

“Acheron.”

She starts. “What?”

“My name is Darth Acheron.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. “Or Lord Acheron. Mand’alor Acheron. Any of the above.”

Bo-Katan has gone very still, something dangerous entering her expression. “Kenobi, do not tell me you have joined the dar'jetiise.”

Of course she would know about Sith titles- Mandalore does have an extensive history with Force-users, after all. He straightens, pulling at his sore back. “I assure you, that was not what I set out to do originally-"

She interrupts him with a string of Mando'a curse words, her gaze turning fiery. "I thought you would be the first worthy leader we've had in centuries! Of all the irresponsible, foolhardy things you could have done- what were you thinking, Kenobi?"

"They are a means to an end," he explains, keeping his composure. "You wish to return Mandalore to its former glory, and I wish to ensure its peace. The only way to do that is to end the war, and Count Dooku-"

"Count Dooku? That's who you decided to run off to?"

“Well, yes. Didn’t you watch the security recordings?”

“They were deleted moments after you left.” She is still scowling at him. “I thought that was your doing.”

Obi-Wan hums briefly. The loss of the recordings may be a very bad sign, if the Jedi Council hasn't received them. “It was not.”

“Maybe it was your new friend Dooku.”

"As… unorthodox as his methods may be, Dooku's support is the key we need to end the war."

"A war that never affected Mandalore in the first place."

"Never affected-" Obi-Wan scoffs. "A war that will destroy the galaxy if left unchecked. A war that got Satine killed without Republic interference."

Bo-Katan goes silent, and for a moment, he thinks she's going to yell at him before she seems to rethink it. "And how, exactly, do you know Dooku won't just stab you in the back the first chance he gets?"

She does have a bit of a point there. "That's a risk I'm going to have to take," he says anyway.

Then they are met with silence as she studies Obi-Wan up and down, from his armor to his Dark-tainted eyes. She sighs.

“Fine,” she concedes, though her tone is still sharp. “As much as I don’t like it, Sabine trusted you, so I… trust you, Kenobi. Acheron. Do you really expect me to call you that?”

He chuckles slightly, causing his ribs to ache. “Yes, I do.”

"If you say so." She shifts, looking over her shoulder for a second before turning back to him. "Back to the topic at hand. How are you planning on bringing order to our people, Mand'alor?"

"First things first," he says, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I need to make an address to both our planet and the Senate, as well as the Separatist Council, if possible. Then, once my training has finished here, I will return to Mandalore and personally oversee the war effort."

"The war effort? Alor-"

"I know, Bo, don't remind me!" he exclaims, eyes flashing, then exhales, trying to expel his sudden rage. "Just trust me on this."

She doesn't acknowledge that, only frowns deeper. "And how long is this 'training' of yours supposed to take?"

"I'm not entirely sure." He frowns, reviewing Dooku's last few painful 'training' sessions. "Just continue what you're doing and prepare for my return- I have a feeling it will be fairly soon."

"For our new leader, you're not doing a great job on your first days of leading."

Obi-Wan chuckles bitterly. "I suppose not. Look out for a message to Mandalore in a few hours. Otherwise, I'll be in contact, with you or one of the others."

"You had better. And K- Acheron?"

"Yes?"

She looks him up and down once more, debating the words before she says them. "I like the new armor. K'oyacyi."

She disappears, leaving Obi-Wan alone with his thoughts. Bo-Katan is accepting each of his decisions, albeit reluctantly, allowing him to further his plans for Mandalore. Her sister would certainly oppose everything he’s put into motion so far.

Is this the darkness you swore to your master you'd never succumb to?

Search for the true reason you Fell.

He shakes himself abruptly, pushing his dream from his mind.

Dooku is expecting him, and after- after, he's going to rattle the stars.

<()><()><()>

Padmé is having a rough week.

She knows that the outcome of the war may have been changed by the events on Mandalore earlier a few days ago. The Chancellor seems to think that the whole situation is Jedi business and therefore not the Republic’s problem as of yet, but she knows better. Duchess Satine Kryze led the Council of Neutral Systems, and with her death, it is still unclear how the thousands of planets under her leadership are planning to proceed, let alone Mandalore itself. There are rumors that the world is in ruin after Maul’s conquest, rumors that they are building an army against the Republic or Confederacy, rumors that a Jedi has taken control of their government, rumors that they are under the influence of a Sith Lord, rumors that Obi-Wan Kenobi has disappeared from the battlefield.

Oh, Obi-Wan.

It’s not public knowledge yet, what happened to the Jedi Master. Only she, the Chancellor, Senator Organa, and the Vice Chancellor were notified by the Jedi Council of the full truth- at least in the Senate. From what Anakin has told her, the entire GAR has been made aware by now, a fact that he seems justifiably angry about.

Well, Anakin seems angry about all the events this past week.

She can’t say that she isn’t affected by it, either. Satine was her friend, and so was Obi-Wan- at least, she thinks he was. She really can’t envision him going on a rampage and joining the leader of the Separatists. Anakin, perhaps, if it was her, but Obi-Wan has always been so clear-headed, so logical, so loyal to his men and the Jedi. He is a brilliant strategist, a brutally efficient duelist, and has always been a powerful, compassionate Lightsider.

He is going to be a terrifying enemy.

“Don’t think about him like that, Padmé,” she mutters under her breath. Anakin has made it very clear that he doesn’t expect his former master to be gone for good, though whether that’s a judge of character or just wishful thinking is still uncertain. Personally, she believes that there must be at least some other force at play here- betrayal is hardly the Jedi way.

Or perhaps, the Dark Side is just that corrosive.

“You look troubled, my dear Senator.”

Padmé jumps, turning to find Chancellor Palpatine walking beside her, and gives him an apologetic smile. “Chancellor. I apologize. I’m a bit… on edge lately.”

He chuckles, allowing her to fall in step with him. “Aren’t we all? This war has taken quite the toll on all of us, I’m afraid.”

“And yet, there’s still no end in sight,” she sighs, then realizes who she’s talking to.

The Chancellor doesn’t seem to mind, however. “Yes, the day the war is over will be a breath of relief for the galaxy. I just hope it comes sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, well,” she frowns, “once we figure out how to deal with the Mandalore situation, I’m sure the war will proceed much more smoothly.”

He hums thoughtfully. “I’m not sure there’s much to be done there. We can’t exactly send in Republic troops yet, and Mandalore’s alignment is still firmly neutral as far as we’ve heard. This… change in leadership does not affect us until the situation escalates.”

Padmé wants to express her disagreement, but she holds her tongue- there will be time for that soon. “That is what this meeting is to decide, Chancellor.”

He chuckles once more, and concedes amicably.

They have finally reached the entrance to the Senate floors, and she bids the Chancellor good luck before heading to her own repulsorpod. She is surprised to see, however, two familiar figures standing there already, waiting.

“Anakin, Ahsoka. It’s good to see you, but- what are you doing here?” She asks- not accusatory, just inquisitive. Anakin had told her they were being redeployed soon.

He gives her a pained smile. “Hi, Pa- Senator. The Jedi Council wants us to attend this meeting and get a read on the Senate’s decisions, find out… more about the Mandalore situation. We’ve already been cleared with the Chancellor- I hope you don’t mind.”

And more about Obi-Wan, is what goes unsaid. She sighs. “Well, of course not, but I doubt there will be much to report. This meeting is just a formality- the Chancellor has pretty much guaranteed that we will do nothing.”

At that, something dark passes through Anakin’s face, and she has to restrain the urge to grab his hand. She also notices that Ahsoka is being uncharacteristically quiet, her expression troubled.

She can’t even imagine what they must be feeling right now.

The meeting is called to order then, and the hall falls silent- a true rarity, nowadays.

“Esteemed Senators,” the Chancellor begins, voice booming across the room. “I welcome you to this conference. As our first order of business, it has been proposed that we send Republic troops to the neutral-declared planet of Mandalore-”

He is cut off, suddenly, by a screech of static that causes all Senators to wince. The screens on each pod flicker to a new image, as do the holoprojectors, and Padmé gasps when the form comes into view- a man in Mandalorian armor, straight-backed and regal.

The pair next to her tense immediately, and with an icy shiver, she realizes who this man must be.

“Good afternoon, Senators, Chancellor,” the figure says, and his voice, though filtered through a helmet and the transmission of the holoprojector, is so familiar yet so, so different, a light Mandalorian tilt replacing the recognizable Coruscanti one. It rings across the Senate, drawing undivided attention from all present- not an easy feat to accomplish. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything terribly important. I had heard that today was the day the Republic decides Mandalore’s fate.”

Anakin inhales sharply beside her, and she spares him a glance in worry. “That symbol,” he whispers, pale, and now she can see it, too- though the holoprojector shows no colors on Obi-Wan’s armor, there is a faint outline of some spoked, circular insignia in the center of his chest.

The projection straightens, and though she cannot see his face, it feels like his eyes are boring straight through them. “I also extend greetings to the Council of Neutral Systems and the Confederacy of Independent Systems, as I am transmitting this message to them as well. At least, I should be, if I have properly hacked their systems.”

And there is that boldness that Padmé remembers, that she is sure is the source of Anakin’s own recklessness. Hacking not only the Republic Senate, but the other two major organizations in this war? He really hasn’t lost his signature nerve.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” Obi-Wan continues, and Padmé knows at that moment that he will not use the name she knows- it would be a political error, draw too much attention to himself. “My name is Mand’alor Acheron, leader of- well, Mandalore. I earned the title upon the death of Duchess Satine Kryze-'' a pause there, almost imperceptible, but present, “-when I engaged in ritual combat with her murderer, a terrorist named Maul. I have been working remotely with the people to restore Mandalore to its former glory. But that isn’t why I’m sending this message.”

The entire Senate seems to hold its breath as he pauses, and when he speaks again, his tone is much less friendly. “Firstly, I would strongly advise against sending Republic forces to Mandalore. Our numbers are steadily climbing, and if you choose to pursue this course of action, we will retaliate with lethal force. Do not underestimate us- Mandalorians were once a warrior race, and we have not forgotten our past. I do hope none of you have, either.

“Which brings us to my second point.” If possible, his voice turns even colder. “Effective immediately, Mandalore is ceding from the Council of Neutral Systems and joining the Separatist Alliance.”

The spell of silence is broken at those words, and cries of outrage fill the Senate, overlapping one another in a deafening cacophony. Anakin is staring at the ground beside Padmé, and she can’t resist anymore- she grabs his hand and holds it tight in a show of support.

The yells don’t cease as Obi-Wan keeps talking, and she has to strain to make out his words. “As such, any troops the Republic sends to Mandalore will be considered an invasion and be dealt with immediately. We trust the Council of Neutral Systems to elect a suitable leader in Mandalore’s absence, and we… trust the Republic to make the right choice."

The Senate has finally begun to quiet down bit by bit, but it doesn't matter, because next, he says, "You'll find all necessary paperwork has already been completed. Any negotiations with Mandalore will be conducted through me or my advisor. Good day."

The armored hologram disappears, and chaos ensues.

It takes five attempts for the Chancellor to regain control of the Senate, and when he does, there are still mutterings and whispers being passed around. Padmé keeps silent, watching, thinking.

"Senators!" Palpatine cries, attempting to retain some semblance of order. "We were brought here today to debate the matter of the occupation of Mandalore. However, in light of recent events, I believe a debate is no longer necessary, and we will proceed with a vote."

"What?" Ahsoka exclaims. "He can't do that!"

Padmé's frown draws deeper. "Actually, he can. We weren't going to discuss the invasion of a Separatist state- we were going to discuss the occupation of a neutral system. Now that those conditions have changed, he is well within his rights to hold a preliminary vote until more details are uncovered."

"That's too much power," the Togrutan mutters, and Padmé is inclined to agree.

Anakin says nothing, but his grip tightens on hers.

The voting begins, and Padmé hurriedly casts her vote before turning to her husband. “Obi-Wan wouldn’t actually respond with lethal force, right? He’d never willingly hurt the clones.”

“I don’t know what he’d do anymore,” Anakin replies in a low voice, brow furrowed in either pain or confusion, she can’t tell. “That symbol- on his armor. Did you recognize it, Snips?”

She seems to mull it over, before she gasps in realization. "Wha- are you sure, Master?"

“We’d need to consult the council,” he says, looking thoroughly displeased with the idea, “but… I’m pretty sure that’s what I think it is.”

"What is it?" Padmé asks, feeling quite out of the loop, as she often does around multiple Jedi.

Anakin meets her gaze, and she doesn't need the Force to sense his inner conflict. "That's the symbol of the Sith Empire."

Silence hangs between them as she contemplates the meaning of the words, accompanied by the murmurings of the Senate. The Sith Empire… surely Obi-Wan would have known the Jedi would recognize the symbol- what purpose does he have to display it? It has only been a few days- would he truly cast the symbol of the Jedi away so quickly, replace his teachings with darker ones?

"Master," Ahsoka says, tone cautious, "if he's really joined the Sith, if he's allying with the Separatists… Will we actually be able to get him back?"

Anakin straightens, a cold sort of resolve forming behind his eyes as he meets his student's gaze. "We have to try, Ahsoka. Obi-Wan doesn't do anything without a reason."

Padmé's hand is still grasping his, and continues to grasp his as the three of them think, as the Senate finishes casting their votes, as the Chancellor announces that they will not, in fact, be sending troops to Mandalore.

She sighs through her nose. The galaxy seems to have been thrust into chaos since the beginning of the war- even more so now, with Mandalore joining the Confederacy and more sure to follow.

She can only hope that Anakin is right about his master, that they may still find an ally in him, or at least a sliver of Light. If not… 

She prays the Republic would be able to survive the carnage.

<()><()><()>

"Jate tuur. People of Manda'yaim , I speak to you today with a solemn atmosphere. For those of you who may not know me, I am Acheron, recently inducted as leader of our people by way of ritual combat and sustained by Bo-Katan Kryze, sister to Duchess Satine. The passing of our Duchess… was both tragic and injust, and the perpetrator has since been brought to justice. I assure you, I wish only to fulfill Satine Kryze’s wishes and secure peace for Mandalore, allow it to prosper as it should.

“That being said, in this galaxy, peace is unattainable by way of negligence. The war that rages from system to system will not leave us unscathed if we sit back and watch. We must take a stand, fight back against the forces that fight to destroy us, as we have done so many times before. I have consulted with my advisors and what remains of Duchess Satine’s court, and we believe the best course of action will be to cede from the Council of Neutral Systems and join the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

“I know that this may seem a controversial decision to a good portion of you. However, true peace cannot be attained without security. I will allow neither clone nor droid occupation of Mandalore, not while they would terrorize the people within. I will also not allow the corruption that is rooted in the Senate and the galaxy as a whole to sink its claws into our people. This alliance with the Confederacy is only to defend Mandalore, to allow it to secure a place in this ever-changing galaxy. We have not gone unaffected by the war despite our neutral status, suffering death and destruction, and this is the opportunity we have to prevent that. It is time we embrace the ways of the past, and stand firm in our traditions and our values. We will survive, and we will prosper, and I hope to support the people in any way I can when traversing this path.

"I know we will not be able to forget our Duchess- I myself took her death to heart, being very close to Satine. However, val cuyir nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la , and it is our duty to honor and remember her. I hope you will be able to see as I do, to support us as I support you. Any concerns may be brought to me or my advisors, and will be met with the utmost importance. I swear to do the most in my ability to allow Mandalore to thrive as it once did. Haat, ijaa, haa'it. Farewell."

Chapter Text

<()><(4)><()>

"Again."

Kenobi pants as he stands and raises his blades once more, audible even through the helmet he wears. Dooku can tell he is getting fatigued- the double-bladed saber belonging to Savage Opress is heavier than the normal lightsaber, and hangs lower than it had when they had started, even with only one end lit and the length adjusted. It is not helping that Dooku is instructing Kenobi to use Ataru now, an antithesis to his natural conservative Soresu. It is not that the man is not proficient in it- he has clearly studied and worked to perfect each of the seven forms, except for perhaps Form VII. However, they have been training for the better part of the day, and even using his preferred form for the whole time would have worn him down, though not nearly as much.

They’re running through each of the seven forms one by one, standard and Jar'Kai, out of armor and in, to test Kenobi's proficiency in combat. So far, he hasn't disappointed in the least. Dooku has stuck to Form II against him, and is doing a very good job at pretending he isn't fatigued, if he says so himself. They've been at this for hours, after all.

Kenobi's Ataru form is slightly restricted by the armor he wears, more noticeably than his other forms. The main problem is his chestplate- the shar'tas, Dooku believes it was called?- preventing much movement of his core. When he fought without it, he achieved much greater agility and flexibility. The helmet isn't doing him any favors, either- the lack of visibility and muffled senses make him slightly slower than when he had fought without the armor, hours before.

Still, he's doing just fine anyways.

Relatively speaking.

After many more minutes of combat, the Darksaber gets knocked from his hand, and it takes only a few more parries and strikes before the double-bladed saber is on the ground as well. Kenobi leaps to retrieve them, but a well-timed Force push from Dooku finds him sprawled on the floor once more.

"Again," Dooku repeats. "Form V, Jar'Kai variant."

Kenobi seems to consider just staying on the floor, breathing heavily, before slowly rising and making his way towards the fallen blades. "This would go much quicker," he pants, "if you would tell me what you are looking for, Master."

"The point of this exercise is not to get it over with, my apprentice," he replies, spinning his saber once. "We are assessing your skills. If you are to fight with two blades, or a double-blade, or Mandalorian armor, then you must be able to actually fight. If you cannot handle this exercise, you will not be able to handle the battles we are choosing."

The man says nothing in return, though his aura takes on the now-familiar dark determination as he shifts to the opening stance for Form V.

Truth be told, Dooku does not quite know what to think of his young apprentice. For one who feels so deeply, he’s keeping a firm lock on his emotions, much like he did as a Jedi- or at least preventing Dooku from sensing them. The only time he’s been able to fully read them is when he allows himself to embrace the Dark with no barriers- which is becoming more often the more they spar.

His master was not wrong- there is a bleeding wellspring of anger and sorrow in the man, waiting to be unleashed at its full potential. If he is being honest, Dooku is astounded that Kenobi never Fell before now. Before he left the Jedi Order, his connection with his grandpadawan had been… distant, at best, but he still knew about Melidaan, about Xanatos, about everything Kenobi went through in his padawanship, and that is not even counting his experience during this war.

Though, he supposes, the war was partially his fault as well.

All out of necessity, of course.

"Again."

They clash, they dance, Kenobi is disarmed.

"Again."

Frustration radiates off the younger man, and it destabilizes him, and Dooku's blade is at his neck once more.

"Again."

He's making noticeable mistakes now, perhaps due to his less-than-excellency in Djem So, perhaps due to his growing fatigue, perhaps due to his lingering anger.

"Form VI, Jar'Kai variant."

Kenobi takes the opportunity to visibly center himself, and he lasts much longer than he had with Form V.

"Again."

At some point, he seems to abandon the double-bladed saber entirely, leaving it on the ground for much too long, adjusting to the level of balance required for Niman. One-bladed Niman.

"I said Jar'Kai variant, Apprentice. Again."

He holds onto his saber this time, but with no small amount of bitterness rippling around him. He doesn't last quite as long.

"Again."

They clash. He makes mistakes, and so does Dooku. The master is starting to wonder if this tireless sparring was the way to proceed, but he has no room to doubt.

“Form VII, Juyo, Jar’Kai.”

The aggression radiating from Kenobi seems to increase tenfold, and he supposes that makes sense, with the form they are studying. However, it is evident he has not practiced this style nearly as much, and the contrast to his Soresu proficiency is staggering.

“Again.”

Kenobi’s eyes flash with rage, and he picks himself up quicker than before, only to be beaten back down.

“Again.”

The man lets out a yell, and with both hands, pushes Dooku across the room, where he hits the wall with a thud. He crosses the distance instantly, pointing one blade at his neck and the other at his chest, and for one of the only times today, Dooku is placed under his mercy.

Dooku hums, watching as Kenobi pants above him. “Not exactly the regimen we were following, Apprentice, but I will excuse it this once.”

“Thank you, Master,” he replies, but it looks as if the words pain him. He steps back and sheaths his blades, removing his helmet to reveal a sweat-covered face.

The Sith Lord rises, scoffing a little. “I thought, being so proficient in Form III, you would have better endurance, Master Kenobi.”

He can tell the words sting by the way his posture straightens and his aura condenses. “Perhaps, but I have not been using Soresu, Count. If I had asked you to run through the lightsaber forms, four times in a row, I believe you would have fared similarly.”

“That may be so,” Dooku began to walk back to the center of the room, Kenobi following, “but I am not the one we are focusing on.”

They walk in silence for a moment, out the door and into one of the many long hallways, before Dooku speaks once more.

"I'm authorizing you to return to Mandalore."

Kenobi raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to go on.

"We cannot allow our newest allied planet to fall into disorder so speedily. You will meet with your… council, and discuss arrangements for the future. Then, you will bring warriors to the front lines.”

“Is that wise?” Kenobi asks. “Mandalore has been under Sa- the Duchess’s leadership for so long, I do not think they will take kindly to acts of aggression-”

“It is not aggression; it is preemptive self-defense, as I am certain you will convince the others. I have faith in you- this plan cannot fail.”

Or else, is what hangs in the air.

The other man is silent then, and Dooku knows he is taking his words to heart. He smiles, ever-so-slightly.

It is good, having the famed general on his side.

<()><()><()>

“This is outrageous!”

Bo-Katan sighs through her nose as yet another councilmember explodes at Kenobi. They've been at this table for hours, disputing back and forth about the next steps for Mandalore's future. Kenobi, to his credit, remains as steely calm as he did the moment the meeting commenced- she supposes they don't call him ‘the Negotiator’ for nothing.

“I understand your concerns,” Kenobi repeats for what feels like the twelfth time today, his voice skewed with the familiar Mandalorian accent. He places his arms on the table, steepling his fingers in front of him. “Believe me, I have reviewed them extensively myself. But we cannot stand idly by and wait for a Republic invasion. The only logical action is to engage.”

“Mandalore is barely back on its feet!” The councilmember- Krei, his name was- states. And he’s right. It has only been a week since Satine’s funeral, and repairs have been hastily executed, along with attempts to assemble the people under a common goal. It is in more disorder than it has been these past few years- and that’s saying something.

“And that is why we will build ourselves up before attacking. I am only thinking ahead. Mandalore is a warrior race, is it not?”

And, haar’chak, Bo knows Kenobi has a silver tongue, but seeing it in action these past few days has been on another level entirely. She can tell he has most of the council convinced, but Krei still rages.

“Advisor Kryze, you vouch for this- this aruetii?” He points his accusing finger to her, and she straightens hotly.

“Mand’alor Acheron is a man that Duchess Satine placed her full trust in. How else would he know so much about us? Be so entrenched in our culture?” She pulls her shoulders back. “He wishes to restore Mandalore- and for that, I stand completely behind him.”

Half-lies and half-truths- that’s the web she’s spinning now. She may not agree entirely with Kenobi’s methods, but in order to accomplish her goals, she needs to sustain him in this moment. As much as she does not like it, Kenobi is their best chance of securing Mandalore’s future.

Krei scoffs, but the acid in his tone recedes as he says, “What about droid occupation? If we are going to be fighting with them, will Count Dooku not want to send them here? That is something we cannot allow.”

“Believe me,” Kenobi’s yellow eyes flash dangerously, “Dooku would be cut down before he tried.”

Osik. Dar’jetii are scary. She doesn’t doubt he would go through with it, either.

Krei does not look happy, but he takes his seat once more. The other councilmembers shift around him.

“Thank you,” Kenobi says. “I thoroughly believe that our arrangements will be for the benefit of our race. We have discussed this enough today, have we not? Gar liser ba'slanar.”

The others wait for him to stand, and bow their heads as he exits. Bo-Katan follows him closely, replacing her buy’ce. While she is in full armor, he wears traditional Mandalore royalty garb- and, she has to admit, it suits him. The armor he forged himself may be more practical for battle or as a symbol of power, but to win over the councilmembers, the elaborate dark blue tunic certainly is the way to go. He clasps his hands behind his back as they walk, and she catches sight of the Darksaber at his hip. She doesn’t believe he’s parted with the weapon since he won it.

“That was…” she wanted to use a multitude of words, but opted for milder vocabulary, “...something. I don’t know how you can stand them. These politics make me want to throw up.”

“It comes with practice,” he replies, unfazed, returning to his Coruscanti accent. Unlike the storm of emotions she has observed in him recently, he practices restraint with careful familiarity. She supposes growing up a Jedi would have something to do with that. “The more you expose yourself to politics, the more desensitized you become.”

“Bic ni skana'din,” she mutters under her breath. She didn’t realize what she was getting into with all of these miniscule details and privileged politicians.

Evidently, Kenobi heard her, because he laughs. There is a pause between them, then he says, “I’m making you my al’verde.”

Bo’s eyes go wide under her helmet. “I can’t say I wouldn’t be right for the job, but… why?”

“While it is nice to have your support in the government,” he says, “when we make it to the battlefield, I will need someone to watch my back. Not to mention, I believe the people will feel more secure with you in a warrior and leader position. Then you can call yourself something other than just my advisor.”

“I’m honored, Mand’alor,” she responds, bowing slightly. It’s a good move all around, she has to admit. It will add legitimacy to himself while providing morale and intimidating enemies with her reputation. She shouldn’t be surprised, at this point, that he is five steps ahead of the game. Satine always did have a taste for the smart ones.

Her heart aches at that thought, and she casts it away.

“Of course,” he waves her away, then turns to look her in the eyes. “I know you won’t fail me.”

Despite the helmet between them, she shivers at the eye contact. She doesn’t know what it is, but something about this man, this dar’jetii, is entirely unnerving. For some reason, his cold calculation scares her more than the display he showed in the throne room.

She nods, and the pair continue through the halls of the palace.

She clenches her fists to stop them from shaking, desperately hoping she is doing the right thing.

<()><()><()>

Meditation has never been Anakin’s strong suit- and especially not today. His thoughts are louder than ever, tendrils of doubt, anger, betrayal battling for attention at the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t want to go deeper into his own feelings- he knows he will just find more of the same there. And he doubts the other jedi would be satisfied, if they know what he is thinking.

He has never been so… confused. His former master has some flaws, sure, but never once has Anakin doubted his connection to the Light. It has been over a month since Obi-Wan’s transmission to the Senate, and he has received nothing but radio silence from his end. Will Obi-Wan actually fight against him? Is he that far gone? He hasn’t done anything along that path yet.

Well, besides joining Count Dooku and the Separatists.

He exhales sharply through his nose. What had Dooku said to him, that day? Why had they blocked that portion of the recording? If he knew, perhaps he could better understand Obi-Wan’s thought process. None of it lines up- but what experiences has Anakin had with the Dark Side of the Force? Who is he to judge its corruptive lure?

The image of Obi-Wan’s burning eyes cuts into his mind, and he flinches slightly.

“Master,” comes Ahsoka’s voice, and he opens one eye to find her standing over him. “The men are ready to move out.”

Anakin nods and stands, running a hand over his face. He sighs, and Ahsoka eyes him out of the corner of her eye.

“Master…” She hesitates, seemingly gauging how he will react. “Master Luminara said that we should release our feelings for Master Kenobi into the Force; they will only cause us pain.”

He doesn’t respond, instead pushing open the flap to the tent. She frowns at this, but doesn’t say anything more.

“How are we looking, Rex?” He asks as they draw near the captain.

He stands at attention, helmet removed. “All lights green, General. We are ready for our next assault, and so is the 212th.”

“Good. Tell the men to move out- we’re heading for the droid base.”

“Sir. Move out!” He shouts to the others, and the company begins moving.

“Um, Master…” Ahsoka begins, tentatively.

“What is it, Snips?”

“Are we sure Cody and the 212th are going to be fine without a Jedi? I could still…”

“Cody assured me they could handle it,” he responded, barely looking over. Thinking about Cody still hurts, but it is a necessity. “I have faith in them.”

“All due respect, Commander,” Rex cuts in, “if I know anything about Commander Cody, it’s that he’s capable. The 212th will be fine. They’ll do their part in the east, just as we will in the west.”

“If you’re sure,” she says. Caution still laces her tone, but Anakin ignores it.

This system, Yyger, is the closest they’ve strayed to Mandalore in months. As a result, this is where they’re most likely to come into contact with his former master. He doesn’t know whether the Council’s decision to send them here was due to this fact, or in spite of it.

He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

He’s not even sure he ever wants to come face-to-face with the man again.

He faces the front of the troops, banishing all thoughts of Obi-Wan from his mind. This is already a difficult campaign, and he does not need to make it harder with distractions. He needs to be in top shape for his men.

He just hopes he can hold them together- and, more importantly, hold himself together- long enough to push forward.

<()><()><()>

Far above the planet of Yyger, a Mandalorian cruiser is suspended in orbit, ready to begin landing. It has so far eluded detection by the Republic, hanging in the shadow of Separatist forces, waiting for its turn to approach the surface.

The al’verde on the deck turns to her armored superior, her buy’ce hanging under her arm. “We are ready to begin the landing sequence. We are set to rendezvous with droid forces in the fourth quadrant on the east.”

“Good,” he replies, voice altered by the helmet. “Make sure all preparations are in order, then head to the surface. It’s time we make our mark on the galaxy.”

Chapter Text

<()><(5)><()>

The pair laughs as they race across the fields, hand in hand. The young man slows for a moment, and the woman turns, pulling him along, now with both hands. However, it doesn’t last long, because she trips over seemingly nothing, and they go down, landing hard in the dirt.

“Do you think we lost him?” Satine asks, brushing her dirtied hair out of her face.

Ben pushes himself up slightly, looking around, before falling back down. “I believe so. There's no sign of him. He’s certainly not going to be happy when we return.”

“Oh, come now, Ben,” says the royal. “Let’s not worry about that yet. Come, let’s practice your Mando’a.”

They sit up, across from one another, and she begins to quiz him on many phrases back and forth. He has always been good at picking up languages, and each right answer makes her eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly.

“Alright…” she says, and he grins at the begrudgingly impressed expression she wears. “Don’t give me that look, Obi!”

“Code name, Satine- I’m Ben, remember?”

“Hmph. What does ‘gar cuyir ori'buyce, kih'kovid’ mean?”

“That’s a common insult, meaning ‘you are all helmet, no head’, an expression of one’s stupidi- hey!”

She laughs as he pushes her arm, and the sound makes him grin wider. He leans back and looks up at the sun, basking in this feeling.

He doesn’t understand how the other Jedi expect him to give this up.

“What is ‘nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la’?”

He turns his attention back to her, surprised. “That’s awfully morbid for such a nice day.”

“I don’t believe so. What does it mean?”

He huffs. “‘Not gone, but marching far away.’ It is to commemorate those dead.”

She hums in acknowledgement, but doesn’t look at him.

He frowns, confused. “What is it?”

“Do you ever contemplate that statement?”

“Again, another morbid comment for a day such as this. I’d rather just enjoy your presence.”

“I am serious, Ben. What do you think about it?”

He looks at her, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. Where did this come from? “I think it is an amazing statement. Mandalorians and Jedi are more similar than I believe either party wants to admit- besides the obvious differences, of course-”

“Of course.”

“-and this statement is a perfect example of that. Old Mandalorian culture is about warriors living in victory even beyond the grave, and with the Force, the Jedi believe we will live as one, in the end.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm? What’s hmm?”

“So you’ve grown up with this very philosophy?”

Ben doesn’t quite think he likes where this is going. Something cold has begun to form around them, blotting out the landscape. “Yes- I have.”

“And yet, you do not accept it.”

“What? Satine-?”

She finally turns to face him, and he reels backwards. Her eyes are pools of black, spilling over with smoky tears. She leans forward as he leans away, and he spots the gaping, pulsing wound in her chest. “Not gone- marching far away. That is what I am now, yes?”

He gasps for air- when did the warmth leech from this place? When was the image of Mandalore replaced by a barren, gray expanse? “Satine- I-I don’t know what you’re talking about-”

“Why did you Fall?” Her hand grips his chin- but her nails are claws, and they dig into his skin. The pain grounds him and disorients him at once- he can’t think straight, and her face is distorted, now, has become something grotesque- “You must tell me, Obi-Wan! It is essential!”

“Fall?”

“Now, Obi-Wan!”

“I-”

“Why?”

Obi-Wan pulls himself out of his meditation with a rattling gasp. No, that was not meditation- that was torture. It takes him many moments to become aware enough to realize objects are strewn about the cabin, cast by some invisible force- or, rather, Force. Including various flight equipment and his own Darksaber.

He has been having nightmares on and off for years, especially this last month or so, but never have they been so… cruel. At least, not in recent memory. The last time they were this bad was…

“We’ve landed, Alor-” comes Bo-Katan’s voice from the door, and she stops abruptly. “What in the two moons happened here?”

“Next time, Bo,” says Obi-Wan, rising and rubbing a hand across his face, “I would prefer it if you knocked.”

She frowns heavily, and he realizes that was the first time he used her first name since the funeral. Normally, he would be disappointed in himself- he has an image to uphold, after all- but his vision has left him so shaken that he can’t bring himself to care.

“We’ve landed in the fourth east quadrant,” she continues, as if nothing happened. “The droids-” she practically spits the word, “-are engaged in the third quadrant. Your plan is ready to be executed.”

“Perfect. I will be right out.”

He waves his hand, and the various objects replace themselves in their designated spots. Bo-Katan watches for a moment, distrust and fascination clouding her aura, then exits.

As the Darksaber clips itself to his side, he sighs. Evidently the comment the Satine of his mind made those weeks ago has stuck with him. Why did he Fall? Despite his much pondering on the subject, he cannot figure out what she meant. If he did not Fall for love, for revenge, then why did he?

Was it the lure of power? Was it the rage, the bloodlust that comes with it? Was it Maul’s influence on him?

Or was it some other factor entirely?

Pushing those thoughts to a corner where he can review them later, he supposes he should exit the room now- today will be a busy day, after all. He places his buy’ce on his head and strides out the door, catching his reflection on the shiny metal of the hallway.

He looks regal. Powerful.

Dark.

Oh, if only Qui-Gon could see him now. He would probably drag him by the ear back to the Light- or just fight him head-on. Turn it into a lesson. He smiles a little at the thought, but then his mind is returned to his dream, to the possibility that his old master may just be watching now, and he slams that door shut.

He joins his al’verde at the landing bay, and the small crowd of warriors parts for him. Once he has reached the front, he turns to face them. “Remember the plan. Minimal casualties. Heads high- this is where we finally begin to regain our strength. Val Kelir hibirar at ke nu'jurkadir sha Mando'ade! Oya!”

Cries of “Oya!” are repeated around him, and the buzz of adrenaline hangs in the air, fills Obi-Wan’s very bones. Even knowing who he is about to confront cannot temper the thrall of battle that runs through him.

This is new- and he doesn’t dislike it.

Bo-Katan lowers the walkway, and the verde run onto the battlefield, led by their Dark Mand’alor.

<()><()><()>

“We must take action,” says Ki-Adi Mundi. “We cannot wait for this situation to escalate-”

“We have taken action,” Master Windu interjects, sounding very annoyed. Yoda is tempted to giggle at his frustration. “The 501st and the 212th are in the Yyger system at this moment. If Mandalore is going to make a move, now is the time.”

“We cannot do anything without the approval of the Senate,” Master Koon states, one hand stroking his mask. “Even if there were something we could do without it being considered an attack, we would never be able to go behind the Senate’s back.”

“If he chooses to use it against us, Obi-Wan is in possession of quite possibly the most dangerous information available to the Separatists.” Master Mundi is right, as Yoda so deeply knows. “And without its High General, the Third Systems Army and Open Circle Fleet are in no shape to counter. We are severely outmatched, regardless of whether Mandalore itself will attack. The logical option would be to track down Obi-Wan himself before he can do more damage.”

“Not to mention, he already wears the symbol of the Sith,” says another Master, but Yoda is barely listening.

“Hmm.”

All heads turn to the Grandmaster, and he lowers his own in thought. The Force is clouded, now more than ever, but he has always been good with premonition.

“Approaching, a storm is,” he says with his eyes closed. “Believe, I do, that the first step to harming us, Obi-Wan has taken. Contact the 212th battalion, we should.”

The others exchange glances, and then, begin to talk over one another once again. They sound so similar to the Senate that it is almost unnerving. Yoda sighs, and Master Windu catches his gaze. Understanding passes between them.

“We should convene.” Windu stands, silencing the cacophony of voices. “We can discuss more later. If this… storm is coming, we should prepare individually. I will contact Skywalker.”

There are a few lingering murmurs, but no one objects. Holograms flicker away, and those present stand as well.

Master Windu makes his way to Yoda, and the pair exit silently. They travel down the hall for a moment before Yoda says, “Much to say, have you? Questions, hmm?”

“You told me after Master Kenobi’s Fall that we should not interfere.”

“Yes.”

Master Windu seems surprised by his lack of hesitation. “Are you still of that opinion?”

“Believe, I do, that more we are not seeing, there is,” he replies. His cane thumps hard against the ground. “But let down our guard, we should not. Many points, Master Mundi has made.”

“So… checking in on the 212th.”

“Feel it, do you not?” Yoda whacks Mace’s leg with his cane. The other Master barely reacts- like everyone else in the Temple, he has experienced this many times over. “Hmm? Your sense of the Dark Side- thought, I did, that better tuned, it was.”

“It’s odd,” says Master Windu, frowning now. “Since that day, I have barely been able to sense shatterpoints. It feels almost as if the Force itself has shut me out.”

“Strange, that is,” Yoda can’t resist a smile, “considering affected, my senses are not.”

That isn’t entirely true, but Master Windu’s expression is well worth it, and he cackles.

They reach one of the holotable rooms, and Master Windu begins booting it up. After a moment of blank static, the form of Ahsoka Tano rises from the table.

“Hello, Masters,” she says. Immediately, Yoda picks up on her fatigue- they must be between assaults. “What can I help you with?”

“Where is General Skywalker?” Mace asks, stepping forward. “We would like to speak with him.”

“He’s resting.” She smiles a little. “Kix finally got him to take care of himself, for once. I don’t think it would be… wise to wake him right now.”

Yoda and Master Windu share a glance. “Been in contact with the 212th, have you?”

“Not recently…” She seems tentative. “The last we heard, Commander Cody had started his assault in the east quadrants. We haven’t been in touch for at least the past cycle.”

Yoda thinks for a moment, then nods to Master Windu. It will be best just to tell her.

“Master Yoda believes-” Mace starts, then tries again. “We believe that he and the 212th may be in danger. Mandalore is going to act.”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen. “A-are you sure, Masters?”

“Certain enough, we are.” Yoda watches as her aura tightens with fear, hope, surprise. “Moved, Obi-Wan has. Speak with the Commander, you must. If reach him, you cannot, perhaps join him, your best option would be.”

“I’ll contact him immediately. Should I wake Anakin?”

“If you don’t hear from the 212th, then yes. As soon as possible.”

“I’ll do my best, Masters.”

“May the Force be with you, Padawan Tano.”

The transmission cuts, and the two Jedi Masters are left alone. Master Windu turns once more to Yoda.

“With the Force being so quiet… is it going to be possible to determine any more of the war’s future? Of Obi-Wan’s intentions?

Yoda sighs heavily. The more he ponders and meditates, the more obvious the signs seem- and the less certain he feels. The only answer he has for Mace- “Blind, we were, if foresee this, we did not. Only hope, we can, that lost his senses entirely, young Kenobi has not.”

Master Windu is dissatisfied with that response- Yoda can read it in his expression and his Force presence. But he does not voice this, instead murmuring in confirmation, “We can only hope.”

<()><()><()>

"Contact, contact! Point-five-oh, droids to the south!"

The voice mixes with dozens of other troopers', but it's all Cody needs to hear before he starts dishing out his own orders.

"Ghost Company, Charlie formation! Split up, we need all hands on deck!"

He gets multiple affirmatives and "yessir"s in response, and the men follow his instruction without question, working as one well-oiled unit.

A unit with a gaping hole in the center.

He's led the 212th without his general before- being Marshall Commander, it's been part of his job description to take over when Kenobi would run off on Jedi Council-sanctioned missions or was called in to deal with General Skywalker and the 501st. If he doesn't think about it too much, he can pretend that now is another one of those times- that the General is off on some undercover mission, leaving him under the distant command of Skywalker, and will return as soon as the mission is over.

It pains him to know better.

Skywalker, to his credit, is faring moderately well in command of two battalions- mostly because Cody himself is still mainly retaining control of the 212th. It’s quite a bit of pressure on the commander’s shoulders, but he’s had worse in this time of war. And the extra work helps- it distracts him from thoughts of his former General for too long.

His wrist communicator beeps with Ahsoka’s frequency, and he blasts a droid between the eyes before taking cover and answering. “Yes, Commander?”

“-sszt- status- sszt- warn-”

“You’re breaking up, Sir.” He turns and fires three bolts over his shoulder. “And I apologize, but I don’t really have time to talk now.”

“Danger- szzt- I’m comi- szzt…”

“Sir? Sir?” It’s no use- the comm has dissolved to static. An explosion falls a little too close for comfort. He sighs and jumps out of cover, switching to a different frequency. "Captain, status!"

“We're holed up on the ridge! Oh-point-three-seven, Seppies in Mandalorian armor!”

What?

“Confirm, trooper!” Cody shouts into his comm, nailing another droid in the head. He hopes desperately that the intel was relayed incorrectly. "Repeat status!"

“They’ve pinned us down in the fourth quadrant! Repeat, hostiles in beskar’gam-”

There’s a blaster fire, a yell, and the Captain’s comm shuts off.

Cody swears rather violently in Mando’a, only realizing after the irony of it. He turns to Boil next to him. “Lieutenant, I’m leaving you in control of this front!  Phantom, Shadow, Mirage, on me!” The droids are almost all scrap here, anyway, and Tano is apparently on her way.

Boil fires of a salute, distracted by a blaster bolt aimed towards his head. The designated squadrons respond with a choir of affirmatives and follow without hesitation as he peels from the group. He doesn’t know exactly what they’re running into, and he hopes these men will be enough.

It takes them a long while to make their way to the fourth quadrant- as most have often found, minutes on the battlefield can feel like hours. They dodge explosions and blaster fire, and lose a few men along the way, which makes Cody’s chest ache, but there’s no time to mourn.

At first glance, the fourth quadrant seems much less chaotic. There are scrapped droids and bodies of fallen brothers, but all blaster fire seems distant, the pinkish mist of the planet muting its far flashes. But then the soldiers come into view, and dread floods Cody’s senses.

The captain was right- the opposition is decked out fully in beskar armor, and they are winning. Despite the large forces Cody stationed in this quadrant, they seem enormously outnumbered due to the Mandalorians’ invulnerability and their losses from the droids. A clone knocks the pistol out of an enemy’s hands, and he watches as they instead knock the clone out with one blow.

“Move it, men!” He shouts, despite the hopeless scene unfolding before them. If he’s going down, he’s going down fighting. “Aim for the armor chinks!”

The Mandalorians react immediately to the new threat, and men go down to the left and right of him. He shoots an enemy in the head, but the blast just bounces off, and the soldier doesn’t react. Just fires at another clone.

Something cold comes over him. He’s alone on the field now- his men have all spread out around him. There is no one at his side.

So why does he feel as if someone is watching him?

He turns, and the silhouette in the corner of his eye causes his boots to skid to a stop.

“Hello, there, Commander."

Cody’s instincts scream at him to keep firing, to keep moving, but his legs are leaden, his grip frozen on his blaster. He forces his limbs to move, to turn his body around so he’s facing the newcomer.

He could have recognized the new Mand’alor by his posture alone, but the armor obliterates any remaining doubts- or, perhaps, hopes- he could have. He’s seen the Senate address, of course he has- it’s been the talk of the Holonews ever since that fateful meeting. However, the dull blue of the holotransmitters doesn’t do the beskar’gam justice at all. The man wears nearly a full set, complete with kama and pauldrons, which surprises Cody- Kenobi once told him that armor is entirely impractical for Jedi acrobatics. Under the beskar is a reasonable facsimile of the robes he’s seen on Force-users before, just less flowy and tar-black. The metal itself has clearly been repainted recently- it is completely unscathed and such a reflective blue-black that Cody can see his own bucket in it. The black-on-black would have been disorienting were it not cut by red and gold accents, including a crimson symbol of some sort- an aliit?- on his chestplate. His left arm is covered by a weathered one-shoulder cape- a shade of blue so dark it could be black and lined with white- accentuating the imposing shadow he seems to cast. At his right hip hangs a blocky saber hilt, and at his left, a more conventional cylindrical hilt- distinctly not the one Cody has returned to him many times over. His face is shielded by a buy’ce that reveals nothing of his expression, though it strikes Cody that the lines of gold tracking their way along the visor are reminiscent of tears.

Cody understands the color choices, as much as he doesn’t want to- his knowledge combined with that the General had conferred upon him made certain of that. Black, for justice. Gold, for vengeance. Blue and white, the colors of Clan Kryze.

Red, the color of the Sith.

This man is intimidating, dangerous, and familiar yet not, distant yet close enough to touch. He is an enemy.

Men are still falling around them.

The commander raises his blaster and fires.

It's a headshot, a foolhardy decision in retrospect, as the buy’ce would have repelled it anyway. But it never reaches the armor, and it takes Cody longer than it should to realize that the blaster bolt has stopped in midair, hanging in front of a raised, gloved hand.

Kenobi- not his Kenobi, not the Kenobi he knows- tilts his head, and Cody can imagine the look he’s leveling at him, a look he knows all too well. "That's no way to treat an old friend," he says, almost chastising, and Cody suppresses a shiver.

"We are not friends, dar’jetii,” he snarls, as much as the words pain him. A few weeks ago, he would have given his life for his general in an instant, and he knows Kenobi would have done the same, the self-sacrificing idiot.

This man is not his general.

For a moment, Kenobi seems almost hurt- as hard as it is to tell with his helmet on- but then the moment passes. The Mand'alor lets the bolt fly, disappearing into the battle behind him, and draws the saber on his right. It is a shimmering, mesmerizing black, sharp and powerful.

The Darksaber.

Cody's self-preservation instincts kick in, and he scrambles backwards, firing again and again, only to have each of his shots blocked by Kenobi's impeccable defensive form. He activates his comm, his yelled orders betraying his sudden, paralyzing terror. "Cody to Ghost- fall back, fall back now! Seppie with a saber on the field! Tell General Skywalker-"

He breaks off when his weapon is ripped from his hands, thrown to the side by the Force. Instead he whips out his vibroblade, just barely catching Kenobi's swipe towards his chest, straining under the effort. The pair then trade strikes, blade against much-shorter blade, former Jedi against clone.

He has to keep Kenobi from reaching his men.

As good as Cody is at hand-to-hand, he knows he's nowhere near Kenobi's level of dueling proficiency, and his thoughts are confirmed not a moment later when the vibroblade, too, is flipped out of his hand, leaving the limb stinging and almost certainly burned. Then he's on the ground, the black blade at his neck, and he remembers Skywalker's words, how he said Kenobi slaughtered a room full of Mandalorians with ease-

The Mand'alor chuckles, as if he can hear his thoughts. Maybe he can- Cody's never been sure of the extent of the Jedi's Force osik , and especially not the dar'jetii side of it. Then, Kenobi does something he doesn't expect. He deactivates the Darksaber and steps back.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you yet, Commander," he says, amusement coloring that vexing Coruscanti accent. "We've got other plans."

Cody opens his mouth to snap back- probably something along the lines of "that doesn't exactly fill me with confidence"- but he never gets the chance.

Before he can blink, Kenobi whips out a Mandalorian pistol- from where, he doesn't quite catch- and fires.

The world fades to black.

<()><()><()>

Ahsoka and her master arrive too late.

They reach the third quadrant to find Boil giving orders, nearly all droids dismantled. The enemy is in full retreat, and their own forces are pulling together. Ahsoka has always hated the aftermath of battles, and today is no different- the expanse is as depressing as ever.

Anakin wastes no time. “Where’s the commander?” he asks Boil.

“Sir.” Boil stands straighter. His arm is in a sling, and his helmet is nowhere to be found. “After a transmission from Captain Eil, the commander took three squadrons to the ridge. He… did not give any further details.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, and in a moment of cruel irony, Ahsoka realizes just how much he resembles Obi-Wan with that gesture. “How long ago was this?”

“Hours, Sir. We haven’t heard from him since. Has something happened, General?”

“We have reason to believe so.” Without another word, Anakin returns to his speeder and races towards the ridge.

Ahsoka sighs, then faces Boil once more. “Stay here, Boil. We’ll be back soon.”

“Sir.”

When she finally catches up with her master, the scene around her makes her gasp. Save for Anakin, there is not a single moving being in sight. Droids and clones lie prone on the ground, smoke rising and clouding the already-misty air. There is no way either side can call this a victory.

She feels… cold.

“What… happened here?” she asks, watching Anakin crouch in front of something.

“Mandalorians,” he says in a taut voice, and she catches sight of the weapon in his hand. A Mandalorian pistol. He stands. “Come on, we have to see if we can find survivors.”

The aura he is exuding right now is a little scary, she has to admit. She can’t tell if he’s angry or afraid of what they’ll find, but whatever it is, it's not happy. She can't say she's not distressed herself, though.

The temperature is dropping with each step they take- and that may not be due to her master.

Her foot catches on a stray bit of armor, and she starts to move it, but stops. “Master…”

“What is it?”

She picks up the vambrace. It still has a flashing comm unit connected, and is painted with a very distinct sun pattern. “It’s Cody’s.”

Anakin reaches out for it, then flinches, his eyes going glassy for a moment.

“Master? Are you-”

“Obi-Wan did this.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What? A-are you sure?”

“Yes.” He closes his eyes, brows furrowed in what seems like pain. “Don’t you feel it? He… shot Cody.”

Ahsoka covers her mouth with one hand. His tone tells her it is the truth, but…

Something is wrong.

“We have to return to the ship,” he says. “We… need to speak with the Council.”

She nods numbly. Cody… gone. By her grandmaster’s hand. It is horrifying, terrible, unthinkable. Never in all her years of Jedi training has she prepared for this level of betrayal.

“How?” she asks as they mount their speeders. It comes out more forceful, more choked than she intended. “How did it come to this?”

Anakin pauses, despite her words only being an echo of her thoughts. “I don’t know.”

Chapter Text

<()><(6)><()>

When Cody wakes, he wishes he hadn’t.

His head is killing him- a feeling he is unfortunately very well-acquainted with, due to many, many experiences of unwilling unconsciousness. It’s not the sharp pain associated with being knocked over the head, not the uncomfortable dizziness of sleep deprivation or blood loss, but instead the dull throb of a stun pulse. His body feels heavy, too, and his brain is functioning way too slowly for him to process his surroundings.

He tries to remember what happened, tries to recall who exactly shot him. It must have been a training incident, or something else of the sort. The droids never use stun pulses, and if they did, his general would have deflected them anyway-

It all comes rushing back- the past month, Yyger, the Mandalorians- and his lungs empty at once.

He sits up in an instant, and observes that he is not restrained in any way- in fact, he is stationed on a moderately comfortable cot. Granted, that cot is still located inside an unyielding cell, but it beats waking up on the floor in chains. There is also a small interrogation table in the center of the cell, with one chair opposite his cot. His limbs move as if they’re filled with lead, and the dull throb increases to a deep ache when he gets himself upright. He’s been stripped of his armor, too- which is unfortunate, but not unexpected. It’s standard protocol for all prisoners of war to be removed of their advantages.

Ka’ra. He’s a prisoner of war now.

Barely a moment after he’s finished taking stock of his situation and options- which, at this point, practically boil down to zero- the door beeps, and he looks up to watch a figure he knows too well enter the room. He’s still wearing his armor, still armed with his multiple weapons (Cody can see, now, the blaster strapped to his right thigh). The door closes behind him with a resounding thud.

Kenobi pulls out the chair with the Force- he always was dramatic- and sits, arranging himself comfortably across the metal. Then he reaches up and removes his buy’ce, and Cody doesn’t know how to react.

Osik, he’s missed his general. He’s missed the staggering loyalty and compassion, he’s missed the knowledge that the man always has his back. He’s missed the strategic input in planning, the fierce power on the battlefield. The way he laughs with the men, treats them as his own, as individuals. And seeing his face again- all of it’s come rushing back, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Whether to laugh or cry or yell at him for being a di’kut- none of it seems like the right response.

But those eyes. They are not the eyes of a Jedi, of the Jedi that Cody knows so well, the man who trusts his commander to return his weapon to him. They burn in the dull light of the cell, mar the picture of General Kenobi from his mind, and when his own gaze meets them, they seem to bore straight into his soul.

It’s unsettling. And that’s an emotion Cody has never associated with the man before.

“It’s good to see you awake, Commander,” says Kenobi. His mouth quirks up in that half-smile Cody has seen many times before- typically when he was about to do something extraordinarily stupid. “I was beginning to think you simply didn’t want to talk to me.”

Cody stays silent, scowling deeply. This makes Kenobi raise an eyebrow. “Nothing to say? You certainly were clear about your opinion of me on Yyger.”

Is he- upset about that? There’s nothing in his face to suggest it, and in any case, he’s the one who betrayed them, not the other way around. He has no right to be upset. Cody raises his chin. “I don’t think there’s anything for me to say to you, S-”

He clamps down hard on the end of that sentence before he can use the honorific. In no instance should Kenobi be called “Sir” now, but old habits die hard, and it’s only been so long.

“That’s unfortunate,” the Mand’alor responds, voice colored with amusement (he picked up on the slip-up, evidently, because of course he did). “I was hoping we could have a chat.”

“A… chat.” That certainly isn’t what he was expecting.

“Yes.” Kenobi leans forward, and Cody resists the urge to lean away. Despite Force-knows-however-much the dar’jetii is reading his emotions right now, he will not show any more fear than he has to.

The pair are silent for a moment, and despite the undercurrent of tension in the air, Cody doesn’t feel entirely uncomfortable with it. Maybe it’s the drowsiness still wearing off, or whatever Kenobi could be doing to his mind, or just the familiar face in front of him, but it feels just that- familiar, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

He forces himself to focus. A false sense of security will do no one good.

“Do you know which element has been bothering me since the beginning of the war, Cody?” He watches as the commander stiffens at the use of his name, seemingly unfazed. “Jango Fett. Mandalore has a long and bloody history, a good portion of which I still am sadly in the dark about, but I know enough about Fett to be concerned. Unfortunately, I only started to research him after his death, but what I found has weighed on me for much too long.”

Cody doesn’t know why he’s telling him this- and, frankly, he doesn’t want to hear it. There are so many questions he wants to ask Kenobi now that they’re not on the opposite sides of a battlefield- two of which being “What the kriff do you think you’re doing?” and just “Why?” - and he doesn’t see how this conversation will get him any answers. But, still, he listens- Kenobi has never done anything without a reason, whether it be a soundly logical one or a completely foolhardy one.

“I learned about the Galidraan conflict in my early training- as I suspect you have heard of it from your own. Only after Geonosis did I learn the full extent of Fett’s role in it. Do you know what they call him, in the Temple records?” He looks straight into his eyes. “The Jedi-Killer.”

A shiver runs down Cody’s spine.

“The Galidraan conflict was fraught with misunderstandings and regrets on both sides, but I would say the title was well-earned for Fett, considering just how many Force-users he was able to bring down. And he was the leader of Mandalore at the time, similar to the way I am now, with loyalties and enemies on both ends. So, Cody, my question to you is this- why would the Kaminoans choose the Jedi-Killer, a well-respected and well-hated leader of a war-soaked planet, as their template for an army that would be in constant contact with the Jedi?”

The words reverberate in Cody’s mind, and it takes him longer than he’s willing to admit to realize that the man is actually waiting for an answer. “I… I couldn’t tell you, Sir.” Kriff.

Kenobi’s smile grows a little, then vanishes.

“Neither could I, which is why, recently, I decided to look into it myself.” At Cody’s surprised expression, he laughs once. It’s so natural that it makes the commander want to tear his own hair out, or punch him, or both. “What? You didn’t think I was doing nothing since I’ve been gone, did you? The Count’s training is painful, and restoring Mandalore has been… demanding, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have time for my own curiosity.”

“Always the overachiever,” Cody mutters, and judging by the way Kenobi’s expression raises- it’s so strange, seeing that smile with those eyes- he heard him clearly.

“Quite. Dooku would not reveal any information on the subject, so when I was supposed to be stationed on Mandalore, I stopped by Kamino myself.”

This is news to Cody. Surely, if Kenobi had been on Kamino, General Shaak Ti would have reported it, or at least noticed- right? He says as much, and Kenobi raises an eyebrow.

“I’ll admit, it was extremely difficult to arrive- and leave- unnoticed. I won’t go into details, but I will say that Master Ti did feel my presence. She just didn’t know it was me. She sent Tipoca city into lockdown, but I managed to make my way into the main records rooms without detection. Everything I found is on this file.” He places a holopad onto the table, almost gingerly. “It has information about the entire cloning program, the orders the Kaminoans received, and, most importantly, the chips in each trooper’s brains.”

“Do you mean the behavior regulation chips, Sir?” Kenobi? Mand’alor? Separatist? Kriff it, he’s over this. He still doesn’t think the man deserves his respect, but he’s too tired to think about it right now.

“They are not just regulation chips,” he replies, and for the first time in this conversation, his voice takes on a dangerous edge. “I’m going to ask you to read over this information. Then, I will allow you to speak with your other men here in the cells. I’ve already taken the liberty of removing all of your chips- I hope you don’t mind.”

Cody’s hand flies to his head, and sure enough- a small shaved area, with a bandage over it. That explains why his headache hasn’t faded yet. He stands, angry now. “You had no right to-”

“Read it, Commander,” he interrupts, not reacting in the slightest. “I hope then you will understand my purpose in bringing you here. I still believe in you.”

Those words, that phrase, make him feel… something. Maybe this Kenobi is not as different as he originally thought.  The Sith rises, those eyes meeting his once more before he replaces his helmet. “Until we speak again, Cody.”

Then he exits, and the room feels unfamiliar without him.

Osik, Cody is way too tired for this.

<()><()><()>

Bo-Katan meets him when he exits the cell. She barely bothers with a greeting, inclining her helmeted head before she asks, “Are you sure you can sway them to our cause?”

“As sure as I can be.” He leads the way, and she follows, turning towards the many other holding cells as they pass. “If the Commander won’t agree, none of them will, and while that would be… regrettable, there are other ways to secure numbers.”

Ka’ra, Obi-Wan hopes Cody will agree. The last thing he wants to do is to kill his friend (whether the Commander acknowledges it or not, he still considers them friends). He will probably give him a ride off-planet if it comes to that, but he would much rather have his men back at his side.

Bo-Katan hums. He has felt more displeasure from her recently, ever since the Yyger conflict, and so instead of ignoring it the way he has, he asks, “What is it?”

“You seem more focused on your own personal endeavors than helping our people, Mand’alor.” She says it like the title pains her, and maybe it does. He knows how much it must bother her to report to him, in particular. “Are you forgetting that they’re looking to you for leadership? Alor?”

Normally, he would keep his cool, but he can’t resist using her own phrase against her. “Are you forgetting, al’verde, the efforts we’ve already put into rebuilding? The efforts we are still putting in? As long as we are safe from invasion, we are free to build our defenses and military, plan the steps ahead.”

“And how, exactly, are we meant to be ‘safe from invasion’ if you’re stealing the Republic’s soldiers straight from the battlefield?”

“Recruiting, Advisor, not stealing.” He inspects his vambrace , which still has a blast mark from deflecting a shot his dear commander aimed his way. “And as of right now, there is no admissible evidence in the eyes of the Republic that we have taken any legitimate action against them. They can suspect all they want- which is what we should be hoping for, don’t forget that we're looking to inspire fear and dissent- but any clues the Jedi may find on Yyger or future battlefields will be seen as just that, suspicion. For now, we're safe.”

“How do you know?” They have reached the end of the hallway, and she stops, facing him. “How can you be sure if you're running off on your own at every-”

“I know because I know the Republic.” He’s sat through many hours-long meetings recently battling the same point- he can handle this little conversation. “You don't become a High General without knowing a thing or two. And my- what did you call them? ‘Personal endeavors'? They're entirely to our benefit, I assure you.”

That's true, but he can't deny the trip to Kamino was for himself, as well. The pure rage he felt when he discovered the truth of the chips was so strong he would be surprised had his new master not felt it on Serreno. That was actually why Master Ti was able to detect him- an oversight on his part, one that nearly cost him his exit. But it was worth it, is worth it, and Dooku hasn't contacted him about it yet, though he has been reminded that the other Sith is not to be trusted in any respect.

Bo-Katan seems unconvinced. “Your assurances have meant nothing so far, if you have nothing to back them up.”

“Have I failed you yet? Have any of my promises been empty so far?” He shakes his head slightly. “Change comes across slowly. We can't expect Mandalore to be restored over the course of a month. I have no intention of rushing everything into a shoddy half-job.”

She sighs through her helmet as they continue walking. “You at least need to make another address to the people.”

“And I will. I am not blind to the unrest in the streets, believe me. It will get worse before it gets better, we've known this since the beginning. Just give it time.”

“You keep saying that.”

“And I will continue to.”

They walk in silence for the rest of the way. Her discomfort has ebbed slightly, but it is not gone. He will have to keep an eye on that- dissention only works if it's in the enemy's ranks, not their own. As convoluted as her history maybe, and as mixed as her popularity is, Bo-Katan is a valuable asset, and he needs her on his side.

The moment they reach the main palace, Obi-Wan's comm beeps- he's receiving a holotransmission from Serreno. He sighs. “I'll take this in my chambers. See if you can't answer Councilmember Jayk's insistent pestering, can you?”

“Of course, Alor.”

She bows slightly, and he inclines his head, and they part ways. Time waits for no one, after all.

<()><()><()>

The bottom of Rex's glass has never looked so disappointing.

They’ve only been back on Coruscant for a day, but when General Skywalker shore leave for the rest of the week, he made a beeline for 79's and hasn’t left since. He’s on… he doesn’t even know what number drink. He’s always been able to hold his alcohol, so it’s probably a very high number. But his mind has finally started to go fuzzy, which is fine enough for him.

He’s about to call for another drink when another clone plops down in front of him. It takes him longer than he’d like to admit to realize that it’s Fives. The ARC trooper takes a long gulp of his own drink, then looks him straight in the eyes. “How you holding up, Captain?”

Normally, Rex might have berated him for lack of tact, but Fives has always been a flouter of the rules, and they are out of uniform, after all. Instead, he grunts and makes to grab another drink, but Fives passes a bottle across the table. He nods his thanks, and after pouring himself another glass, downs it in one go.

Fives’ eyes widen progressively as he watches. “That can’t be healthy, Sir.”

“I hope not,” he grumbles in return, slamming his glass down. “Why’re you here, Fives?”

“What? Can’t I enjoy a drink with my superior?” At Rex’s raised eyebrow, his smirk drops. “Look, Sir, just because Commander Cody’s gone doesn’t mean you need to adopt his old habits.”

“Cody wasn’ an alcoholic.”

“He was more of one than you are. Sir.”

That’s true- the majority of their nights out were spent with Cody eventually getting blackout drunk and Rex being left to take care of him. And he has always understood- his ori’vod has the most responsibilities out of any brother he’s met so far. Unfortunately, that also meant being subject to the commander’s ranting about his general, more cursing his stupidity than anything else, though the occasional throwaway statement would make Rex wonder if Cody knows just how much he admires Kenobi.

Admired.

Oh, the galaxy is cruel. He's known it since the moment he was thrust into this war, the moment he was decanted. But he's never truly felt it until this moment, staring Fives in the face as he contemplates just how awful these past few weeks have been.

Kriff, he thought being at 79's was supposed to help.

“I's not just Cody,” he says, placing a hand over his face. “The General and the Commander are wrecks. I don' know what to do. Wolffe and Bly are getting on my case about information, I don’ think their generals have told them anything. Plus General Skywalker wants me to oversee the redistribution of the 212th even though I am not kriffin’ qualified for it, and the whole business with Kenobi in general has just been ridiculous-”

He cuts himself off. Fives is watching with wide eyes, and for good reason- Rex certainly is not one to vent, and especially not to the ARC trooper. Normally, he would call Cody to rant, but that’s not exactly an option right now.

He grabs the bottle and drinks straight from it, glass forgotten. 

“Osik, Captain,” Fives says. “I mean, it’s not like I blame you, but I was gonna have some of that, too.”

“Too bad, vod,” he replies. His vision is getting blurrier, and he can’t tell whether his words are slurring or not. “Get your own.”

“That was my-”

He’s cut off when their attention is drawn to the holoscreens over the bar. A breaking news broadcast, which is nothing new here on Coruscant, but this time, the reporter’s image is interposed onto that of a very familiar someone’s.

“Tha’s the Commander,” Rex says, trying to focus.

Fives snorts. “No kidding, Captain.”

The bar is too loud to hear much, but in the rushing Aurebesh across the screens he can pick out the words “dangerous”, “rogue”, and “armed”. Then footage plays of Fox’s regiment- is it Fox or Thorn or Thire? He can’t tell- shooting stun bolts at Ahsoka, each being deflected by her sabers. The image returns to the reporter, who says a few sentences more, before the screens resume the previous sport of something or other.

“Tha’s not good,” he says. It’s really not- he doesn’t want anything to happen to Ahsoka, and he has to go find the General, who’s probably freaking out right now. “I gotta go find the Gen’ral. He’s probably freaking out right now.”

He tries to stand, but sways, and barely registers Fives holding him up. “Oh, no, you don’t, Rex. I’m taking you back to the ship. Then I’ll find out what’s going on, I’ll talk to the General, and it will be alright. You aren’t doing anything.”

“No, I gotta- I gotta find the Gen’ral-”

“Kriff, you’re drunk, Rex. For once, listen to me and head to the bunks.”

He would protest if his vision wasn’t swimming so much. He doesn’t remember the way back to the ship, only Fives depositing him in a bunk that definitely is not his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Fives talking with Jesse, with lots of gesturing and pointing- oh, are they talking about him? Then the pair run off, and he slips into unconsciousness.

<()><()><()>

Obi-Wan feels it the moment it happens.

His connection to the Light may not be what it once was, but he is still as finely tuned to the major events in the Force as ever. He has known something was coming- something related to his grandpadawan- for the past few days, even the Dark seeming unsettled by a disturbance with the Jedi. He knew something was going to happen- something big, an explosion in the Force.

And explode it has.

He is on his way back from Mandalore when he feels it- the distant despair and fear from Anakin, the solemn resignation and sorrow from Ahsoka, bursting from his severed bonds with them. His connection to the Jedi Council, though distant, sends a confusing flurry of shame and sadness and doubt.

He sets a course to Coruscant without a second thought.

Minutes later, he receives a holotransmission and answers it, Dooku’s form alighting his dashboard. “Apprentice,” he says, voice curled with disappointment. “Why have you changed course from Serenno? I thought my instructions were quite clear.”

“A disturbance in the Force, Master,” Obi-Wan explains calmly. “It wills me to Coruscant. Something has occurred in the Jedi Temple.”

"A disturbance?" Dooku raises an eyebrow. "I felt no such disturbance."

"Yes, I believe it's more of a… family matter."

“Dangerous words.” His tone is not very sharp, almost chiding. “You are aware my master will sense you the moment you land on the planet?”

“I am,” he says. “I’m not an idiot, Master. Which is why I will meet him before dealing with the other matter.”

Dooku hums. “He will think it too early, but I doubt he will turn you away. I suppose now is when you learn his identity.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can tell me now, just to prepare me?” Because he’s been such a reliable source of information as of late.

The man smiles ever-so-slightly. “No. If he chooses not to reveal his identity, then that would paint a target on both of our backs.”

“Typical,” Obi-Wan sighs. “I will contact you when I leave the planet.”

“Farewell, Apprentice. And… good luck.”

He barely has time to raise an eyebrow before the transmission is cut. Maybe he should be afraid of the Sith Master, if Count Dooku thinks he’ll need luck.

Well, there’s not much he can do about it now. He double-checks that he has all his gear, then pushes the lever and enters hyperspace.

Chapter Text

<()><(7)><()>

Sheev Palpatine has always been a patient man.

He can’t pretend it doesn’t bother him, sometimes, the long, drawn-out farce this war has turned out to be, but he knows it is essential, and that justifies every meticulous detail he implements on either side. He is perfectly content to set things in motion, one good push at a time, and watch the Republic burn itself to the ground. As it will inevitably do- even without his help, this play at democracy was never going to last much longer. He has simply… nudged the process along. But gently- oh, so gently. He knows, above all, that the best change comes across slowly, quietly, festering and growing like a parasite under the skin. It is why he’s committed to whispering into the ears of the Senate, curling his influence around them just as he is with young Skywalker.

He is not afraid to admit, however, that he can be surprised. And that is what he has been, recently- surprised. Surprised that a Jedi as respected and devoted as Master Kenobi could be turned to their side. Originally, the Sith wrote him off as a lost cause- while he might’ve been no stranger to strong emotions as a padawan, the famed High General certainly was too rooted in the Light now to even consider their ways- or so he’d thought. It seems he was too hasty in his assessment of the Jedi’s character, of his connections. And as such, he was certainly surprised when Dooku brought him into their fold.

That is not to say that he will not welcome this newest development. He would be foolhardy to refuse such a tantalizing alliance, such a beneficial arrangement. He must, however, err on the side of caution- tread carefully, always. He would be lying if he said he did not have his suspicions- Tyranus has not exactly been subtle in his hatred and subtle plots against him, which is partially why he ordered him to kill his first apprentice. And having a new apprentice, one who is currently in control of a warrior planet, could prove detrimental to his plans in the long run. Which is why he is eager for the young Kenobi to visit him- the sooner he can manipulate him to his own will, the better.

He gets his chance shortly after another small victory- another wedge driven between Skywalker and his associates. The little Togruta wretch has left the Jedi Order- and according to his sources, Skywalker has not taken it well. Even across Coruscant, he can feel the Jedi’s anger, his sorrow, his ever-furthering distrust of the Council and the other Jedi. Kenobi’s Fall had planted the seeds, and the youngling’s exit has furthered their growth.

The Dark presence that enters the atmosphere hours later is unmistakable- though he doubts the Jedi are able to sense it. After all, he has been lying in wait for decades on Coruscant, and they have not so much as suspected his presence.

He dismisses the, quite frankly, nauseating senators from the meeting that has gone on much too long and retreats to his private chambers. He takes great care to double-check his security and personal shields before slipping on his robes and connecting to the transmitter code Tyranus relayed to him.

“Acheron,” he says, and takes great pleasure in the way the man stiffens and his aura clouds with fear. “Make your way to these coordinates immediately. I wish to… speak with you.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Kenobi replies, and the words bring a smile to the Sith’s mouth.

It is laughably easy to sneak out and make his way to the location- a vague communication of location here, a Force misdirect there. How anyone manages to believe the Senate is any measure of secure is beyond him. It’s no wonder his plans to infiltrate Coruscant have always succeeded- these imbeciles couldn’t keep a loth cat out.

The warehouse is quiet when he arrives, the guard droids he stationed in twitching pieces across the room. Cut by a lightsaber- just as he expected. He had, after all, instructed the droids to kill on sight. He can sense the perpetrator deeper inside, waiting for him.

The moment he draws into Kenobi’s line of sight, the man kneels. “Master,” he says.

“Acheron,” Sidious replies. “Welcome back to Coruscant. I assume it is akin to coming home for you.”

The young Sith says nothing, keeping his head down.

“You have done well, recently,” he continues. “In both your training and your personal endeavors. Mandalore is growing well under your command.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

It seems the time is upon them. Sidious carefully, quietly pulls his hood back, basking in the revelation that is to come.

“Look at me.”

Kenobi does, carefully, and Sidious can feel the moment he realizes. The moment he recognizes him.

The surprise.

The despair.

The confusion.

The hatred.

It is delicious.

“You,” Kenobi growls. “You’re behind this… everything.”

“I am.” Sidious smiles, and the other man flinches at the sight.

“You’ve orchestrated everything since the beginning- the war, the clones, the Jedi-”

“I have. How does it feel, to know now just how deceived you were?”

Kenobi’s rage grows in one mounting push, the dark blade in his hand in an instant. But he is stopped by Sidious’s own blade, and then by a grip in the Force. He gasps, dropping the Darksaber as he clutches the air around his neck. It is futile, and the man knows it, knows Sidious can feel his each intent.

“You are young, foolish, arrogant,” says the Sith Lord. “But you are not weak. You will be a powerful ally, Acheron. And for this to happen, you must know who your true master is.”

He raises his crimson blade to the former Jedi’s face- and the spike of fear that drives through the Force is snatched up by his own signature, devoured instantly. He has nearly forgotten the pleasure of these actions, the satisfaction that accompanies the destruction of others.

“You have many that you love, do you not?” Sidious leans in close, and his blade stops just a centimeter before his left eye. “Let's see what happens when you have scars just as they do.”

Kenobi's strangled screams will echo through Coruscant for hours to come.

<()><()><()>

“You want me to teach you Jar’Kai?”

Suddenly, Ahsoka feels much less confident in her decision. “I mean, it’s only if you want to, Master Obi-Wan, it would be nice and I know you’re one of the best duelists in the Order, and Skyguy isn't exactly equipped-”

Obi-Wan cuts her off with a chuckle. “Of course I’ll teach you, Ahsoka. I wouldn’t be much of a Grandmaster if I refused, would I?”

She processes his words, then beams. “Really? I-I mean, thank you, Master.”

“Believe me, it's my pleasure, Ahsoka. When would you like to start? Now may be the opportune moment- I happen to be between battle stratagems.”

Her eyes widen. “Now? I… I don’t have my shoto blade yet.”

“That’s perfectly alright. There is such a thing as practice sabers, after all.” He pulls his comm unit to his mouth. “The paperwork will have to wait, Commander. I’m spending time with Padawan Tano. I will be in the salles if you need me.”

“That’s a shame, General,” Cody replies in a deadpan voice. “Guess I’ll have to tell the others your tea stash is unguarded again. Waxer and Oddball will be thrilled.”

“So that’s who’s been taking my Abregado Green,” Obi-Wan muses, smiling. “Make sure the men save some for me this time.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We should stop by my quarters first,” he says to her now. “I haven’t used my shoto blade in ages- I’m afraid it may be a bit dusty.”

She trails behind him, excitement building with every step. Outside of missions, she doesn’t spend much time with Master Kenobi, despite them being lineage. She is almost ashamed to admit that she knows Master Plo better than she knows her Grandmaster. This is the perfect opportunity- one that she should have had much earlier. And that she would have, had it not been for the war.

“When did you use a shoto blade, Master?” she asks, shaking her head to clear her mind.

“Many years ago,” he replies. She can feel the flitter of hesitation that passes through his Force signature before he locks it down. “When I was a padawan, I had my fair share of… rebellion.”

“You?” She can’t help but laugh a little.

“Yes, well, Anakin had to get it from somewhere, I suppose.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “I did not agree with my master’s training regimen, so I took classes behind his back. He didn’t want me to focus on anything other than Ataru- which, as you’ve probably noticed, is not my favorite form. I took to studying on my own, and that included obtaining a second crystal and a shoto blade on Master Yoda’s authority.”

“Well, then… why don’t you use it anymore?”

“I only brought it on a few missions to begin with,” he replies. “Master Jinn was… less than pleased when he found out. And it wasn’t my favorite style. I eventually fell back to one-bladed Soresu, despite my master’s distaste for it. It was what I truly connected with, and still do. Jar’kai isn’t for everyone, after all. Force knows Anakin detests it.”

“I’ll say,” she grumbles lightly. “When I asked him to teach me, he was very quick to shut me down.”

“He and Master Jinn are alike in that regard, I suppose.”

They reach his quarters and Ahsoka stops before the door. She’s never been in one of his rooms before. However, he smiles encouragingly and beckons her in, and she follows without further thought.

His room is very much his- organized and warm, welcoming. But she can’t help but notice the layer of dust on every surface, the half-dead plant in the corner. War has taken a toll on everything, it seems.

He uses the Force to pull a long box from the top of a shelf, in between a blue gem and what seems to be a pistol. It is a deep brown, intricately carved with swirls that surround the winged Jedi Order symbol. He opens it slowly, revealing a hilt remarkably similar to his usual blade, only smaller and more slender-looking.

When he closes the box, she coughs. He wasn’t lying about the dust.

“Here,” he hands the hilt to her. “Give it a swing. Typically, one can tell if Jar’kai is right for them just after a few moments.”

“What?” She holds out her hands. “I can’t, Master, that’s your saber.”

“I haven’t used it in years- I doubt it will respond to me the same anymore.” The smile on his face is soothing, despite the sad undertone of his voice. “Try it.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but after meeting his eyes once more, gently takes the hilt from his hand. She weighs it in her hand, then ignites it. She is surprised by the yellowish blade that springs to life.

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan says, though he is smiling wider now. “It was greener before. How does it feel?”

She gives a few experimental swings, then lights her other blade and rests in her usual stance. After a moment of deliberation, she switches the blades in her hands. Yes- that's better. “It feels… right.”

“As I thought.” He places a hand on her shoulder as she sheaths the blades. “You’ll have to redesign the hilt, of course, but I believe the crystal has taken a liking to you. Go ahead and keep ahold of it.”

“You’re giving me your saber?” She can’t stifle the shock that runs through her. Is that even allowed? “Why?”

“I have no need for it- I barely felt it was meant for me in the beginning. It suits you much better, anyway. I suppose I now know why it came to me in the first place. It will serve you well, I think.”

“Oh, thank you, Master!” She rushes forward and wraps her arms around him. He stiffens for a moment, then gently returns the embrace.

“Of course, Ahsoka,” he replies, and she can feel the warmth spreading from his Force signature to hers. “Now, come- let's pay the salles a visit. Maybe we'll meet Anakin on the way- his face would be priceless.”

The memory is a fond one- and one that replays in Ahsoka’s mind as she makes her way through the streets of Coruscant. She will never admit it, but she's always disliked this planet- especially now, after she's seen just how much there is to the rest of the galaxy. The city is looking less and less appealing as she walks, and she has nowhere to go.

No idea what to do.

She has funds in her emergency account, but they will only stretch so far. She will likely end up taking some kind of mechanic work to raise enough credits and get off-world, but until then, she's stuck.

She would feel much better if she had some sort of weapon. Even a blaster would be preferable to her bare hands on this world. That's why her mind was turned to that day- when she received her shoto blade. It was one of the best moments of her life, followed shortly after by redesigning the hilt. She wishes she hadn't left it, both her weapons- she feels so vulnerable now.

Not vulnerable, no- she still has her training, she reminds herself, and her knowledge. If she is to be attacked, she will still be able to hold her ground. And well.

Come.

The word echoes through her mind, clear as day and in a familiar voice. She is well-acquainted with Force promptings- and this is certainly one of them. It does not feel dangerous, only persistent, connected to a thread that pulls her attention to the left. There- an alleyway. She takes a step towards it, and the Force sings, content.

She slowly makes her way into the alley, trying not to draw attention to herself. Her years of Jedi training have made her undetectable when she wishes to be. It is dark, save for a flickering street light overhead- one that's growing dimmer by the second. She cannot see what it is that the Force wants her to find, cannot tell why-

“Hello, Grandpadawan.”

Behind her. Her hands fling to her hips as she whips around and faces the figure, before she remembers that she no longer has her lightsabers. Instead, she falls into a hand-to-hand fighting stance, ams up defensively.

Obi-Wan- the Sith Obi-Wan, not her Obi-Wan- laughs once, and it’s so like the laugh she knows that she is thrown off more than a little. “Ahsoka, there’s no need for that.”

“Why are you here?” she asks tentatively, studying him up and down. He is not wearing the Mandalorian armor that he did on his address, instead donning robes remarkably similar to his Jedi garb, just straight black instead of brown and white. His face is half-hidden by his hood, but she can clearly make out two pinpoints of Fallen-yellow staring back at her. His stance is casual, arms folded into the sleeves of his robe, appearing to study her as carefully as she is him.

“More to the point; why are you here, young one?” he responds, taking a step forward. “This is no place for a padawan.”

The statement hits her full force, and her despair from earlier pushes its way back to the surface. She pushes it back, burying it deep enough that she hopes he will not sense it. “If you’re here to ask me to join you, it’s not going to work.”

“Oh, no,” he smiles a little, and the sight under the shadow of his hood makes her cringe slightly. “I was asked to Coruscant not too long ago- I figured I would visit you while I’m here. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

He steps even closer, and despite the Force and every instinct screaming at her to withdraw, she holds her ground. He throws back his hood, and she is momentarily stunned by his appearance- his hair a little longer and slightly-unkempt, the deep shadows below his burning eyes, the lines etched across every inch of his face. Most jarringly, there is a very recent wound curling around his left eye- from the looks of it, a saber scar. He stops, and the genuine concern on his face makes her pause. She recalls, suddenly, his threat to Count Dooku- how he made him promise not to touch his “family”.

She doesn’t know whether to be touched or unnerved.

“What have they done to you, Ahsoka?” he murmurs, brow furrowed.

And, just like that, her walls come crashing down. She hasn’t had the opportunity to process it yet, the events of the past week- has it only been a few days?- and her decision haven’t quite sunk in. All of it has been a whirlwind of confusion, of anger, of injustice. The Council turning against her, Ventress, the guards, Wolffe, Rex, Barriss- her friend-

What have they done to you?

What haven’t they done to her?

“I-I just…” A tear slips from her eye, trails down her cheek. “They betrayed me. All of them. Everyone.”

“You’re shaking,” Obi-Wan notes. He makes his way forward, and she doesn’t stop him as he places a hand on her shoulder. “Tell me. What happened?”

And she does- it all comes spilling out, the words and her tears, every little detail, every game the others have played with her emotions. Her body racks with sobs as she speaks, and she ends up kneeling on the floor, the Sith not hesitating to kneel beside her. His grip is grounding, and despite the yellow eyes gazing into hers, his presence is comforting. She’s glad he’s here, that he’s kneeling with her, that he isn’t turning against her like everyone else she’s ever trusted. Once she’s started speaking, she can’t stop- and he listens to every word.

“A-and Fives got arrested, too,” she says, wiping her face. “All because he wanted to help. They released him, but they were going to kill him before- before Anakin found Barriss-”

“Shh…” he pulls her closer, into an actual, albeit one-handed, embrace. She shakes against his chest. “Breathe, Ahsoka. It’s alright. Well, it’s not alright- you have every right to be upset. I never expected the Council to do something so… barbaric. If I was still on the Council, I can assure you this never would have happened.”

“They… they said a-awful things about you.” She tries to calm her breathing, do as he said, even as he stiffens against her at her words. “They claimed you turned me. That i-it was all your idea, your fault. And Barriss… she used you as an example of the Jedi’s corruption.”

“I’m not surprised,” he murmurs darkly, and she suddenly remembers where she is, whose arms she is now enfolded in. She has no time to contemplate it, however, because he pulls back and looks her in the eye again. “I am… so sorry that happened to you, Ahsoka. You did not deserve it, and Anakin’s actions will never make up for it. Do you have someplace to stay?”

“I-” She has to fight back another round of tears. “No.”

“Alright,” he replies gently. “Alright, young one. I’m going to give you an offer, and you can turn me down if you like, but I’d like you to hear me out.”

Ahsoka blinks in confusion, then sniffs. “An- an offer?”

“Yes.” He presses something into her hand, and she looks down to find a holotransmitter. “Here- this has my personal seal on it, and my comm and transit codes. I’m asking you to go to Mandalore- to stay in the Sundari palace.”

“What?” The sense of security falls away, the warmth she associates with Master Kenobi. This is an enemy- or, an enemy to the Republic. “But- you joined Dooku- you killed Cody-”

“Is that what you all think?” His mouth quirks up in a smile. “No, the commander is perfectly safe. Currently being held in the cells of Sundari with the rest of his men, but if all goes well, that will only be temporary.”

“He’s- he’s alive?” She laughs a little. “I knew there was something off. But no one wanted to listen to me. Can I see him?”

“If you come to Mandalore, then yes,” he replies, standing and pulling her to her feet. “I have no desire to force you into my plans like the Jedi. You will be welcomed as a guest, and nothing more. Show my advisor my seal, transmit the coordinates as a sign of authenticity- I’ll even comm ahead to let them know you’re coming. I’ll make sure you’re able to see Cody- and, actually, if you’d be willing, I have a task for you regarding him as well.”

“You’re not coming?” She looks back up from the transmitter she was inspecting.

“Unfortunately, not just yet.” He seems bitter about this fact. “Count Dooku has requested my presence, and I doubt it would be wise to stall any longer. I will comm when I’m on my way back from Serenno- I have no idea how long I’ll be.”

“Serenno,” she mutters. She doesn’t have positive connotations to that planet. “How do I know I can trust you? You betrayed us, and- I can’t go through that again-”

“Ahsoka. Look at me.” She meets his eyes, and they seem less intense, less fiery than they were. “I only wish to see you safe. I can’t leave you on your own- not when you’ve been abandoned. I would never forgive myself.”

The statement rings true in the Force, passes back and forth between them. His aura is unfamiliar, but it is familiar as well. She knows him- no matter how changed he is now, he truly does care for her, just as Anakin did.

“I’m… sorry, Obi-Wan,” she says. The name is unfamiliar on her tongue- she’s only ever called him ‘Master Kenobi’ before, but that doesn’t exactly fit now, for either of them.

He looks genuinely surprised. “Sorry? For what? If anyone should apologize here, it’s me.”

“No, I… I lost the saber you gave me. I left it in the Temple.”

“It was your saber, Ahsoka, never mine,” he corrects gently. His eyebrow raises. “Would you like a new one?”

“A new one? I-I mean, yes- no- I don’t know. I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“Neither am I, and here we are.” He chuckles a little, then unclips a staff hilt from his belt. “I have a project for you. Try to purify the crystals in this saber on the way to Mandalore. You can use it, or you can choose not to- I barely have need for it, anyway.”

Again, he is giving her his saber. Again, he provides her with just what she needs. Tears fill her eyes once more. “I-”

“Take it.”

Her hand wraps around it, and she grimaces at the screams of the crystals that resonate in the Force. They are in desperate need of purification- as she suspects he knows well. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Her voice hitches on his name.

“It’s the least I can do, Ahsoka.” He pulls her vambrace to him. “Here- the coordinates to my spare ship. The codes I gave you should be good enough to get it running. Now- here’s what I’d like you to tell Commander Cody.”

<()><()><()>

There are no signs, the next day, no indication of what has happened to former padawan Barriss Offee. The guards recall nothing, the security footage has been wiped- whoever took her was thorough, exceedingly so. One moment she was there, the next not. The only remnants of her time in the prison- a saber mark against the furthest wall, a burnt scrap of a Mirialan hood, and the deep embrace of darkness surrounding the cell.

Chapter Text

Okay, Bo-Katan thinks as she switches off her comm unit. This has officially gotten out of hand.

She huffs, annoyed, then walks to Mirai, one of her most trusted soldiers. “Prepare one of the palace guest rooms. We’re going to have another visitor.”

“Al’verde?” she asks in return, confused.

“The Mand’alor has picked up a jetii youngling. She’ll be staying on Mandalore, apparently.”

Mirai looks like she wants to argue, but no Mandalorian would turn down a child, even a jetii one. Instead, she asks, “Why is a jetii coming with him? I thought they hated Acheron now.”

Bo-Katan can’t resist a snort. “I doubt those stuck-up, hut’uun di’kuts are capable of hating anyone. But supposedly, she was abandoned by the other jetii, and that’s why she needs someplace to stay. He also said she was like the jetii version of his bu’ad.”

Mirai’s eyebrows raise further, and Bo can’t blame her. Kenobi- Acheron has made it clear that he has no intention to renew his ties with the jetiise, despite his apparent attachment to his former commander. That he would drop everything to provide accommodations for this youngling is… surprising, to say the least.

Though, she supposes, it is characteristically Mandalorian.

“Make the preparations,” she says, then turns to sort out whatever mess Councilmember Krei has brought to her door this time.

When she’s called to greet said jetii youngling at the shipyards, she doesn’t know quite what she’s expecting. Mirai has informed her that the jetii isn’t as young as most Mandalorian children, but is still young enough to warrant protection. The warrior received the transmitter codes belonging to their Mand’alor, and along with them, a holomessage in which a very concise conversation was exchanged, including names and business. Ahsoka Tano, her name is. If she's anything like the other jetiise, Bo-Katan is prepared to clash with another arrogant, self-absorbed ‘peacemaker’, as distasteful as that may be to her.

Then again, she's related to Acheron, so she might not be entirely intolerable.

The ship lands smoothly on the platform, and Bo-Katan is begrudgingly impressed- despite everything she holds against the jetii, they certainly know how to teach children to pilot.

It is a long moment before the platform descends and a short, straight-backed Togruta comes into view, walking towards Bo with a slight air of hesitance. Mirai was right- she's certainly older than thirteen, though not by too much. She doesn’t appear to have any weapons on her- until she turns slightly and Bo can see the lightsaber hilt at the base of her back- and is dressed so very predictably for a jetii.

“Hello,” says the Togruta with a little wave. “I’m Ahsoka Tano. My- Obi-Wan sent me to speak with Bo-Katan?”

Bo raises an eyebrow at the use of his first name. “That would be me.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ahsoka says, bowing slightly. Bo can almost feel the amusement of the verde behind her at the action. “Obi-Wan had to head to Serenno. He said he would catch you up on the situation.”

“And he has- relatively speaking.” She mutters that last part to herself, but she gets the feeling Ahsoka hears it anyway. Jetii and their Force osik. “We have a room prepared for you. This way.”

Bo would prefer that the speeder ride to the palace be spent in silence- unfortunately, Ahsoka does not seem to agree. She lasts about ten seconds before commenting, “This place looks different from the last time I visited.”

Bo glances at her sidelong through her helmet. She doesn't want to, but she asks, “And when was that?”

Ahsoka sucks in a breath. “A while ago. The Duchess requested my- well, a Jedi's- help in uncovering corruption in her ranks. It went fairly well- at least from what I could tell.”

Ah, yes- Bo remembers, now, the word that had flitted through Death Watch about the little jetii assisting Satine. For some reason, that doesn't raise her opinion of Ahsoka. “We've had a rough ride of it recently. We changed leadership three times in a week. We're rebuilding, but it's taking time. So excuse us if our city is a reflection of that.”

Ahsoka looks surprised at her bluntness, but not discouraged. “I didn’t say it looked bad. Actually, it looks pretty cool to me. Similar to some of the architecture in the Temple records. If I were still a Jedi-”

She cuts herself off, becoming stoic and silent. Bo would be grateful for the quiet were it not for the sadness radiating from the youngling that she doesn’t need the Force to sense. Kriff, she can’t stand such a pathetic display. “Mand’alor Acheron-” Ahsoka frowns at the name, but doesn’t interrupt, “-said the jetiise abandoned you, but not much else. Why exactly are you here?”

She huffs with all the indignance typical of a teenager. “Well, he’s got that right. Abandoned me, betrayed me, broke my trust- take your pick. It’s funny- besides Anakin, the one person who actually wanted to help me isn’t even a Jedi anymore.”

Bo scoffs. “Sounds about right.”

At Ahsoka’s confused look, she elaborates. “From my experience, the Jedi don’t care about much beyond themselves and their precious ‘Light’. They're too arrogant for their own good, and rarely see the bigger picture. If you ask me. it's a good thing you're not as narrow-minded as the few I've met.”

The Togruta, for a second, looks as if she is going to argue, her face scrunched in anger- but then she deflates, humming in thought.

Looks like Acheron was right.

A moment passes between them, then Ahsoka continues, “I’m here because I had nowhere else to go. And because Obi-Wan said I could see Commander Cody. I knew him in the army.”

The army- the Grand Army of the Republic. Somehow, it had escaped Bo’s thoughts that this little jetii was on the front lines of the biggest war in the galaxy. It’s not like she judges her- she herself began combat much younger. But it does say something about the Jedi- despite their claims to the mantle ‘peacekeeper’, they place their children into a war zone without a second thought.

At least Mandalorians are clear in their intentions, not lying-through-their-teeth hypocrites.

“Acheron trusts you to speak to him?” It’s a jab- a sharp test of the waters.

Ahsoka does not rise to it. “He told me to tell you that ‘if anyone is able to convince Cody, it’s Ahsoka’. Whatever that means, but I think it’s pretty accurate.”

Ah. So she is like Acheron. Perfect.

“Would you rather go now or after you get settled?” No use arguing, really. If the Mand’alor has given her permission to speak to the clone, then she doesn’t have much of a margin to dispute it.

Ahsoka hesitates, then says, “After I get settled. I need to meditate first.”

Bo is tempted to scoff, but just barely manages to suppress it. “Meditation. Is there actually any point to that?”

The Togruta hums, inspecting her armor up and down. “Mandalorians are warriors, right? Or, at least, you are.”

She bristles slightly. “Of course.”

“Is there anything you do before battle? Any ritual of sorts to prepare?”

That causes Bo to pause. “Not in recent years. We’ve lost… much of our old practices. But the Mand’alor seems determined to renew them. Before Yyger, he led the traditional battle cry.”

Ahsoka frowns slightly at the reminder of Yyger- Skywalker’s battalion was there, weren’t they? Was she with Skywalker? Is that how Acheron knows her? “How does it feel when you don’t use that battle cry? Those traditions?”

Ah, great, they’re in a philosophical talk now. As if she doesn’t get enough of that from the Councilmembers. “I don’t know. Destabilized? Morale is definitely lower.”

“Well, think about meditation as that sort of stabilization for Force-users. It centers us- or, it's supposed to- and I definitely need it, after the week I've had. You can’t tell me Obi-Wan hasn’t meditated once since he’s been here.”

Bo laughs slightly, cynically. “Oh, he has. But I don’t think it's like the jetii kind of meditation. Last time, on the way back from Yyger, he nearly tore our ship apart. Scared the osik out of some of the verde. ”

Oh, that brings a reaction out of the jetii’ad. Her eyes widen, and her posture straightens in the most show of emotion she’s had this whole conversation. After a moment of silence, she says, “I’m sure it was… unintentional.”

Bo decides not to comment on that, though judging by the way Ahsoka stiffens, she can sense her amusement.

They make it to the palace, and Bo can see the young Jedi inspecting it up and down, noting each of the differences. She should know- she does the same thing. It’s the habit of one who’s spent too long on the battlefield, one who catalogs every possibility of danger. The habit of a soldier.

The other verde join them on their walk up, but she turns to Mirai and dismisses them with a nod once they’re inside. Bo likes to think that she’s more than capable of handling a teenager, even a jetii one, should it come to that. They don’t exactly need an entourage in the residential suites, and Mirai has other responsibilities, anyway. The action appears to take some weight off the young jetii's shoulders, and she walks lighter as they navigate the palace halls, hands no longer tensed near her sides.

“Here,” says Bo when they reach an ornate door, a hall down from her own residence. “The Mand'alor said you would probably prefer a less-ornate room, and this is the warriors’ quarter.”

Ahsoka steps into the room slowly, almost tentatively. Once again Bo is reminded of the Jedi’s frankly ridiculous way of life, their aversion to anything that could be considered an “attachment”, not to mention their current engagement in a galaxy-wide war. The Togruta's previous living spaces were likely nothing like this. She can see it in the way her eyes widen, the way she walks as if on glass. And the strange part is, she doesn't necessarily blame her- Bo herself has been flitting between lavish halls and battlefields her whole life, and the contrast between simple wartime accommodations and even the plainest of the palace rooms is staggering. If the Republic ships or planetary bases are anything like the places she's camped, then it makes sense to be a little thrown off.

She smirks a little. “I hope this will be satisfying for you.”

“It’s- it’s great,” she responds, picking up a book from the nightstand- one that Acheron had asked Bo to place there. It is about Togruta culture, their arts and history, and about twice as thick as any book Bo has read in the past. Ahsoka handles it gingerly, running her finger down the unbroken spine, as if she’d been given the biggest treasure of her life.

Bo has been called brash. She’s been called unobservant, and arrogant, and any other adjective under the sun. But she knows when to handle a situation delicately, despite anything her sister says- said. So she nods curtly, says, “If you need me, ask for the al’verde,” and makes her way out of the room.

The young not-Jedi does not answer, opening the cover to the book with something like grief in her eyes.

<()><()><()>

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

Fives sighs- this has been going on for half an hour now. “I'm sure even if I did, you'd tell me anyway.”

Rex levels an unimpressed look at him, but even if Fives wasn't practically deadened to it by now, he would barely have reacted anyway. He is… so kriffing tired. He’s been in and out of prison, in and out of death row, far too many times this past day.

Granted, it was only once- but once is more than enough.

And he doesn't exactly see how Rex yelling at him about it will help either of them, besides letting him get it out of his system.

“They were going to execute you, Fives!”

Before Rex can continue, he says, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Obviously that was the wrong choice of comment, because Rex's expression hardens further. “That doesn’t make it any more acceptable.”

Fives snorts a little. He’s had a long day, and he really can’t work up the motivation to stop himself from saying, “We were made to die in this war, Rex. What’s the difference if I die by execution instead?”

“The difference, vod,” the captain almost growls, “is that you’re not being shot down by mindless droids. You’re being murdered by our own allies! Decommed like a criminal! If General Skywalker hadn’t brought back the evidence when he did, do you know what would have happened? Not only would an innocent Commander have been imprisoned, our best ARC trooper would have been executed, faith would have been lost in the 501st-”

“Not to mention you would have lost your rank. You could still lose your rank.”

“That is not what we are focusing on right now. For once in your life, Fives, I need you to think about the bigger picture-”

“I was thinking about the bigger picture!” Fives stands, fighting to keep his voice steady. Rex doesn’t deserve his anger right now. “I was trying to prevent the Commander from being arrested in the first place!”

The whole injustice of the situation has weighed on his mind from the moment General Skywalker told him where Ahsoka was. He has known for a long time that the galaxy does not care about its own, but he never expected that statement to extend to the Jedi. It was why he stunned Wolffe, preventing him from shooting her- she did not deserve that, to be shot up by blaster bolts or brought in like some common criminal. She at least needed a fair trial, not the joke of a display she'd received, in the end. Even from the vague descriptions he'd heard from the wrong side of a jail cell, he knows enough to deduce that the trial was rigged against her from the start. He doesn't even particularly care that he'd faced the gallows for his actions- he'd do it again in a heartbeat, to save So’ika's life.

“Shooting your commanding officer is not the way to go about it, Fives! I need you to tell me that you understand this.” Rex braces himself with a sigh, pinching his temples, as Fives centers himself once again. “I should have been there. I could have helped. And I sure as ka’ra wouldn’t have let you shoot Wolffe.”

After a moment’s pause, when it becomes clear that the captain has broken his tirade with an absolutely-healthy self-loathing session, Fives exhales a long breath. “I’m not sure it would have made a difference, Rex. The little jetii demagolka was too thorough for that.”

The description startles Rex, who snorts a little at his language, and Fives counts that as a win. But his face falls quickly into despondency. “If I had been there, maybe she would have said goodbye.”

And, osik, doesn’t that just pull at Fives’ heartstrings. It occurs to him, then, just how rough Rex has had it recently- and not for the first time these past few days. He recalls the, quite frankly, pitiful state he’d been in last night, drunk and drowning in his misery, and if he’s completely honest, Fives can’t blame him at all for yelling his bucket off.

“Sorry, I… sorry,” Rex says, and Fives can’t figure out why until his hand comes away from his face shining with tears.

“You don’t need to apologize, Sir.”

“I should.” He heaves another sigh. “I shouldn’t be acting like this right now. General Skywalker has it much worse- he needs someone to lean on.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to be that someone. All due respect, Rex, but you’re running yourself ragged. You can take some time for yourself, too.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” He takes a seat on one of the nearby bunks, collapsing hard. “It’s not professional.”

“Has the general ever cared about professionalism in the past? He’s not about to crack down on you just because you’re having a bad week. You have every right to be upset. Frankly, you’re turning into Cody- and not in a good way.”

That seems to resonate with Rex. He slumps a little against the bunk, closing his eyes. Then, after a moment, he surprises Fives by laughing once. “He would have loved to hear that.”

The ARC trooper mulls it over for a second, then chuckles, too. “That he would have, Captain.”

“You’ll look after the General?” Rex meets his eyes again, this time glassy with exhaustion.

“Of course,” he replies, then quirks his mouth into a smirk. “He could use a big distraction, and I’ve got the perfect one in mind.”

For a moment, Rex looks as if he’s about to protest that, but then concedes with a nod. “Get out of here, Fives. And please don’t stun Wolffe again, while you’re at it. I’m not sure the general could bail you out a second time.”

“Of course, Sir.” He fires off a lazy salute, then heads towards the door.

He doesn’t hear Rex’s comm go off, or the dead man that speaks from the other line.

<()><()><()>

Anger.

That's the only emotion that runs through Acheron's mind, that blots out any semblance of logical thought. He was able to stamp it down enough to comfort Ahsoka, to provide her with the kindness he knows she needed, but now, it is all-consuming, whole and absolute. It pulses in time with his wounds, adds to the fogginess caused by the pain, spears through him with every beat of his heart. It is not the whirlwind of rage he experienced that day on Mandalore, but steady, unwavering. It is only tempered by the knowledge that he must work hastily, return to Serenno as soon as possible.

That does not mean he will enjoy this any less, however.

They're stationed outside of his ship- him, and the young traitor collapsed before him. He supposes it's ironic, labeling the Mirialan as such when he is far more deserving of the title, but at the moment, he's decided he doesn’t particularly care.

She would look almost peaceful in her unconscious state were it not for the jagged slash across her chest and the cuffs around her wrists. Even knocked out, she is shivering, face tight against the pain and the cold. He cannot find it in him to spare any sympathy for her- the revelations of the past day have ensured that. He knows some part of him should feel remorseful for his actions, but that part is dwindling ever smaller each time Sidious's face appears in his mind, each time Ahsoka's words echo around him.

He recalls the Sith code as he observes the other former Jedi before him. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. From what Ahsoka told him, Barriss had said something similar when facing imprisonment. But she does not understand the magnitude of it all- the depth in which this lie of peace truly extends. The more he thinks about it, the more he sees passion and strategic power as the only way this war will end.

Through passion, I gain strength.

For a moment, he considers the possibility of allying himself with the young not-Jedi. But he dismisses it quickly- she would in no way be loyal to him, and unless he tells her Sidious's identity, he sees no possible way she could assist him.

And then there's the matter of Ahsoka.

He uses a Force suggestion to wake Barriss up, harsh and sudden. She inhales raggedly, gulping for air as her eyes fall on him. She doesn’t recognize him, at first- and he doesn’t blame her. But then her aura clouds with fear, and she shakes even more.

“Mas… Master Kenobi,” she gasps.

“Not quite,” he replies, savoring the metallic tang of terror in the air. “Master Kenobi is not here. You are stuck with me.”

The pure strength of the darkness that radiates in ripples around him is nearly staggering. It is not like the Light- no, it is stronger, better, deeper.

Through strength, I gain power.

“Master,” Barriss says, pushing herself backwards, stretching away from him, “I-I don’t understand-”

“I should make you aware, Miss Offee,” he interrupts, watching her grimace at the title, “that I am not in a good mood at the moment. In fact, quite the opposite. First I am tortured beyond natural thought, and then when I finally reconnect with my grandpadawan, I learn that she’s been betrayed by the Jedi Order, cast out by her own people, and at the center of it all- you.”

He draws closer, igniting the Darksaber. He would have used the red saber that inspired fear in every Jedi, but at the last moment he remembers he gifted it to Ahsoka. Barriss cringes in on herself, but freezes when she finds his blade at her neck.

Just because his right hand is injured doesn’t mean he can't hold a weapon steady with his left.

“Tell me, Barriss, because I would very much like to know,” he growls, allowing the full depth of his anger to make itself known in the Force. She shivers. “Why shouldn’t I just kill you right now?”

He never thought he would be one to enjoy another’s suffering, but the sharp horror on her face and in the air is… almost soothing. The Dark curls around it, whispering that if he is to do this, all his ailments will disappear, his anger will be curbed. As it needs to be- and this Mirialan before him is the perfect target.

She swallows shakily, and the faint scent of burnt flesh fills the air as her neck touches the blade. She jerks away, then says, “We have- we have the same enemy-”

“In whom- the Jedi?” He clicks his tongue. “Not good enough. One more chance.”

“I-I can be useful!” She is panicking now, eyes blown wide, darting around his face. “I can fight, and- and I can gather intel- I was a Jedi, like you-”

Oh, that is laughable. She has no direction, no motivation. It is unlikely she will ever obtain true victory in her motives. Even this little plan of hers only served to get her imprisoned and Ahsoka cast out. In the long run, it is unlikely the Jedi would consider her motives long enough to review their own practices. She has failed.

Through power, I gain victory.

“We are nothing alike.” He almost raises his voice, but then pulls his saber back ever-so-slightly and regains his usual control. “I’m afraid you’ve used all your opportunities, and my patience is growing ever thinner.”

“No- wait-”

He slices downward, almost effortlessly, and her voice is cut off by screams as her arm falls to the floor, disconnected. Outwardly, he doesn’t react, but the pit of darkness that is constantly growing within him smiles.

Through victory, my chains are broken.

The Force shall free me.

Yes, he will enjoy this.

Chapter Text

“This is Captain Rex.”

He answers the comm without thinking, and immediately regrets it. As Fives has so… aptly stated, he is being run into the ground- and most of it isn’t even his fault. But with General Skywalker “distracted”, and frankly, too much on his mind to consider hitting the bunks at the moment, he might as well answer it.

So he ignores his very soul screaming at him to rest, and consequently, is very unprepared for the returning voice.

“Rex. It’s Kote.”

His heart stops, then starts again, the momentary adrenaline giving him enough drive to roll his eyes. “Yeah, right, vod. I’m not in the mood for pranks- who is it really?”

There’s something between a huff and a sigh on the other end. “Rex, it’s really me. I’m contacting you from Mandalore.”

Ignoring the myriad of questions that surface at that particular comment, he sits himself down on the bunk, double-checking that his room is empty, and straightens his back. He really can’t afford to get his hopes up right now- which is precisely why he follows up with, “Prove it.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end, and Rex has a moment of cruel, bittersweet satisfaction- he’s caught the would-be prankster in the act. But it doesn’t last long.

“Our last spar on Kamino.” There’s a heavy swallow from across the line, and Rex’s own mouth goes dry. “You brought up the idea of just leaving. Packing up Wolffe and Fox and Bly and making for the Outer Rim. It was treason, and we both knew it- and we never brought it up again, either. We were the only ones in the training room, but we were- we were both so afraid we were going to be decommed. I was assigned to General Kenobi the next cycle, and I planned to take it to my deathbed.”

Rex had forgotten about that conversation- and the emotions dredged up from the memory are not exactly comforting at this moment. “Osik.”

“Hey, Rex’ika,” Cody- it’s Cody- says with what sounds like a chuckle. “Long time no see.”

“Kriff,”  he continues, running a hand across his face. “Karking Sith hells.”

“Ka’ra, vod. There are young ears around.”

“Young ears- what-?” Rex stands, locking the door, his voice barely a hiss. “ Kote, how are you alive? What have you been doing?”

“A little welcome would have been nice,” he grumbles in return, and the captain feels a twinge of guilt. “It’s a long story, and, yes, young ears- I have Commander Tano here with me.”

“Hi, Rex!” comes another, chirping voice.

“Kid?” He must be dreaming- but, no, his head is pounding just as much as it was before, if not more. He lets out a long, long sigh- he needs to think about this rationally, like, well… like Cody would. Though that’s getting progressively harder the longer this conversation continues. “Okay. Not that I’m not… so relieved to hear you’re both safe, but- I am so kriffing confused. Start from the beginning. Please.”

And so they do- or, rather, Cody does. He spins a tale that Rex is too incredulous not to believe in- if it had come from anyone else, he would have laughed in their face and hung up within two seconds.

He tells of his assault on Yyger. He doesn’t mince words- he describes the bare bones of the situation before moving on. He tells of how they met Mandalorians on the field, and how he came face-to-face with Kenobi. His voice tightens as he recalls their confrontation, and how he was shot with a stun bolt and imprisoned- apparently, alongside the majority of his men. Then, he tells of how Ahsoka came to visit, and how Kenobi’s right-hand verd let him out of the cells and into the palace.

“There was one condition.” Cody pauses here, and Rex almost swears he can hear him wince. “I had to swear fealty to the Mand’alor.”

“What? And you thought this was a good idea?” Rex shakes his head, trying to clear it of the buzzing that has arisen. “Cody, you're supposed to be the smart one.”

“It was the best course of action, and the one that made the most sense.” Ever the strategist. “It was either I join Kenobi’s ranks and attempt to gather information- and maybe guide him along if I could- or rot in jail with the rest of my men.”

There is a lengthy pause, where Rex contemplates his words, before he speaks up again.

“There's more,” he says, and his voice is tighter, more clipped than before. “The evidence I have, the information he gave me… This could tear apart the Republic, Rex.”

“Is that what Obi-Wan told me to ask about? About the chips?” Ahsoka's voice now- for the first time since Cody began speaking.

The man hesitates, then says, “I believe so. You're not going to like it- either of you.”

Rex sighs for what feels like the twentieth time today. “Just spit it out, vod.”

“We were engineered to kill the Jedi.”

He blinks.

Of all the heart-stopping, unbelievable, dread-filled sentences he could have uttered-

“What?” Ahsoka exclaims, and her voice is filled with the incredulity Rex feels. “How- how can that be? Are you sure, Cody?”

“As sure as I can be,” he replies. “The information could have been falsified, but it's extremely thorough, and I don't know why Kenobi would have gone through the trouble of removing our behavior chips if-”

“He removed your chip?” 

“He said he had no choice, and I didn't believe him- until I read this report.” He sighs, sounding just as tired as the day he disappeared in battle. “I can't send it to you, Rex, it's not safe, and you'll probably have to wipe your comm after, but I can tell you the details now.”

“Go ahead.” He doesn’t want to wait another minute. Suddenly, he is very glad he had the foresight to lock the door.

Cody is right- the information is detailed, extremely and horrifically so. It describes the conditioning in the clones’ development that makes them susceptible to the chips’ orders, the procedures that made it possible. His vod’s voice is hard and clipped with anger, as is Ahsoka’s when she interjects with clarifying questions. Rex stays silent, listening and absorbing, almost boiling over with something like betrayal.

“I haven’t had a chance to speak to Kenobi since he passed this along to me,” Cody continues after each dirty detail has been exposed, “and there’s obviously a bigger picture that he’s not sharing. But I’ve put my slicers on it- the two that got captured, anyway- and the information is either deep-faked to Kashyyk and back, or it’s legitimate.”

“It’s terrifying, is what it is! This means our whole creation was a lie!” Rex stands and begins to pace back and forth, a habit he’s never quite shaken. He exhales slowly. “But why are you telling me? What can I- What can any of us do? If this is true…”

“Oh, I can tell this one,” said Ahsoka. “I met Mas- Obi-Wan after… well, after I left.” Rex’s heart sinks at the reminder. “He met me in the lower levels of Coruscant, and he offered me a place to stay on Mandalore, and asked if I could pass a message to Cody. He told me the ‘information’ that he held needed to be released among the clones, but slowly. He said to start with one completely trustworthy man, and work from there.”

Rex can’t deny that he’s touched to be considered that trustworthy man, but he still feels uneasy. Maybe it’s due to the nausea lingering from last night, or maybe it’s due to the multiple bombshells that have been dropped on his head today. Or maybe-

“I don’t trust him,” he says aloud. “And I can’t deny this… proof, but I don’t trust his motives by giving it out. I know you two have been close, Kote, but he’s allied with Dooku. He attacked you.”

“He stunned me,” Cody replies in a flat voice. “But, I agree. Why do you think I decided to put myself closer? With Kenobi, it’s always a game of dejarik. You can only pick up hints of his motives from studying his actions. I’m not going to act on anything unless I am absolutely sure it won’t harm any of our brothers. I can’t say the same for the Republic, but I will use my head, Rex.”

The captain sighs, sitting once more. “Ahsoka? What do you think?”

“I… don’t know.” Rex can picture the look on her face, morose and contemplating. He sees it reflected in General Skywalker, nowadays. “He was nothing but kind to me when I spoke with him. But I don’t understand anything he’s doing, or why he Fell in the first place.. He did say this was just a place to stay for me, and nothing more, so I don’t think I’ll get too involved. But I think Cody did the right thing. I’ll try to gather information where I can, too.”

“Be careful. Both of you.” Rex frowns. “I’m glad you’re… well, relatively safe. Please try to keep it that way. Don’t get in over your heads with all this Sith- uh, stuff.”

“As long as you promise to be careful, too,” Ahsoka replies. “Keep yourself- and Anakin and the 501st- safe. Please, Rex.”

“Don’t let this information get in the wrong hands,” Cody adds. “One wrong word to the wrong ear, and the entire GAR could be compromised. Keep it within a small circle, maybe medics or people with more information on the subject.”

“Understood.” Rex looks down at his comm to find it blinking- probably another mess waiting for him to sort it out. He sighs. “I have to go. Give Kenobi my regards, I guess.”

Cody laughs once, and the sound makes Rex smile, despite everything. “Sure, vod. Don’t die out there.”

The order seems so much more grave, now, and hangs in the air long after the call disconnects.

<()><()><()>

“You seem distracted, Anakin.”

The man in question gives a deadpan look towards Master Elyyn, which in turn makes her mouth quirk up in amusement. “Of course I’m distracted. I just spent the night at the loudest podrace I’ve ever been to- I didn’t even get to race- my Captain seems like he’s seen a ghost, my padawan was expelled, and my master is a kriffing traitor. So forgive me if I’m a little distracted.”

“I’m not holding it against you,” she replies evenly, seeming to look straight through him. “To be honest, I think I speak for the rest of the Jedi when I say that no one is expecting you to be completely rational right now. Even the most mastered at releasing their emotions would not be having the best time right now. That’s why we’re speaking, isn’t it?”

Anakin wants to be angry- he so badly wishes to yell, to hate that face of Jedi serenity that she so calmly wears. He’s so tired, so tired of upholding himself to the standards placed upon him, seeing everyone else carry on as if impervious to life’s hardships. He wants to eradicate it, to break down and be allowed full range of his emotions.

But Master Elyyn- “Call me Aine in these sessions, Anakin,”- is so blindingly familiar in her countenance. It almost pains him to admit that she reminds him of Obi-Wan- all of her advice, her mannerisms as of yet, create a sense of deja vu in him so strongly that it seems to widen the void in his chest. He wishes his old master was here- and yet, at the same time, he’s almost afraid of who he’d meet in his place.

“If I’m being completely honest, Anakin,” the Mind Healer continues, leaning forward, “I’m disappointed that we haven’t met sooner. A Jedi’s falling is something that rattles everyone close to them, and it’s something that weeds out the love from the attachment. I’m surprised that it took even more of a push for the Council to send you to me.”

Anakin scoffs once. He knows that he’s not entirely… stable right now, but he’s staying strong, on Obi-Wan’s behalf.  The master he used to know would despise seeing him in such a state, and Anakin intends to honor that memory. It was originally also for Ahsoka’s sake, but…

“I thought I was fine, because I was so determined to get him back,” he says aloud, and is momentarily surprised by his honesty. “I- well, I still kind of am, but-”

“But now it feels more permanent?”

He swallows and nods.

“It’s always hard, mourning those who aren’t yet dead.” The compassion in her voice stuns him- it’s a very welcome change from the harsh judgment and bitter pity the Council has been levying against him recently, when they even interact with him at all. “We will never know the full picture, even with all the information presented to us. We can’t look into Obi-Wan’s mind or memories, and we can’t change what has already happened. We can only move forward, and trust in the Force.”

“Heard that one before,” he mutters, and her eyebrows rise a little. “Not that- I meant-”

“I’m not going to report you to the Council for a little impertinence,” she replies cooly, her Force presence pressing against his in soothing waves, and he sags in relief. “I told you already, confidentiality is of the utmost importance right now, only seconded to safety.”

He grunts in acknowledgement, and he’s certain she can feel his gratitude in the Force.

There is a gentle pause, then Master Elyyn continues, “Have you spoken much to the Council?”

A flash of anger- one that slips past his shields before he can lock it down, and she immediately notices. She says, “Apparently not, then.”

“What is there to speak about?” He asks, waving a hand in the air. “They haven’t been a help in the past, and they didn’t help when it really mattered. I know they’re watching me, and not saying anything- I don’t see why I need to interact with them more than they deem necessary. If they’d like to apologize for ruining my padawan’s life, they can contact me.”

“I don’t pretend to speak the Council’s minds,” her voice sounds like she’s tiptoeing over glass, “but have you considered there is more going on under the surface?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anakin snaps.

“I’m gathering that you believe the Council is being unreasonably distant, yes?”

“Yes.” His voice is sour.

“Well, in the past, who was your main connection to the Council? Who did you get your information from?”

“I…” The realization is slow, but it makes sense. “Oh.”

“I’m not denying that their actions are unacceptable from your point of view, especially when it came to Padawan Tano. But their motives cannot be determined without direct contact. Perhaps if you initiated a conversation, attempted to see from their eyes-”

“But I don’t want to see from their eyes,” he says, and is not surprised in the least by the anger in his tone, but it seems Master Elyyn is. “Every time, they act like they’re doing what’s best for me and people close to me. Why don’t they ever just let us decide? Why don’t they wait for more information? They immediately blamed Ahsoka without- without even caring - who’s to say they didn’t do the same to Obi-Wan? I’m starting to think they might have been the reason he left in the first place!”

“They are in a position of responsibility,” she says slowly and calmly, and it throws his anger for a loop, but he regains it quickly. “They have a duty of care to-”

“Care,” Anakin nearly growls. “Did they care when they wouldn’t even let us contact Obi-Wan after he left? Did they care when they accused Ahsoka of murder?”

“Anakin.” Master Elyyn leans forward, and suddenly her presence is poking against his again, soft and unobtrusive and comforting. It’s not at all what he expects from a near-stranger, and he recoils before reluctantly accepting. “One thing most people don’t understand about the Jedi is our forbidding of attachment. After all, how can one have emotions if they do not dedicate themselves to them? But there’s a difference between attachment and care. Attachment is the unhealthy, obsessive behavior that is often linked with love and similar emotions. The lack of this may make us- especially the Council- seem distant and disconnected, when in reality we do care, just as deeply as others. Compassion is an inherently Jedi trait, even if it’s not always shown on such a level. This is why I want you to speak to the Council. They’re beings, just like you and I.”

Anakin is silent for a long while, the burning anger fading to an ember. Is that… what Obi-Wan was trying to teach him about attachment? He was always under the impression that any deep connection with others was frowned upon, and that’s why everyone was so far away, even Obi-Wan. The Chancellor always seems under the impression that that was a sign that Obi-Wan didn’t care about him the same way Anakin did, but he… he’s an outsider, like Master Elyyn said. Is it possible that the Chancellor has it wrong, and Obi-Wan just cares in different ways?

Does the Council just care in different ways?

“I…” he says aloud, feeling much more hollow than he did just a minute ago.

“Just something to keep in mind,” says Master Elyyn, regaining her previous upbeat tone. “Unfortunately, that’s the hour, and it’s my understanding that you want to get out of here as soon as possible. Next time, we'll be doing deeper meditation. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before you leave?”

Anakin huffs a little out of his nose, still in a bit of a state of disbelief. At some level, he finds it hilarious that she would drop that on him and then end the session. But she is right- he stated multiple times how much he doesn't want to be here, and how much he would like to leave the moment it is over.

He stands, back aching in a way only the most intense meditations have been able to do so far. Master Elyyn follows, a kind half-smile gracing her features. Always so kind- he expects it comes with the job.

When he doesn't say anything, she bows her head. “If you have any concerns, please, feel free to reach out. We are not confined to the healing times we've allocated. I hope you'll consider me a confidant.”

He nods in return, again unsure how to respond. He's certain that's a new record for how many times he's been speechless today. “May the Force be with you, Master.”

“And with you, Anakin.” She waves her hand to open the door, and without further conversation, he removes himself from the room.

The halls are empty. Quiet. Subdued, even. It's a painful contrast to the familiarity he's established. He's always loved the Temple- no matter the age, no matter the friendliness, there would always be another Jedi walking purposefully to greet him as they passed. Now, he can barely sense any beings in the building, let alone the halls he's walking.

It's cold.

Not in the air, in a sense. In the Force.

His mind is still stuck on his session, and in a way he's almost grateful there's no one around to sense his presence- in the past, whenever his tumultuous emotions would surround him, there was always a master or two that invited him to a meditation session with positive intentions. Right now, he does not believe that's what he needs.

However, of course, that then bids the question of what he does need. Normally, he’d invite Ahsoka for a spar, or talk to Obi-Wan. He’d head to the salles and practice katas until his arms felt like they were going to fall off. He’d even grab his ship from the hangar on a rare occasion and commit a few traffic violations to feel better. But right now…

Right now, he needs his wife.

He feels guilty, sometimes, for relying on her so much. For trusting her so much. Especially when they need to keep it hidden, what with pressure on both of their sides. But she relies on him, too, and they come to each other with most everything. So he reasons that it's okay, it's what they should do. It's more than he ever really did with Obi-Wan, at least.

Does Obi-Wan just care differently?

He shakes his head at the reoccurring thought from a few minutes ago, focusing on directing himself to the Senate chambers. He has the path memorized, by now, and the Senate Guards don’t bother to check him when he lands his speeder. A few Corries patrolling the halls even nod as he passes. He supposes he has become a bit of a fixture around here. Not for the first time, he’s glad he gets a pass as a Jedi Knight- otherwise his presence would definitely be suspicious.

The personal Senate chambers within the building are meant to be temporary, but it seems Padmé spends more time here than her own apartment, nowadays. Many, many emergency bills and sessions have made it near impossible for her to commute home just to fly right back. Not to mention the danger of assassination each time she steps out of the office. And because she insists on throwing herself into her work, she is often up until the middle of the night cycle filling out flimsiwork anyway.

He supposes he can’t really fault her for that, but seriously. He really doesn’t see the point of it all, sometimes. Politics is ridiculous, anyway, as Obi-Wan has stated to him multiple times over. Padmé disagrees. They both still firmly hold their stance.

He’s just coming up on Padmé’s door when he sees another familiar face around her office- the Chancellor. A wave of confusion washes over him- why would he be around this area of the Senate?- but it's quickly overshadowed by a vague sense of relief and comfort. 

"Anakin, my boy!" The Chancellor’s voice is warm, paternal as ever. He steps forward, arms wide in welcome, as if he hadn’t just emerged from Padmé’s office unannounced. "What a pleasant surprise."

Anakin forces a small smile, though something twists uncomfortably in his gut. "Chancellor. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Late meeting?"

Palpatine waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing important. Just attending to a few routine matters with Senator Amidala. You know how committed she is to the welfare of the Republic."

Anakin nods, but something in the Chancellor’s words unsettles him. Why would Padmé be meeting with him alone? She hadn’t mentioned it. And while politics were her world, private sessions with the Chancellor at this hour felt… odd.

Palpatine steps closer, lowering his voice, as if sharing a secret. "I must admit, I was concerned about you. These recent events with your former Master have been troubling. The Council has not handled it well."

Anakin’s shoulders tense instinctively. The Council. Always them. Always their judgment. And yet, his conversation with Master Elyyn rings quietly in the back of his mind. Perhaps there is more going on under the surface.

"I can handle it," Anakin says, a little too quickly. "I… have people I can speak to."

The Chancellor studies him, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Of course, of course. But you should know, my dear boy, not everyone at the Temple has your best interests at heart." His voice softens further. "You have been through so much. Betrayed by those who were supposed to guide you. Cast aside. I fear they see you as a threat more than a Jedi."

Anakin’s throat tightens. "That’s not true," he says automatically, but it sounds hollow, even to himself. Isn’t it true? Wasn’t Ahsoka cast out? Wasn’t Obi-Wan abandoned?

Palpatine places a hand on his shoulder. "I only wish for you to see clearly. Power such as yours is rare, Anakin. You deserve trust. Freedom. Not constant suspicion and oversight."

The words are comforting- but they don’t land quite the way they usually do. Master Elyyn’s calm voice whispers again in his mind: Compassion is an inherently Jedi trait, even if it's not always shown on such a level.

"I appreciate your concern, Chancellor," Anakin says carefully. "But I should really speak to Padmé now."

Palpatine smiles again- too easily. "Of course. Of course. Do give her my thanks, she’s a great help. And remember, my door is always open, should you need someone who understands."

With that, the Chancellor strides away, cloak billowing behind him.

Anakin watches him go, unease crawling beneath his skin. Something felt… wrong. He couldn't place it. The Chancellor always said the right things, always offered him exactly what he wanted to hear, but… suddenly it feels more like a warning than comfort.

He presses the entry chime to Padmé’s office.

A few moments later, the door hisses open, revealing his wife. She looks tired, overworked, but her face brightens immediately when she sees him. "Anakin!"

He steps inside and lets the door close behind him, breathing in her familiar presence like the air on Naboo. For a moment, he says nothing, just wraps his arms around her and pulls her close.

"Hey," she whispers into his shoulder. "What’s wrong?"

Anakin swallows hard. "I… don’t know. I just needed to see you."

She pulls back slightly, studying him with concern. "Did something happen?"

He hesitates. Should he tell her? About Master Elyyn’s words? About the Chancellor? About his growing uncertainty? He’s not sure yet. He feels adrift, as if the ground is shifting in ways he can’t yet see.

"Not yet," he finally says softly. "But something’s… something’s not right."

Padmé strokes his cheek, grounding him. "Whatever it is, we’ll face it together."

Anakin closes his eyes, breathing in her comfort, but the uneasy weight in his chest remains.

Something is starting to crack.

<()><()><()>

“No.”

The strength of the word surprises Dooku, but he does not let it show in his face. Instead, he stares his apprentice down, as Kenobi is currently reciprocating. “No?”

“I will not take place in a space battle,” the man all but spits, fiery embers bursting from his Force presence. He is off-center, near transparent- something happened on Coruscant, and Dooku does not believe it is fully due to learning Sidious’s identity. “My place belongs on the ground, with my strike team . The costs would be too high on both sides, not to mention I detest flying-”

“You will not be using Mandalore’s forces for this battle,” the Sith interrupts, forcing his will onto the man, who immediately grows silent, discomfort and fierce anger flashing through the air. Interesting. “You will be using droids. You will not be given command of them- Sidious does not believe you to be ready- and instead will lead the fighters. Consider this a blessing.”

“A blessing?” Kenobi nearly chokes.

Dooku knows the real reason he’s refusing. He is not an idiot- he knows that Kenobi, as of yet, has not actually killed any clones. If the suspicious lack of bodies on the Mandalorian sector of Yyger had not tipped him off, Kenobi's refusal to push the attack and lack of guilt after the fact would have. Dooku has not told his master of Kenobi’s apparent softness as of yet, but if it continues for much longer, he will be forced to. This is precisely why this battle will be important for him- he will be forced to confront clones in midair, which will hopefully plant the seeds of further emotional conflict and loyalty to their cause.

Their plan relies on it. Kenobi knew what he was getting into.

“Yes. A blessing.” He lowers his voice, though he knows they are the only beings in this building. “I cannot fault you for… recruiting soldiers , given I was the one to order you to build your army, but you know what will happen if Sidious catches wind of your methods. This is the opportunity you need to stay on the path we've forged.”

Kenobi’s jaw tightens, and for a moment Dooku thinks he might lash out- not with words, but with the Force. The air hums with a subtle vibration of restrained power, like a blade held an inch from its target.

"My methods have proven effective," Obi-Wan bites out, voice low and sharp. "I’ve given you a loyal and competent ground force that has secured multiple sectors with minimal unnecessary bloodshed."

"Minimal unnecessary bloodshed," Dooku repeats, almost amused. "Curious wording for a Sith Apprentice."

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing.

Dooku allows a brief silence to linger before stepping closer, lowering his voice even further, forcing the full weight of his presence onto his apprentice. "You agreed to this, Kenobi. You agreed with me for power, for clarity. And you swore you would leave your old allegiances behind."

"I have left them behind," Obi-Wan snaps, but it’s brittle, too quick. "The Jedi betrayed me long before I ever left them."

"Then why," Dooku purrs, "do you still hesitate to destroy them?"

Obi-Wan looks away, breathing hard. His shields are cracking again. Good. Dooku presses on.

"You hesitate because you still see their faces. You still hear their voices. The clones, perhaps? Or is it Anakin you fear facing in battle?" Dooku tilts his head slightly, studying him. "Or perhaps… Ahsoka Tano?"

The reaction is instant. The brief flicker of rage that flashes across Kenobi’s face confirms it. Dooku smiles thinly. There it is. The weak point.

"I see." His voice softens, as though offering comfort, though they both know it is nothing of the sort. "It is not just your own disillusionment that breaks you now. It is hers. The little Togruta was cast out before your very eyes, wasn’t she?"

Obi-Wan’s shoulders are tight, his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles pale.

"You could not save her," Dooku continues, voice silken. "The Council turned their back on her. On both of you. And now you carry that guilt like a chain. You think that by sparing their soldiers, you are honoring some last fragment of your former life. Some desperate hope that you are still… good."

"Enough." Obi-Wan’s voice is a warning growl, the energy around him sparking dangerously.

But Dooku does not step back. Instead, his tone sharpens, the last of the feigned sympathy stripped away. "Enough? No, Kenobi. Focus. This sentimentality will destroy you. You have seen Sidious’s face now, you know what we are truly up against. You know what must be done."

Kenobi’s breath comes heavier, but his eyes finally meet Dooku’s again- filled with conflict, but clearer than before. "If I fight in this space battle, I will not be responsible for the deaths of thousands of clones."

Dooku arches a brow. "No. The droids will be. You are merely leading them."

Kenobi’s lips twitch at the deliberate manipulation, but Dooku can sense the reluctant surrender settling over him like a heavy cloak. His apprentice’s inner turmoil still churns like a storm beneath the surface, but for now, he is tethered.

"Good," Dooku says softly, almost a whisper. "We cannot afford distractions. Sidious is growing wary. If we fail, you will not be the only one to suffer."

He steps back at last, releasing his oppressive grip on the Force. "Prepare to rendezvous with your forces. You leave within the hour."

Obi-Wan closes his eyes briefly, his voice barely audible: "As you wish… Master."

But Dooku senses the bitterness behind the words, and he files it away carefully. The boy’s rage is growing. Sooner or later, they will either harness it, or be consumed by it.

Chapter Text

He’s assigned to battle the 501st- because of course he is.

Obi-Wan doesn’t even have half a thought to spare about the cruelty of it all, right now. He doesn’t have the time. He is working on instinct, even as it eats him alive, even as he has to force himself not to miss his shots, firing with deadly accuracy. Hesitating would bring suspicion, and missing would bring death. He can’t afford either.

He hates himself for it.

Dooku lied to him, and though he is not necessarily surprised, the sting of betrayal still cuts deep. He is not merely overseeing the drones of the fighter force. He is among them, leading them, and he is slaughtering.

This is necessary. It’s necessary.

The words swirl in his mind, pulsing and writhing. He's been repeating them even before he stepped into his starfighter. He's not sure how much they keep him grounded- it now feels more like he's trying to convince himself rather than repeat something he knows. It’s now less of a rock and more of a noose.

Necessary.

The Separatist starship is unfamiliar to him- more lethal and sharp than his Jedi fighter, lined with red and black and much too many HUDs to be practical- as are the silence over the comms and his only orders coming from a tactical droid , of all things. It's insulting, taking direction from such a narrow-minded, mechanical intelligence. Not even Admiral Trench has graced him with the satisfaction of being commanded by him- his excuse is that he’s commanding the station’s ground forces, not the air ones, but it still hurts. The bitterness and offense weigh heavy on his tongue, intertwining with every other poisonous emotion that is swelling within him.

He could fire on the Separatist blockade. He could take out the infuriating droid before he has to obey it any more. He could release his missiles into the station, giving the Republic a helping hand. He could leave this battlefield and attempt to piece himself back together, ignoring the shadow of blood on his hands.

Necessary.

Another fighter, edged with blue, flanks him, quickly followed by three more. Obi-Wan finds himself almost grateful for his own fighter's speed as he takes another pass around the 501st's general-less Venator- the Resolute, he distantly names. It gives him just enough distance to take a risky maneuver around an outstretched flap of the Venator, taking out two of the fighters and damaging the equipment in the process. He then increases speed, only allowing himself to focus on stabilizing the controls. In one swift jerk, he whips his ship around and catches another pilot off-guard, using his front cannons to dispose of them quickly. Just as he's about to take care of the final pursuer, he catches a glint of something unmistakably white behind the ship's visor.

He is dragged back to the present, to his actions, with a sickening lurch.

Helmet.

Clone.

Men.

Cody.

Blood.

Necessary. Necessary. Necessary.

He does not pull the trigger, and it costs him, because he has to swerve in a way that tests the ship's response time on the narrowest edge. The distant planet of Ringo Vinda now hangs above his head and he fights to clear his mind, to move the controls, to do anything, even as the white helmet fills his vision, even as he can feel nothing but his own men's unwavering loyalty, the lives being lost all around him, Cody's or Helix’s or Waxer’s face replacing theirs-

Necessary.

The Force screams.

Vulture droids are tearing apart the fighter that attacked him, but that's not where his attention is being pulled. It is to the space station, erupting in fear and shock and death, and not the kind that has become standard amidst this war. He feels Anakin's astonished betrayal, Master Tiplee's agony, the clones’ bewildered adrenaline, and Master Tiplar…

A clone. Tup. Shot her. She's dead.

The scene flashes before his eyes in terrifying bursts, sending him reeling even further than before.

Tup shaking his head to clear it but having no effect.

Tup narrowing in on the general they fight with.

Tup raising his blaster to her turned back.

Tup falling to the ground, covered and detained by his brother.

Tup repeating that horrid phrase, over and over and over-

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

He has little time to process, even less still to wipe the tears from his eyes, because he has somehow forgotten that he is on a battlefield. The Venator's cannons have had time to lock onto him, with him drifting aimlessly through space, encompassed by what he's seen. A blast hits him square on the wing, and then he's spiraling, breaching atmosphere in what seems like seconds and days-

Fourteen men. I am responsible for the deaths of fourteen men. Likely more, if indirectly.

For a moment, the thought to do anything to slow his descent doesn't even occur to him. When it does, still he hesitates. What is the point? Frankly, it's a wonderful thing that he's been taken out so early in the battle. He cannot steal any more lives if he crashes.

Tup's chip activated.

That's right, he remembers. He has work to do. There will be no point to this charade if he throws it all away now.

Necessary.

The word sticks in his throat like an allergy.

He raises his vambrace through the jostling of his ship and activates the distress beacon, hoping desperately that Bo has the foresight to send droids to him instead of herself. He doesn’t bother to notify the tactical droid of his situation- if it sees him as worthy of retrieving, he will be retrieved. Then he stabilizes the controls as much as he can, tenses his muscles, and braces for impact.

He would pray to the Force, but it hasn't exactly been a reliable caretaker as of late.

<()><()><()>

“What the kriff is happening?” Fives demands as he removes his bucket. They have just left the medical bay, and he and Rex have broken off from their original group. Rex has been uncharacteristically quiet while they discuss Tup- almost too quiet. He was the first to jump on the idea of a possible Separatist virus, quickly and near-desperately. The Generals were too preoccupied with the clone-shaped problem they have on their hands to really recognize it, but Fives knows Rex, and even with as odd as he’s been acting since Commander Tano left, he’s certain he knows something deeper about what’s happening to his friend.

Rex doesn’t respond at first, side-eying him in that way that is indicative of subterfuge. It only serves to make Fives more frustrated.

“Listen, Captain,” Fives stops the man, pulling him aside. “One of our most loyal soldiers has just shot a Jedi general. If you know anything, anything that you aren’t telling us, now is the time to speak up.”

The captain looks over his shoulder, but Fives can see the moment he concedes. He leans in close. “Not here, Fives. Not now. There are people we can't-”

He sighs heavily, but Fives's interest is piqued, now.

“Then when?” He demands, unintentionally drawing the attention of a passing squadron. He lowers his voice slightly. “If not now, when? Is it really that big that we can't tell our general?”

Rex's face twists, and then it is clear that yes, it is too big to tell the general. Fives's stomach sinks.

“Listen,” Rex hisses, checking over his shoulder periodically. “I haven't figured out what to do about it yet so if you could just wait-”

He cuts off, suddenly, and Fives can see why- General Skywalker is approaching them, expression grim. Even more grim than it was a few minutes ago, if that’s possible.

“I won't be able to accompany you to Kamino,” he says, and a heavy resignation settles over him. “The only reason I would've been able to is because our forces have already broken through the station's blockade and the Council would've felt comfortable sending me and leaving the others without backup. But there's been a complication.”

“Sir?” Rex asks, almost impossibly still.

Ka'ra. Fives's brother needs to get better at hiding stuff.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the general does not notice, running his mechanical hand across his face. “Obi-Wan's ship went down hard, in a sector near our current forces. The Council says it's the highest priority to bring him in, no matter what state he's in.”

Kenobi again. Fives can't deny he's getting a little tired and more than a little frustrated with how many waves the former Jedi has brought across the galaxy in just a few months, and especially their battalion. He was not happy when Jerus reported that the air forces were headed by Kenobi, and he is certainly not happy now. Neither is General Skywalker, it seems.

“Whatever state he's in?” He repeats aloud instead, shifting his thoughts. “Is it likely he's injured, Sir?”

“Almost definitely,” Skywalker responds. “I'm supposed to reach him before the Seppies do. If he isn't dead yet, anyway.”

And isn't that an idea. Fives can't help the wave of hopefulness that overcomes him, even as the general's fiery gaze snaps to him in response. He shouldn't hope for it- he personally worked with General Kenobi almost every time their battalions interacted, once he became an ARC, and he was an amazing man. But even the general should be ready to admit that it would solve a lot of their current problems if Kenobi died on impact.

He doesn't say any of it aloud, though, for once not willing to stir the pot more than it has been.

“You said you would be going after him,” says Rex, directing their attention from one another. “Not us?”

Skywalker's face twists again, bitterly. “I need you to accompany Tup. I would send him with other men, but it’s doubtful we can trust him with their safety or his own. The Council wants us separated for this one.”

“Sir, with all due respect-”

“No, Rex,” he says, firmer this time. “We already went over all the options. I told them you should've been there to discuss it, but…”

Jedi. Fives occasionally wishes they were put nowhere near this war. It would be so much easier sometimes if the clones just ran it.

Skywalker's gaze snaps to him again.

“General,” Rex says, and he's losing patience now, Fives can tell, “I am your captain . Surely even the Council would have objections to sending me away when you're pressing an advance, even if it's just a retrieval. Tup can wait until after we retrieve Kenobi.”

“But what if Tup dies before then, or escapes?” The words taste bitter in Fives's mouth, but they need to be said. “You and I will be the best equipped to handle that sort of thing, but we can't if we're simultaneously trying to find Kenobi.”

And he wants answers from Rex- this is the perfect opportunity to get him alone. He might not be able to otherwise. It's a little low of him, but he's stooped much lower. 

“At least bring Fives,” Rex tries, but they all know it's not going to happen.

“Our battalion will have me, and Tup will have you two.” It's not often that Skywalker willingly enforces the wishes of the Council, but it seems now is one of those times. “I don't like it either, Rex. But this is the best use of our time and leadership resources. I'll meet you guys at Kamino as soon as I have Obi-Wan in custody.”

The fire off salutes, unable to protest any further, and General Skywalker walks away unsteadily.

Rex curses. Then again. Fives waits for him to explain, but he just hurries off in the direction of the medbay, and he scrambles to follow.

“Kix,” Rex barks as soon as they arrive, “Fives and I are accompanying Tup to Kamino. I need you with me as prep.”

Kix scowls, an expression that would normally make even Fives cower. “Rex, he's not ready to be moved yet, we'd need at least a full squad to accompany us-”

“Now,” he says. Anxious, firm.

This is normally the point where Kix would fight back- his patient's priority takes precedence, and he likes to say that no one's rank but his matters in the medbay. But to Fives's surprise, he concedes without further argument. Perhaps he also senses the anticipatory air that has settled itself around their captain.

It seems to take hours to prepare Tup in a stretcher and loaded onto their chosen shuttle- curiously, not a medical shuttle, instead one of the ones General Skywalker assigns for reconnaissance. 

“Kix, talk with me for a minute,” Rex says, calmer this time, and the pair of them leave Fives to question everything again. For a moment, the overwhelming urge to follow and eavesdrop overcomes him, but he resists- if Rex wants to tell him what's going on, he'll probably do it in the safety of hyperspace.

Fives seems to have picked up where Rex's patience has left off. He's not sure if that's a good thing.

It is only Rex that returns. Fives looks up from prepping the ship, raising an eyebrow in wait.

“Is this ship still off the grid?” The captain asks, frowning.

“Gotta be honest, I did not expect you to ask that.” Fives reviews the model and make of this ship, as well as the serial number- this specific one, they've reserved solely for missions requiring deep cover. “Yeah, it is. Why?”

“And the tracking device?”

“Still disabled.”

“Good.” Rex pulls a few switches, and Fives notices he's not yet inputting coordinates to Kamino. “Pull us out of the hangar. I’ll direct us, you focus on avoiding scanners.”

Avoid scanners.

“Where’s Kix?” Fives asks, slowly. If this is going where he thinks it is, they’re in much deeper osik than he originally thought.

Rex side-eyes him again- Force, Fives hates that look. “He’ll be staying behind.”

Alright then.

He pulls his comm to his mouth just as Fives lifts off, and then everything goes sideways. “Kote. What’s your position? We have… a situation.”

Fives jerks the ship out of path, narrowly missing a neat pile of munition containers. The man stacking them waves his fist at them, but Fives doesn’t care, can’t possibly care. “Cody?” he hisses, incredulous.

Rex does not deem his outburst requiring a reply.

And then, from the other end- the voice of a dead man. Fives doesn’t have a clear view or a perfect audio, but kark, he did not know what he was getting into today.

“Hanging in orbit, we’re in a cloaked cruiser not far away. I’ll send the coordinates. We’re trying to avoid detection, for now. You’re on the station, correct?”

The galaxy’s gone mad, Fives can’t help but think.

“Not anymore.” Rex runs a hand over his face, then gestures insistingly for Fives to finally make his way out of the hangar. He scrambles to comply. “We’re joining you. It’s Tup, Cody- the chips? His activated.”

There’s a very clear swear over the comm line, followed by a long pause. “Rex. Are you doing what I think you are?”

“We’re deserting.” Fives’s voice is flat. He doesn’t know what chips they’re discussing, but he’s not dumb- he knows what this sounds like.

“Yes,” Rex says, clipped and angry. Fives doesn’t know why- he’s the one taking them to Force knows where.

Osik- are they going to Kenobi? It’s a possibility, Fives has no idea why else Cody would be avoiding detection in a cruiser near Ringo Vinda. It’s very likely Cody joined Kenobi outright. He was always steadfastly loyal to the Republic, but if, somehow, he was given the right incentive, the same incentive that’s causing Rex to desert…

“We’re about to head to surface to extract... Kenobi.” Well. That answers that question. “We don’t know if he’s even alive, but al’verde Kryze has insisted that we use our own forces to extract him. I won’t be on the cruiser when you arrive. It’s very likely they’ll detain you, even with my and Kenobi’s approval.”

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Rex insists, though his expression screams indecision. His hands grip the ship’s console. “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take. I told Kix, he should be able to spread the word without us. General Skywalker wouldn’t have anyone else accompany Tup, and I didn’t want it to escalate, so. This is the only option.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence.

“I understand.” Cody is as sturdy as always, even on what seems to be the opposing side. “Where is General Skywalker?”

“Heading to the same place you are, I guess,” Fives speaks up, bitterness lacing his tone. “He’s gone to pick up your Mand’alor.”

Rex’s head whips to face him, but Cody doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he sighs. His voice is low, almost pained. “Of course. Of course he’d be there. Kriff. Obi-Wan’s going to have to fight him, isn’t he?”

Obi-Wan now, Fives notes.

“If he’s in any state to do so, then yes,” says Rex after giving Fives one last warning look. He throws his arms up in defense. “I doubt the general is going to let him off this time. Especially with the Council breathing down his neck.”

There’s guilt there, and Fives understands- leaving Skywalker behind to the mercy of the Council and the Senate after his Captain and best ARC deserted will not be fun. But he still gets the sense that he’s missing pieces, so he keeps quiet.

“Wonderful,” Cody bites out. “Looking forward to that clusterkriff. Let me know when you’re near, I’ll be on a dropship, but I’ll update Kryze.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rex says, the smallest of smiles gracing his lips.

“Don’t. I’ll see you soon, vod.”

The call disconnects, leaving nothing but their own breathing and the beeping of Tup’s medical machines.

“So,” Fives says as they pull just out of range of the scanners, leaning back in his chair. “Wanna tell me why in haran we’re joining a ghost, a Sith, and Separatist Mandalorians?

<()><()><()>

“Osik, alor , what have you gotten yourself into now?”

He does not know how he is able to recognize the voice as his al’verde’s. Frankly, he’s surprised that the words are any more than a jumbled mess in his ear. He has a concussion, that’s for certain- and he’s currently channeling every bit of energy that he can into clearing his mind as much as possible.

He muses, for a moment, about how if he were still a Jedi the task would be nearly completed already, and he’d move on to cataloguing other pressing injuries. Such as the piece of his ship that has embedded itself into his left arm. There are a lot of things that would be different were he still a Jedi now.

For one, he wouldn’t have been on the ship in order to crash it.

Oh. Bo spoke to him. Right.

He raises his head as much as he is able, glad, for once, that he didn’t bring his helmet with him. To be fair, it would have probably mitigated about eighty percent of the brain damage he has certainly sustained, but at least he can see without the confines of a stifling visor and a distracting HUD. It allows him to slowly work his mind through identifying those around him, even as they flutter around in motion he cannot quite process yet.

Bo-Katan. Their medic, Cayrze. A squadron of their best strike operatives. A… clone?

He desperately fights the muddiness that has surrounded him to reach into the Force. The man is wearing durasteel armor, and were that not enough to tell him that it was one of the clones as opposed to a Mandalorian in beskar , the way he carries himself and the distinct metallic undercurrent in the Force would. He forces himself to dig deeper, to identify who it is beneath the facsimile of beskar'gam.

It takes him much longer than he's willing to admit to realize it's Cody.

“He's definitely concussed,” the man in question says, and Kenobi realizes then that he still hasn't said anything. He does not disagree with his commander's assessment, however. “Not much we can do about it other than let him wait it out. At least he's conscious, though. ”

Cayrze- he thinks it's Cayrze, they're wearing the baar'ur insignia and blue paint, anyway- curses as they look over his arm. “Well, we've got other problems in any case.”

There's a sharp pain in that moment that seems to be gone the next instant, replaced by bacta and bandage. He must still be disoriented, he vaguely thinks, if he doesn't remember that happening.

“Alor?” Says Bo, and Kenobi gets the vague sense that this is not her first time calling him. 

“Yes?” His voice is far too scratchy, his tongue far too heavy. He has no doubt that the word is slurred, or at least lazy.

“I said, can you stand?”

Can he stand? He's not sure. A heavy, pulsing pain has begun to throb within his skull, usually a sign that he is regaining his senses, if his past experience is anything to go by. He can at least try, though it may not be an easy experience.

“Well, let’s see,” he replies, and almost has to force his lips shut to prevent himself from bursting into laughter right then and there.

He braces his good arm against the wreckage behind him and pushes . The world lurches sideways, and his stomach twists in unison, spots gathering in his vision once again. Cayrze curses deeply and adjusts themself around him, muttering repeatedly about his insufferable lack of self-regard. It reminds him so familiarly of Helix that it hurts. Helix was not captured with the small number of 212th men he is in possession of, but if he was, he would be cursing Obi-Wan's name alongside them.

"Stars," he mutters, trying to blink some of the fogginess away. His head has begun to throb in time with his arm. "Tell me this is Ringo Vinda and not some bizarre afterlife with a twisted sense of humor."

“You wish, Sir,” Cody replies dryly, crouching beside him now, durasteel helmet tucked beneath one arm. “Unfortunately for both of us, you’re still alive.”

“That’s disappointing,” Obi-Wan breathes. He winces again as his knees finally obey the command to hold him upright, still clutching tightly to Cayrze and ignoring their repeated pleas for him to sit down. “Though I suppose this is what I get for trusting a tactical droid with my safety.”

“Or for trusting Dooku,” Bo-Katan mutters, arms crossed. “Your signal gave us a heart attack. Many, actually.”

“You’re welcome for the dramatic entrance,” he rasps, blinking hard as the sunlight finally sharpens into shapes instead of blurs. “I trust the fanfare was appreciated?”

Cody just shakes his head, though there’s the faintest curl of a smirk at the edge of his mouth. It fades quickly.

“As much as I appreciate the rescue-” Obi-Wan begins.

“Don’t start, Kenobi,” Bo-Katan warns. The use of his last name seems almost unfamiliar, now- and that startles him. “Regardless of your personal motivations, we weren’t about to leave you to the mercy of a Jedi who would steal you or droids who couldn’t care less about you. If we hadn’t come planetside, there is no way you would have left this planet unscathed.”

“And that’s still in debate,” Cayrze mutters, presence frosty and focused in the Force. They are currently digging around in their medpack, no doubt looking for a stim or disinfectant of some sort.

Obi-Wan might have half a mind to argue, if he was in any other state. But he is not, and the sting of a needle in his arm does nothing to encourage him. All things considered, he is lucky that he escaped with just a concussion and a null arm, and even that will be fine after a few days of recovery. He could have had it so much worse, and he knows he should be grateful.

Then the flash of a clone’s white helmet races through his mind once again, and all thoughts of graciousness depart.

Necessary.

His eyes drift to Cody as yet another wave of helpless rage and guilt and sorrow overcomes him, and he forces himself to steady if only for Cody’s sake, instead looking his former commander over. It is nice to see him in armor that is certainly not the cheap plastoid of military-issued kits, even if it doesn’t have the signature sunburst in 212th gold that they are both so fond of. Instead, it is vaguely outlined with white stripes, and while Obi-Wan suspects that Cody has no real intention of joining the Mandalorians long-term, the durasteel painted in beskar’gam fashion certainly allows him to blend in with the other verde.

“I see you took my advice,” he says aloud, though it’s cut by a sharp inhale as Cayrze does something to his arm. His arm’s beskar is removed, too- he hadn’t noticed that, either. Not exactly a great sign.

Cody scowls a little, but shrugs. The last time they spoke, just after he sent Ahsoka and Bo-Katan to sort things out with him, Obi-Wan recommended that he scrounge up some armor for himself and any other clones he trusts enough to keep close. Not beskar, of course not- scarcity and cost beside, he would never ask Bo to provide them with something so closely tied to their roots and culture when the men have no intention of honoring it entirely. Durasteel does just fine as a disguise, and a worthy one, if Cody is going to continue making excursions like this just to save his shebs.

After all, that is all this is. Obi-Wan would never have put him in such close proximity to the 501st so soon, but what’s done is done.

“There weren't many other options,” Cody replies. “I managed to snag some for Comm- Ahsoka, too. Not a helmet, but enough that it won’t raise suspicion.”

A surge of gratitude makes itself known in Obi-Wan’s stomach. He did not ask Cody or Bo to do that for Ahsoka, and the fact that they have is very much appreciated in a way he has not felt for a while now. He forgets, sometimes, just how good his commander is at staying two steps ahead.

“Thank you,” he says, and the grittiness in his throat only adds to the sincerity of his tone.

Cody nods in response, gaze softening just a little, and for a moment, Obi-Wan can almost forget the circumstances that brought them here, the fact that he has done horrible things and Cody is here to observe and report back to the Republic, to Rex, if he deems it necessary. Nothing else.

There is no loyalty between them anymore. It hurts. 

Cayrze steps back, job done, rejoining the ranks of the other verde surrounding them.

“So,” Obi-Wan says, flexing his fingers gently to test his patched arm, “what now? I assume you're not just here to kiss me on the forehead and carry me home.”

“We would’ve considered it,” Bo-Katan replies, unresponsive to his antics, “but we’ve got a bigger issue.”

Cody shifts beside her, expression going hard. “The 501st have broken through most of the main line of droids. Knowing General Skywalker, he has no intention of slowing down.”

Obi-Wan stiffens.

Bo’s tone turns grim. “There’s no retreat, alor . The landing ship we took down took a hit and clipped the wing. The ship we’ve stationed in orbit is currently spending all its effort into not being noticed by both parties. If we try to evac now, we’re target practice; regardless of if they want you alive.”

He swears under his breath in a language that isn’t Basic. It might be Huttese- he’s not entirely sure at the moment.

“We thought maybe we could reroute through the northern pass, slip away behind the canyon ridge,” Cody adds, “but intel says his gunships are already sweeping that area. There’s no other way out. Not in time. We know Skywalker, Sir. He won’t let you leave without a fight.”

Obi-Wan exhales slowly. The Force trembles around him, tense and uncertain- even more so than is the standard, these days. He is going to have to confront Anakin. Of that, he is certain.

What he’s not certain of is why the Force seems so adamant he will not leave it the same man.

“Kenobi,” Cody says, softer now, pulling him out of his tense thoughts. Again, his last name is unfamiliar, even more so from the man than Bo- it’s always been General in the past, though he supposes it will not fit on either of their ends right now. “We can still avoid him if we have time to think it through.”

They do not, and all of them know it. Still, he’s grateful Cody has presented him with the option. He wonders, faintly, if he, too, can sense the receding waves of tension in the Force, building up for an explosion.

“We will hold our ground,” he says wearily, all too aware of the headache that has refused to dissipate. “Anakin is expecting me and perhaps droids, he does not know about the soldiers that have come to extract me. He will be unprepared in that arena. I could take him alone, but his men are a variable I have no wish to remove. Standing orders remain, al’verde- prepare for assault.”

A bit of confusion wafting from Cody’s end before it shifts into understanding. The standing orders to stun the men.

No lethal force.

Necessary, the whispers state once again, but this time it is a feminine voice that he seems to be hearing more and more recently. Necessary, my dear.

He will face his former padawan- but not because he wants to.

Because he must.

Chapter Text

“Rex is on his way to the cruiser.”

Kenobi raises an eyebrow, and Cody has to resist the urge to sigh. “Oh? Does it have anything to do with the disturbance I felt just before I crashed?”

That’s news. He decides to cut straight to the chase. “Tup shot a Jedi, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Kenobi hums, low and thoughtful, but he is not surprised, even as he winces while adjusting his arm. Some sort of vision, then. Cody doesn’t think he’ll ever be entirely used to his general’s Force osik, but he can control what he can now and think about it later. He is back in the battle mindset, and he prides himself on being able to compartmentalize- a trait the both of them have shared for as long as he can remember.

Bly says it’s not healthy. Cody has always elected to ignore him.

“So the good captain has decided to join us? He was the one you chose to tell about the chips, correct?”

“Yes.” At Kenobi’s suggestion, no less. “From what I’ve gathered, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision brought on by circumstance. Kix now knows about the chips, and Rex trusts him to handle it in his absence. It was just Tup’s situation that’s caused him to do this. He’s on his way with someone I believe is Fives, and Tup himself.”

“Well, we'll just have to make the best of it, won't we?” Kenobi runs a hand along his chin. “When Dooku hears about this, he's going to want to control the situation. We have to be able to convince him of plausible deniability if the three of them are in our care. We need to make them disappear.”

“I suppose you'll need to remove their chips, too.” He doesn't mean for it to come out bitter, but it does.

Kenobi turns to look him in the eye, shifting in place on the section of ground the two of them have claimed. “You're angry with me.”

Cody can't help it- he snorts. “Fantastic observation, General.”

General again. Kriff.

Kenobi, to his credit, doesn’t defend himself. “I suppose it’s well-earned, at this point.”

“Yes, it is. Sir.”

He sighs, almost sadly, and it surprises Cody. It really shouldn’t- after all, this is remotely the same man who would take his beratings at face value and comprehend daily the moralities of the war. It surprises him further when he says, “Tell me. Which portion are you most angry about?”

It makes Cody want to scream, the way he’s phrased it- as if this is some counseling session and not… whatever this is. As if they’re not surrounded by Mandalorians fighting against the Republic, as if he’s not wearing white-painted durasteel armor that is entirely not his own. “Where should I start, General? Maybe with how you performed brain surgery on me and my brothers? Without my consent?”

And there it is again, the mannerisms that make Cody want to scream, because Kenobi’s laughed, the same way he did when discussing particularly reckless orders. “You were never one to mince words, were you, my dear?”

Cody says nothing, only focusing on not grinding his teeth into dust.

The man sobers then, turning to look the clone in the eye. “Cody, you are a bright man. That’s most of the reason we’ve worked so well together in the past, why I’ve been so happy to have you by my side. So I know you must have considered my perspective. Even with my current… mindset, you know that I have thought everything through. If you had just discovered those chips had a sinister purpose, would your first level of priority not have been to get them out? There was no telling if I could have inadvertently activated yours if I informed you before I removed it- the files just say “vocal commands”. Don’t look at me like that; I know you’ve studied them just as extensively as I have. Order 23, in particular, mentions being activated by a superior officer- but no further description beyond that. I could not be certain the depths that these “vocal commands” went to, and I could not be certain I was not one of those commanding officers.”

Kriff it all, he’s right.

“This is just a long-winded way of saying,” Kenobi continues, “that I took stock of all the options and made a decision. And, for what it’s worth, I am sorry I could not gather your approval beforehand. If I had seen any other option, I would have taken it.”

Stars, he’s exactly how he was when he was spinning his silver tongue on their side. Cody wishes he could say he’s surprised.

“And what about my brothers that you’ve shot down?” He pivots to instead. Oh, he hasn’t forgotten that- it was overshadowed by their need to make sure Kenobi’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, but that event has done nothing to lessen the sting. “I was on the cruiser, Sir, I saw how you were fighting. You didn’t hesitate- for all you preached of, of losing men in battle alongside you-!”

“I did hesitate,” he says, and his voice is so quiet Cody almost doesn’t hear him. His fists are trembling, and his voice seems almost seething, as opposed to the cool remorse Cody would have heard from him months ago. “I protested for what felt like hours. I ran through every excuse I could think of. To Dooku, it just boiled down to weakness. He didn’t give me a chance to argue.” He closes his eyes at that, leaning his head back slightly. “He knows I ordered you to be stunned. He knows I hadn’t killed any clones before today. I managed to scrape by without it returning to his master… if I proved myself outside the station.”

His master. They’ve long since known that Dooku’s strings are being pulled by someone else, even if it’s just whispers. Hearing it from Kenobi’s own mouth… He can’t resist, he demands- “Do you know who the Sith Master is, Acheron?”

A flicker of pain across his expression- perhaps because of that cursed name- before it is overtaken by pure hatred, and Cody doesn’t know how to react. He’s never seen that face on his general’s before. The new scar that Cody hasn’t yet asked about seems to twist at the expression. “Yes,” he snarls, and he can almost feel the darkness radiating from him. “I do.”

No wonder the jetiise are afraid of Darksiders.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Kenobi remains silent. Of course he does.

Oh, the thread just goes deeper, doesn’t it? Every single time he gains some perspective of Kenobi’s motives, every single time he’s begun to unravel the conspiracy, a blaster bolt comes out of nowhere and clouds his vision once again. Where does it end? He thought it would end with the chips, but evidently, it’s nowhere close! He feels like he’s drowning in lies and rabbit holes!

Kriff it all, he doesn’t know what side Kenobi’s even on!

He neglects to say any of this out loud, as much as he wants to just grab the man by the shoulders and shake him until he confesses everything. Instead, he attempts to push it away. Compartmentalize. It’s unhealthy. It’s what he’s good at.

“Can you promise me-” he starts, before Waxer’s face flashes through his head and he tries again. “Can you promise me that no more of my vode will be harmed by your hand? I don’t care about Dooku- if you really cared about them, you wouldn’t either. I haven’t been able to justify your actions, Kenobi.”

The air between them is charged, Cody still furiously glaring at him, and Kenobi’s gaze not leaving his eyes. It should convey honesty, reassurance. It doesn’t. “I can try. For you, I will try, Commander.”

Well. That’s as good as it’s going to get, he supposes.

Al’verde Kryze chooses that moment to grace them with her presence. They’ve already done the preliminary briefing, and the main briefing is to come when the scouting trio has returned. It seems that time is now. “Alor, Restic is waiting.”

Kenobi nods, his face twisted in that stern contemplation it always seems to adopt around Kryze. “I’ll be there in a few moments, thank you, al’verde.”

She nods stiffly, gesturing to the buy’ce at his feet. “Make sure you bring that with you, this time. Cayrze will have your head.”

He chuckles. “Of course.”

Cody rises, followed shortly by Kenobi, who is ever-so-slightly slower than normal. Most probably wouldn’t recognize it, but Cody knows all of the man’s tells, having spent more than his fair share of time dragging him straight to Helix. Obviously, he is still not fully recovered from his concussion, let alone his injured arm. Cody presses his lips together- the most he’s seen of Kenobi and Skywalker’s spars, they’ve been increasingly evenly matched over the years. Kenobi is, of course, still on top every time, but if he’s injured…

He’s wearing armor, he reassures himself, not sure why he’s worried in the first place. He’ll be fine.

“Are you worried about Skywalker, Sir?” He asks aloud. A flash of a memory runs through him- Kenobi’s chuckle, I’m always worried about Anakin, Cody.

The man doesn’t echo it, expression carefully blank. They begin walking to the command tent. “There’s no way to avoid it. Our ships are on the way, but until then, a confrontation between us is inevitable. I will not kill him- you were thinking it, I know- I’m not that far gone, Cody. But I will not allow him to kill any of you just because you rescued me. Quite frankly, I’m more worried about how my emotional state will affect his. Something tells me both of us are going to leave this incredibly destabilized.”

“More than normal, Sir?” Cody shakes his head, almost exasperated. “Neither of you have been the picture of stability for a long time.”

Kenobi laughs, and Cody thinks it’s the first light sound he’s heard from the man since he left. “I suppose that’s fair.”

They reach the makeshift command center, guarded by two verde. Cody replaces his white-striped helmet, ignoring how wrong it feels compared to his clone armor. “After you, Mand’alor.”

<()><()><()>

Restic does not like Obi-Wan. Even if he wasn’t Force-sensitive, he’s not so dense as to not pick up on it. He’s a good verd, and a fantastic scout, and Obi-Wan is very glad he’s on their team, but the dislike radiating from him, even through the Force-muting beskar, is almost physical. It’s not as debilitating as it would have been, though- what Obi-Wan would normally find a distraction, he now finds intriguing, and even through their helmets, meets the man’s eyes in a fierce challenge.

He is, however, lucky- because though Restic may not like him, he certainly respects him.

“The clones are a few klicks away,” he says, arms crossed over his chest. Cody shifts at the left side of the holotable. “Skywalker is leading the group, as we expected. And, as we expected, it’s a small force- a medic, a squadron, and what looks to be a higher-ranking trooper.”

Not Rex or Fives, Obi-Wan muses. Perhaps a new ARC? I know he was meaning to promote Jesse at some point.

Or- maybe a former 212th.

The idea of having to fight Boil in 501st blue is one that he has to shake off immediately.

A gold-adorned verd off to the side- Tabyce- snorts. “They underestimate us.”

“They don’t know about us,” Restic corrects, before Obi-Wan can respond. “They’re prepared for droids and a crashed Acheron. They are not prepared for a fully-armed traat’aliit, or even a single Mandalorian. I’d be surprised if they even expected Acheron to be on his feet. Our main problem, however, is that Skywalker is converging with other clone forces, likely right as they reach our position. It may not be intentional, but it will likely be a two-pronged attack.”

Obi-Wan tilts his head slightly, not so much as to convey amusement, only thought. “Do you believe they are 501st forces? Are their armors the same?”

“Yes,” Restic replies. “All blue as far as I can see. Still, it won’t be more than a few squadrons. We can handle it.”

“If we’re using non-lethal force, it might be more difficult than we expect,” Cody speaks up. “We need careful planning. They will be shooting to kill, aiming around the armor- we will not. That gives us a disadvantage, if only slightly. We can’t discount it.”

Ah. Obi-Wan has missed his commander.

The verde don’t seem to know what to think about Cody- and Obi-Wan doesn’t blame them. He’s told them for ages that having him and the clones on their side was his plan, but now that he’s here, the distrust and curiosity has not ebbed. It seems, however, that his analysis has quelled some of their doubts, and there are a few nods passed around.

“Perhaps we should organize a multi-pronged attack ourselves,” he says, turning to Bo. “Skywalker is looking for me, specifically- we can use that to our advantage. Were a small force to cut off Skywalker’s men from behind while I engage him, the rest could take care of the secondary forces. We could cover all the bases in one move.”

“I can lead the larger force,” says Bo-Katan, nodding in agreement. “I’ll take Tabyce, Cayrze, Oris, Leon, and the rest of the verde . Kote, Mirai, and Restic can take the smaller squadron. You can focus on the general- Force knows he’s going to focus on you.”

It’s a solid plan- but for some reason, it still causes a chilling feeling to overcome him. He turns to Cody, who feels uncomfortable in the Force- but not because of the plan. He hasn’t asked why Bo has interpreted his name as Kote, but he won’t push it unless it becomes a problem. He addresses both him and Restic- Mirai is out guarding the perimeter. “That will put the three of you right in Skywalker’s crosshairs, should he turn his attention to you. It’s risky. Are you up for it?”

Cody straightens, and Obi-Wan knows what he’s going to say, even as it discourages him. “Of course, alor.”

“Yes, alor,” Restic echoes, almost humorously. “We can handle one trigger-happy jetii, don’t worry.”

He nods his thanks. He should feel reassured. Should.

They continue with the details, moving forces around on the holotable, and Obi-Wan desperately tries to unravel just what has him so on-edge. The Force feels just as it did before Ahsoka was expelled- just before he killed Barriss. Tense, almost mournful. Holding its breath. As if it knows something will drag him deeper into the clutches of the darkness.

It’s a disturbing thought.

An alarm rings out before long, halting their preparations. Proximity alarm. They step away from the holotable, trading salutes, before moving into their respective groups. Obi-Wan walks up to Cody and Restic before they can leave, double-checking that the Darksaber is firmly on his hip. Cody will kill him if he loses it as frequently as he did his other saber. “Thank you for agreeing to this, men. I know it's not quite what either of you signed up for.”

Restic places a fist to his chest in a salute, one which Obi-Wan quickly returns. “We follow you, alor. K’oyacyi.”

Restic turns on his heel and leaves the tent before Obi-Wan can respond.

Cody shifts, and Obi-Wan can almost hear his frown behind his helmet. “Lovely.”

“He's loyal,” Obi-Wan returns. He's itching to remove his buy’ce - it feels strange, Cody not able to see his face before they enter a battlefield. But one must maintain tradition. “Cody, I meant what I said. If you don’t want to be in Skywalker’s line of fire, you can still switch to the larger force. He will not hesitate if he thinks you’re killing clones.”

Cody shifts. “General, I can handle it. And if you’re going to spew some osik about how ‘the Force feels wrong’, I won’t take it. If you ask me, I’d say it’s probably felt wrong to you since you joined Dooku. I’ll be fine. This is a necessary pushback, we need him to retreat for us to evacuate, and I am among the best for the job.”

There’s that word again- necessary.

Obi-Wan nods. It is entirely logical, something that he attempts to be whenever he can. He does not have anything more to defend the anticipation that has settled over him, especially because he can no longer use the excuse of being a Jedi to adjust his battle plans. Mandalorians are warriors, pragmatists, and they don’t take well to the more mystical areas of the Force. He cannot demand Cody be moved to a different group just because he has a bad feeling.

“You are correct, as always.” He shifts his arm, adjusting his cape so it covers his wound fully. He would not like it to be on display when he takes on Anakin. “I apologize. You know how the Force can affect me.”

Cody laughs, bitterly. “That I do.”

They stand there for a moment later, before Cody presses a fist to his heart, adopting the Mandalorian salute with surprising ease. “K’oyacyi, alor.”

His accent is clipped, but his pronunciation is clear.

Obi-Wan responds in turn. “K’oyacyi, Cody. We still need to end this war.”

Then they part ways, and Obi-Wan attempts to ignore the tenseness in his very bones.

He exits swiftly, watching as the command tent is disabled with extreme efficiency. The groups are already organized- Bo-Katan is barking orders to her team, Cody’s team is discussing, from what he can hear, tactics against Skywalker. Then the order to move out comes, and the both of them disappear behind different ridges, primed and ready for ambush.

And Kenobi is left alone in front of the ruins of his fighter, watching as the figures in the distance grow closer and closer. His vision blurs momentarily, but he forces it to focus.

Truth be told, he was able to sense Anakin the moment he stepped foot on the planet. He’s always been able to sense when Anakin is close, and it appears that hasn’t changed. He’s almost too burning, too intense, to ignore in the Force. Especially now, when both of them are so steeped in opposing forces. He can feel the raging storm that is the man’s emotions, surrounding him just as Obi-Wan’s own are. He has no doubt that Anakin is able to sense him, too- has no doubt that Anakin knows he’s alive.

They converge too quickly, Anakin’s squadron arriving before the larger force. Obi-Wan can see them clearly, now- and he knows for certain that it’s Boil beside Anakin, his paint job done up in blue instead of gold. Surprisingly, accompanying the red symbol on his forehead is a vertical line of 212th paint. He’s amazed that the Republic let him add it. It could be considered treasonous, with what Obi-Wan’s done.

Obi-Wan watches patiently as his former padawan approaches, allowing himself to become the picture of stoic intimidation, even as he stuffs his unease and guilt deep down. Anakin is the opposite- practically projecting his guilt and anger and confusion and relief. He always did tell him to release his emotions- it seems he’s gotten no better at it.

Then they’re in earshot, blasters raised and stances locked, and Obi-Wan has to resist the urge to laugh.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin announces, pain and anger mingling across his features as his voice wavers, “you are a traitor to the Republic and to the Jedi. You are under arrest- you will be taken into custody and put on trial before the Republic Senate.”

At that, Obi-Wan really does laugh through his helmet- perhaps a little more cruelly than is necessary. “I see Padmé has rubbed off on you, Anakin.”

Anakin reels, but doesn’t back down. Instead, he ignites his lightsaber. “If you will not come willingly,” he says, then visibly swallows, “then you will be taken by force.”

Obi-Wan sees the larger force hastening towards their position, close enough for the attack to begin. He raises a hand, watching the men in front of him shift in alarm. He tilts his head in amusement. “Good luck with that, Knight Skywalker.”

He closes his fist, dropping it, and then all haran breaks loose.

Anakin pivots in an instant, hastily protecting his men from blasts as Cody's group drops soldier after soldier. In the same instant, the first shot on the northern pass rings out, and Obi-Wan dodges just as his al’verde’s team starts firing from their side. It is, quite frankly, chaos, but Obi-Wan is not worried about it.

He ignites the Darksaber purposefully, passing by another blaster bolt directed his way. Anakin senses him coming, and meets his blade, turned away from the battle behind him. Obi-Wan curses his injured arm- he knows Anakin’s style, knows the blade pressed against his is being assisted by the Force, and he does not have the strength to counter. He brings his left arm to brace, regrettably revealing his injury, but he’d rather reveal it than be brought into custody because he was using one arm.

“Obi-Wan, you have to stop-” Anakin starts, almost pleading.

“I do not have to do anything,” he responds, breaking the hold and aiming a precise strike towards his shoulder- one that is, predictably, blocked and parried. “I’d suggest you retreat- you clearly were not prepared for our forces.”

“I was prepared for you,” Anakin all but spits, pulling something off his belt.

Obi-Wan pushes the arm away before the electropulse can reach him, but Anakin has always been quick on his feet and takes the opportunity to shift his focus. Specifically, shift it to Obi-Wan’s arm. The saber cuts directly into his barely-healing gash, and then all of the air has been pulled out of his lungs-

And then the electropulse is on his chestplate. He must really be dazed, if he didn’t see that coming- it is not something he taught Anakin, but is something he should have expected. It activates, and then electricity is coursing through his armor, only barely deflected by his kute, and his every muscle is seizing-

And he’s on Serenno, his grandmaster’s lightning coursing through his body-

And he’s on Coruscant, staring down the man that’s orchestrated the whole galaxy-

He doesn’t know what happened. He is certain Anakin’s blade was above his chest at some point, but the electricity has stopped, and Anakin’s attention has been turned. He raises his head just enough to view the scene before him, watches as Anakin deflects Cody’s blaster bolts in a way so similar to how he did himself-

Watches as a bolt hits Cody’s arm-

Watches as Anakin gets close enough to stab straight through the durasteel armor-

and through his chest-

through-

Cody.

The leash snaps.

<()><()><()>

Anakin immediately knows he’s kriffed up, if the cry of rage from Obi-Wan’s direction is any indication. Before he can process his actions, he is halfway across the battlefield, hitting a rock shelf with enough force to injure his back- that’s definitely going to leave a bruise. He looks up to see the Mand'alor crouching next to the warrior, one hand grasping his almost uncertainly, before he lets it drop. His former master rises, slowly, removing his helmet and clipping it to his belt, and the pure hatred Anakin can sense from him is enough to send him reeling.

He rushes towards him, dark blade raised, and Anakin barely has time to bring up his own saber before they clash.

“How… dare you,” Obi-Wan spits. Anakin has never once been afraid of his master, but now, he wants to flee to the Outer Rim and never return. “After all I've done for them, after I saved them, you have the nerve to kill him? How dare you?”

Anakin is paralyzed, staring into the burning eyes that are so unlike the blue he's used to. Darkness surrounds him, attacking from all sides, and he has to keep his hands from shaking, because it feels so familiar and so wrong . “Obi-Wan, I-I don't know what you're talking about! I don't know who that was!”

“Why don't you ask your dear Captain?” he responds, and the growl in his voice makes Anakin flinch. “And my name is Acheron.”

He twists his blade, and Anakin uses the rock behind him to flip over his head before it can connect. Obi-Wan- Acheron- is seemingly unfazed, blocking his swings before returning with a power Anakin doesn't know how to counter, violence seeping from him in tidal waves. Even his injured arm doesn’t seem to slow him in the slightest. It’s more than enough to disorient Anakin- he knows how Obi-Wan fights, and this is not it. This is an animal, feral and single-minded, no longer calculating and defensive. This is dangerous .

He’s made a mistake. He was supposed to bring him in, and he would not have succeeded- he sees that now- not with the ambush set up against him. However, he might’ve escaped, might’ve retreated with his men, if he’d acted a little less rashly. But now… now, he doesn’t think he’s likely to leave this planet at all.

He doesn’t have half a moment to spare for his surroundings, but he can distinctly hear the “General, stop!” pointed in their direction from one of the clones. He doesn’t know who it’s directed to- him or Acheron. The man in question doesn’t turn, instead raising his arm in one swift motion and pushing away the clone who had pointed his blaster at him- Boil. He collapses, and the horror that seeps off of him is enough to cloud Anakin’s mind even further.

Force, this is torture. This is worse than his worst nightmares. Not even the realizations the Chancellor has walked him through have incited this kind of nightmarish dread in him-

“Please! Think about Co-” Boil yells, before his helmet is slammed against the ground with the Force and he goes still.

Aggression is Anakin’s dance- Djem So is his specialty, he knows how to press against his opponent hard enough that they can’t counter. It’s what makes Obi-Wan such a tough sparring partner, normally- his patience is a huge advantage. It’s also how he recognizes that that’s exactly what Acheron’s doing to him, and it’s working.

The first glancing blow is towards his side, the second his arm. The third his metal hand, and his saber falls from it. He isn’t able to feel pain in that hand, just major sensations, and it takes him a second to realize the palm is sparking, the fingers having been shorn from it. He reaches out with his left hand to call his saber back to him, but Acheron rushes to his side and intercepts it, sending a well-placed heavy kick to the back of his knees.

He is on the ground, now, and has a great view of the warrior that he stabbed, the metal of his armor twisted and smoking. The Mandalorians’ medic is over him, shooting those who dare to come close while hastily pulling off his helmet, and- Force, is that- is that a-

“Eyes up here,” says Acheron, but it’s not calm or charismatic or any of the characteristics Anakin knows are Obi-Wan’s. When he looks into his eyes, he doesn’t see a glimmer of his master. Doesn’t see a mention of the heavy sadness that always plagued him, the gentle compassion that followed his steps, the patient tactical mind that overcame every battle. No, he just sees scars and darkness.

“I promised him, you know,” Acheron spits, and with horror, Anakin watches as the corners of his mouth twist into a smile. “I promised him I wouldn’t kill you. But do you know what, student mine?” He crosses the blades at Anakin’s neck, and Anakin doesn’t even feel the heat- “I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Oh, Force forgive me.

He closes his eyes, about to push out with the Force but knowing it will be futile, when-

A burning light in the Force, young and familiar, descending slowly upon their position.

Ahsoka.

Acheron senses her, too, from the way his grip loosens ever-so-slightly and his head tilts. Anakin doesn’t take the chance to escape, just watches him, his own breathing being the only thing he can hear.

“There she is,” Acheron murmurs, but the storm surrounding him doesn’t dissipate at all. Anakin can see, now, the Mandalorian dropship descending from above- an extraction.

Acheron leans in closer, and Anakin gulps. “You have failed her, Anakin,” he says, his face an unnerving blankness in contrast to his aura, and the words cut like knives. “You have failed her, but she still loves you. I would hate for her to see me kill you.”

The sabers deactivate, and then Anakin’s is on his chest. Acheron straightens, still so carefully cold, still so in contrast to his Force presence. He says, quietly but no less strongly, “Run.”

Anakin doesn’t think twice, fumbling with his saber in trembling, sweaty hands. “Retreat,” he says, hoarsely, over comms, before trying again. “Retreat!”

It may be too late. His men lie around him in piles.

The last thing he sees, looking over his shoulder one more time, is Acheron marching onto the dropship, helmet replaced, following an urgently-paced stretcher that carries someone who may just well be a clone.

Chapter Text

He is falling.

He wishes, now more than ever, that he could have somewhere else besides this Mandalorian cruiser to gather his thoughts. He's already sorted things out with Bo-Katan in an almost half-present state, their few wounded have been tended to, he’s locked down their battle stances and how they’re going to present this to the Mandalorian Council. And he’s grateful that all that has been sorted out, because if someone were to approach him currently and demand his opinion on such a thing, he’s not certain he would react with any sort of kindness.

He’s not certain.

That seems to be the main theme right now, doesn’t it? A laugh bubbles up within him- perhaps a byproduct of the earlier concussion, or perhaps the result of the delirious spiral he is no doubt heading down. He’s not certain.

What is he certain of?

That Satine is dead. That the Jedi Order is crumbling. That Anakin hates him. That he almost killed his brother. That Cody might die. That his hands shake when he stops pretending they don't. That he doesn't remember the last time he meditated and felt anything other than violence pooling in the back of his throat like blood.

He thinks about his saber. He wonders, absently, if it would still obey him, despite what he’s done to it, despite what he’s done . If it knows who its master is anymore. If he knows who its master is anymore.

Metal burns a hole in his back pocket.

He ignites the Darksaber without thinking, shifting fluidly into the opening stance for Form III. It feels wrong, despite all the years he put into mastering it, despite every stolen lesson behind his master’s back or one-on-one session with the older masters. It feels too solid, too defensive, too unnatural for the caged animal he is becoming.

He doesn’t realize when he shifts to Niman, then Djem So, then Juyo.

Slash. Parry. Underhand. Three consecutive strikes. Calm down, Kenobi. Breathe.

He tries a moving meditation, opening himself to the Force in a desperate plea.

It goes poorly.

The darkness isn't a pit, but a mirror. Every time he tries to settle his breathing, it shows him his face, scarred and twisted and glowing with yellow. It shows him red, blood and blade alike. It shows him standing over Anakin, rage overriding his thoughts. It shows him Dooku’s hands falling to the ground. It shows him Satine dying in his arms. It shows him Anakin looking at him like he's the villain, standing defensively in front of the Chancellor. It shows him a red saber at the end of his arm, held directly at Ahsoka’s throat-

He breathes in. Holds it. Breathes out.

Nothing. Not even as he brings his blade down once again.

There is a stillness to the Force now that he does not like. It is listening. It feels like a test, and he doesn’t remember signing up for it. Perhaps he did, when he killed that first Mandalorian all that time ago.

His feet shift on the floor, sweat cold at his temples. His boots skid as he attempts the Form III patterns once again.

When did his thoughts start sounding like Dooku’s?

When did his anger stop feeling righteous?

When did he justify crossing blades at Anakin's neck?

When did he become someone else?

He remembers, once, telling Anakin that a good Jedi- by definition of Qui-Gon- should not cling to identity. That names, attachments, and legacy are distractions from the will of the Force. That Qui-Gon believed such things were almost frivolous. And now look at him! Clinging desperately to Obi-Wan Kenobi like a lifeline, despite not even knowing who that is anymore!

Acheron is quieter.

Acheron is simmering.

Acheron ignores the blood on his hands, because he doesn’t ask questions about who deserved it.

Acheron is wielding the Darksaber, turning his attempts at patience into restless aggression.

"Who are you?" he mutters into the silence, unsure who the question is meant for.

And in the break that follows, he almost thinks he hears Satine say, “Not this.”

His breath catches. He might have paused his movements, he doesn’t know. A shard of clarity pierces through the fog. Not for long, but long enough.

Long enough to remember that she once told him love was not the same as surrender. That peace was not the same as silence. That he didn’t have to be right- he just had to be kind.

Long enough to remember when it was echoed by Cody, saying that they were fighting for freedom. That duty overshadowed everything else, but duty needed justice. That justice was nothing without mercy.

Long enough for him to recall his emotion that followed both of them. The emotion that he dares not name.

He can’t tell if the Darksaber is still in his grip.

He doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t scream.

He tries to hear the Force again.

It doesn't help.

The cold reaches him first- not a physical chill, but something worse . An internal frost, as if something ancient and immense has wrapped its hands around his ribs and begun to squeeze.

The Force is here.

The Dark Side is here.

He can’t tell anymore.

He opens himself to it anyway, because what else is there? What more does he have to give, to take? It crashes into him like water through shattering glass-

The cold of a starfighter- staring down a clone’s starship as he blasts it to pieces. The pang of guilt that runs through him, before he pushes it down in favor of the battle. The presence in the Force disappearing with one flash.

Barriss, her body broken in the lowest levels of Coruscant. Her eyes wild, her voice shaking. “You’re what’s wrong with them.” Obi-Wan, silent in satisfaction as her pulse stops by his hand.

Cody, limp in his arms, whispering “Obi-Wan” like it’s a question and not a name. His own scream echoing in the void that is his mind. Red, red, red.

Rage. Anakin's terrified gaze. Blue mingling with black as he prepares to remove his head-

He gasps. His feet slip on the metal floor, and now his arm is against it. He doesn’t feel it.

Necessary.

The word slams into him like a command. Like scripture. He used to read the Jedi Code origin texts, he left them behind before he could finish them. Yet another pillar amongst all his failures.

Necessary.

He thought it when he left Anakin and Ahsoka behind.

He thought it when he swore his oath to Dooku.

He thought it when he killed clone after clone above Ringo Vinda, because he had to survive .

Because the galaxy needed him to do something .

Necessary.

It doesn’t sound like his voice anymore. It sounds like Satine’s. It sounds like Dooku’s. It sounds like Sidious .

He curls forward, hands clutching at his head.

What if this is what the Force wants?

What if this is what it always wanted?

The leaving of the Order. The deaths. The shell of himself, a void filled only by the Dark.

Was this always the plan? Was he just playing his part all along, a pawn in a game that no longer needed the Jedi to win?

What if this is what he wanted?

What if the Force had nothing to do with it?

Is he making it up, justifying his means to get to his desired end? Is the Force telling him he is a monster, that he should not be allowed to continue, to carve his wound against the galaxy?

Is he doing anything by the will of the Force?

Is he just feeding the fires that have forged him into something abominable?

Necessary.

It sounds like Qui-Gon, now.

He can’t breathe. He has forgotten how. His chest is too tight. The air is too thin.

The Force is too loud .

He sees himself in the Chancellor’s office. Sees Sidious smiling. Sees fierce lightning crackle in the air. Sees his own saber drawn. Not blue. Not anymore.

It’s all coming. He knows it.

And he's going to-

He must -

“It’s the only way!”

He can’t move. He’s on the floor. He doesn’t remember how he got there. He doesn’t remember where he is. He’s trembling. He’s cold . The mantra is spinning in his skull like the ship that he crashed in.

Necessary. Necessary. Necessary. Necessary.

Was this what Falling felt like? He doesn’t remember. Not rage, not fire. Ice. A slow, creeping cold that convinces him of its warmth, until he doesn’t remember what warm is.

Until he doesn't remember what he is.

He almost calls out. He wants to call out. To the Force, to Satine, to Cody, to Qui-Gon, to Anakin, to Yoda, to someone, anyone-

His mouth won’t open.

He is not a person. He is a storm barely contained in skin. He is a poisoned weapon pointed at corruption and wound so tight he might explode before he ever gets the chance to be aimed.

The dark side pulses around him like a second heartbeat.

-necessary necessary necessary necessary necessary necessary-

“Master?”

A voice. Familiar. Soft. Real. Light, cutting through the darkness.

Ahsoka .

He blinks. Once. Twice.

And breathes .

<()><()><()>

He’s walking fast. Too fast.

He has no doubt that anyone who could come across him now would sense his rage. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t seen anyone since he left the Temple- since he entered the Senate. Maybe he’s driven everyone away for fear of lashing out.

He can’t say he necessarily blames them.

His mechanical hand creaks, or perhaps it’s the glove he’s wearing over it. They sound the same, these days, the same as the creaking that follows him on every gunship he boards. The same as the creaking of his own mental shields as they attempt to keep him held together.

There’s a draft in here. Maybe not. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s lowering the temperature himself. It wouldn’t be the first time. Either way, it just makes him more eager to get to his destination.

Padmé is warm. Padmé is kind.

Padmé is the only person he allows to see him like this.

Obi-Wan was once on that list, but that was before he almost decapitated him with his own lightsaber. Before he put on that Force-forsaken armor. Before his eyes burned brighter than his rage.

The Senate halls creak around him, too. It is only then that he realizes the icy grip he has on them.

Not fit for combat, Master Elyyn said, in front of the whole council. Needs some time. Heal his mind.

Probation, Master Mundi suggested.

To protect, Master Yoda agreed.

Desertion, Master Tii uttered.

Because of Kenobi.

He doesn’t even know who said that one. Maybe no one did. Maybe they all did.

His jaw locks, tongue heavy in his mouth.

He continues walking.

He should be with his men. Probation. He would be fine with that were his men not being stolen from him. Were they not being given to a- a Jedi Shadow, of all things! Master Vos has never been on the front lines, as far as he knows, and if any of his men were to get killed on his watch, he’ll- he will-

Obi-Wan’s- Acheron’s- burning eyes cut through his vision.

He stops, wind knocked out of him.

He can't stop seeing it, not since Ringo Vinda. He can’t stop running back that black blade, wielded with the intent to kill, to tear apart his limbs in a furious flurry of strikes and slashes. As if someone had taken control of his master’s body with the intent to taunt him.

But they hadn’t, had they?

In the end, Obi-Wan’s actions were his. And if he stabbed who he thinks he did, he can’t necessarily blame him, either.

Guilt pierces through him like that cursed blade.

His own blade feels sticky, now. Poisoned. He would give anything just to cross blades with his master once more, this time with his head cleared, to wield it in the way he knows he can and-

His feet stop abruptly.

He’s felt anger like this before. On Tatooine, all those years ago. It honed him, turned him into the weapon that struck down being after being. It caused him to do unspeakable things, but things that he’s not entirely regretful of.

But this isn’t the same.

This is worse.

Because it’s not just anger, is it? It’s guilt. It’s fear. It’s shame. It’s betrayal. It’s every manner of horrible emotion swirling around him at once, and it’s been swirling for a long time now-

He doesn’t know when he started moving again, breaths coming in quick bursts.

Betrayal. Yes, that is the crux of it. More than the fear he had for his life, for his master’s life. More than the anger he directs at the man now, at the council. Betrayal is what he’s feeling now. He’s surprised he can even identify it at all, with how entangled it is with his other emotions.

Even the most mastered at releasing their emotions would not be having the best time right now.

Thank you, Master Elyyn, Anakin thinks sourly, recalling how she preached against him to the council.

It’s a true statement, however. It would be normal for anyone in his shoes to feel betrayed. By his master, by his apprentice, both with Mandalore, now.

So why does he feel like he’s still slipping?

He misses a step.

He remembers Obi-Wan’s face. The way it was before the war, and then even during it. Lined with exhaustion, tired of Anakin’s antics, but crinkled with kindness. Almost cold in its calm collectedness. Always the picture of the perfect Jedi.

He remembers Acheron’s face. The way it looked by the glow of two lightsabers. Twisted in hatred, eyes wild, hair out of place, teeth bared. His skin made pale by the darkness of his armor. The scar across his face nearly tearing open at the expression.

His breaths feel like fire, now.

That was not the man who taught him, he’s sure of that now. Because if it was, then- then who does that make him? What does it make him?

Anakin doesn’t remember what he said to him. He does remember what Obi-Wan said in reply. And what it felt like. It felt like-

Like looking in a mirror.

The realization comes unbidden and unwanted. The cold seems to solidify him, slowing his movements even as he redoubles his efforts. His fists are shaking now, he’s sure of it.

That’s what it was. A mirror.

I’m not like him! A portion of his mind yells. I’m a Jedi, I’m Light!

But another portion, a twisted portion, hisses the events of Tatooine into his memory once again. He never saw what he looked like that day, but to the Tuskens, he must’ve- must’ve looked the same-

Oh, Force.

He’s drowning in it. The same pull that took his master. He sees it now, feels the oily slick that has covered him from head to toe.

He doesn’t want to get rid of it.

He immediately casts that thought out, barely noting his alarm. He forces his hand to his chest, as if he can stop his heart from leaping straight out of his ribs. He’s on his knees, in front of a door. It might be his wife’s.

I won’t do it!

Do what?

I won’t become him!

That voice has reared its head inside him once more, but even as he states it out loud, he can feel his resolve slipping.

He’s always been the less-Jedi between him and his master.

So how can he hold onto the Light, when his master has Fallen?

How, when he has already done so many-

“Oh my goodness, Ani?”

Ah, so it was his wife’s apartment. Perfect.

He looks up at her, relief flooding his senses even as the rest threaten to overtake him.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

And breathes.

Chapter Text

Ahsoka watches the medics in careful silence, arms folded across her chest, foot tapping against the metal floor. It’s hard, watching from behind a glass pane, but at least Cody’s breathing. For now, at least. His vitals are stable, much more stable than they were- but he’s not awake, and he may never be.

He’s alive, she reminds herself. That’s more than she expected, with how she saw him carted in.

She hasn’t told Rex yet, or even seen him. She’s waiting to talk to him, waiting to gain his side of the story, until Obi-Wan can join her, because Rex is going to ask questions, and she doesn’t want to be alone when she answers them. None of the Mandalorians can fill that role, though she has struck an unlikely friendship with a few of them. She needs her grandmaster.

The last she saw of him, he was talking with Bo-Katan, in the same post-battle talk that she’s joined him in with her master so many times before. His presence was oddly muted, even after fighting Anakin, even with Cody so injured. It worries her, especially with how he threw himself into the discussion.

She hasn’t seen him since. She turns on her heel, resolving to go talk to him, no matter what state he’s in, when-

It hits her.

Not physically, but with enough power for her to almost believe it is. It’s an implosion, a pressure spike in the Force that causes her to almost fall to her knees before she grabs the wall to brace. Her breath hitches, her lekku twitching in alarm.

Obi-Wan.

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt him this unstable.

She doesn’t hesitate- as soon as she’s regained her strength, she pushes herself off the wall and bolts out of the medbay. Her boots pound against the floor as she follows the pull, faster than she’s run since she left Coruscant. Down four corridors, past many startled soldiers and confused beings, before-

She skids to a stop outside a vacant storage area, pushing the door open without a second thought.

He’s on the ground.

“Master?” She pushes out, trying to make it as calm as she can. She’s no stranger to spirals- she’s been in a few herself, as has her master- but she’s never felt one this intense, or dark, or one from Obi-Wan. Still, she reviews all the tactics her master taught her- if someone cannot pull themselves out of one, then it’s best to be careful while assisting.

The man doesn’t speak, but his back straightens slightly, his hands still firmly pressed against his head.

“Master, it’s Ahsoka,” she says, attempting to project Light- but that’s rejected almost vehemently, so she switches to calm instead. She tentatively takes a few steps. “I’m here, I’m going to sit down with you, okay?”

Again, he doesn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath- but he doesn’t feel hostile, either, so she takes that as a win. She kneels next to him, finally catching a glimpse of his scrunched face and darting eyes. “You’re safe, Obi-Wan. I’m here, it’s okay.”

Obi-Wan lets out a harsh chuckle, squeezing his eyes shut. “You shouldn’t-” he says, and it almost sounds like a gasp, “You shouldn’t be… doing this.”

Doing what? Helping him? A frown finds its way to her face, but she fights to keep projecting peace. “Yes, I should. Can I touch you?”

“I’m fine, Ahsoka,” He says, voice steadier now, and she would be tempted to believe him, were his eyes not still firmly closed.

He didn’t answer her question, she vaguely notes. She takes that as a no. Instead, she smiles and takes one of her favorite paths, one that always seems to work on Skyguy- distraction.

“I wanted to show you this.” She reaches behind her and unhooks the saber he gave her. Then, taking a deep breath, she ignites it.

Two shimmering, pearlescent blades spring to life, one after the other. The man’s eyes flutter open at the light, reflected in his yellow irises. She thinks she can see a smile on his lips. “You did it.”

“I did,” she replies with a soft smile of her own.

“When…?”

“A few cycles ago.” She shifts, moving to cross her legs. “Just before I heard the extraction plan and basically ordered some verde to bring me along.”

She stumbles on the Mando’a, but her attempt makes his eyes soften at the edges. But then they harden, and his face loses any expression.

“I have something to show you, too.” He reaches behind him, and the sudden lack of his emotion in the Force worries her more than anything she’s seen so far. He brings something between them, and-

Force- she didn’t even sense it-

“Your lightsaber?” Her mouth is dry. Cody told her that he had it taken from him when Maul was still on Mandalore. That he doesn’t have it- that’s why he uses the Darksaber. Why he used the saber staff.

“I didn’t go looking for it.” He swallows hard. “I had no need for it. And I didn’t want to have to… I didn’t want Dooku to sense it.”

A drop of fear has landed in Ahsoka’s heart, her eyes wide now. “Then how do you have it?”

“Bo-Katan returned it to me, just after Yyger,” he says, and his laugh holds no warmth. “She meant no harm. Placed it on my ship as I was leaving. A peace offering, I’d expect, and I did thank her for it. But…”

After Yyger. He was heading to Serenno, is what goes unsaid, weeks before he found her. She reaches forward when he says nothing else, grasping his hand around the weapon, even as she feels an aborted flinch at her touch.

She presses the switch.

Ah.

“When?” She murmurs softly, entranced by the red that has enveloped both of them.

His face is still empty. There is not even pain. “Not long.”

“Before Anakin-”

His nod is stiff. It’s a hollow relief that he didn’t draw it on her master.

She lets out a breath, feeling close to tears now. “Obi-Wan, this- this isn’t you.”

Another sardonic laugh, another wave of emptiness. “Isn’t it?”

She can feel it, then- the same mourning in the Force that is reflected within her, and she can’t keep the tears from falling, anymore. She smiles, watery. “We make a wonderful pair, don’t we? The Jedi dropout, the Sith turncoat.”

There is no animosity behind it, and he must sense it, because some of the warmth returns. “That we do, dear grandpadawan.”

His eyes are shining, too.

They are silent for a while, staring at the red blade.

“I’m moving to the residential areas,” she says when she has regained her breath. Force, she needs to meditate. “I’m taking a good amount of men. We don’t… I- I can’t stay close anymore.”

He doesn’t act surprised, as if he were expecting it. “I wouldn’t ask you to, dear one. I could never wish that on you.”

“Cody helped me organize it, he wrote up this whole document for you and Bo,” she continues before she can stop it, watching that ember die down just a little more in his gaze. “It’ll just be a few clones left with you, the ones who want to stay. Well. I think the words Cody used were ‘the ones I trust to keep an eye on him.’”

“Of course.”

“I won’t be gone forever.” She can’t stop now. She knows he understands, and that's why she has to explain. “After the war… well, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t think I’ll go back to Coruscant, not with how ridiculous the Council and Senate are acting.”

“And you shouldn’t.” His voice is hard, now, edged with frost. He deactivates his saber, clipping it out of sight once again. “They are both more corrupt than any of us thought.”

Hm. Makes sense.

“I saw you… on Ringo Vinda.” She just can’t stop talking, can she? She supposes they’ve both calmed down enough for this conversation, but it still spills from her involuntarily. “It was- it was just because of Cody, wasn’t it? That was why you- went after Anakin?”

His eyes flash once more. For a moment, she thinks she’s crossed a line. Then he deflates. “I… Truly, I don’t know, Ahsoka. I’m sorry.”

That’s a little concerning, she can’t help but think. Out loud, almost on autopilot, she demands, “How far were you going to go? How far are you going to go?”

Once again, she meant no animosity, and once again, he picks up on it. The cold that’s surrounded them since she’s walked in solidifies. “As far as I have to.”

She nods, and that lump has returned to her throat. A bit more silence, where she resolves to ponder that later. “Rex and Fives are waiting in the hold. Whenever we want to talk to them.”

He stands, abruptly, and it almost makes Ahsoka dizzy. “Well, it wouldn’t do to keep them waiting, would it?”

“Wha- now?”

His shields are back up. The iciness has not subsided. He does not respond.

He holds out a hand to help her up, and she nods her thanks. Before they exit, she clasps his armored shoulder. “Master, I- can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.” Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate. Truth, there. It almost makes her feel worse.

She points at his chest before she can talk herself out of it. “Why do you wear the Sith Empire symbol?”

“You recognize it.” A hint of pride.

“Anakin did,” she corrects. “I just… why?”

He looks away from her, jaw working. Anakin’s voice curls around her mind. Obi-Wan doesn’t do anything without a reason.

“As a reminder,” he says, slowly. “To myself… and to my enemies. I'll repaint the armor, soon, but the symbol stays.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, she sighs. “Anakin did always hate how cryptic you are.”

A wild grin slowly turns to her, sharper than it would’ve ever been before he left. “He would have detested my master, then. Come, let’s greet our guests.”

He leads her out, and she has the decency to pretend like she doesn’t see his shaking hands.

It’ll be out of her control, soon, not that she could do much anyway. She just wishes… she hopes her grandmaster can find his way back, before he becomes someone she can’t recognize.

That red saber is burned into her sight. She doesn’t know if it’ll ever fade.

<()><()><()>

The cell is small, but it’s not the worst that Rex has ever been in. Metal, ray-shielded, but holding two cots and a ‘fresher, which is more than the droids provide. It would actually be comfortable, if he didn’t know better than to let his guard down.

Fives is silent on the other cot, simmering with barely-contained anger. Rex doesn’t think he’s made eye contact since he found out about the chips. And he can’t blame him. But he’s definitely taking the whole desertion thing a lot more in stride, which Rex can’t really say for himself.

To say he’s regretting it would be the understatement of the century.

His general is probably tearing the ship apart. Checking the flight logs. Searching through the long-distance comms for any sign that they made it to Kamino. He’s probably interrogating the men, interrogating Kix ( osik, he hopes, he prays Kix isn’t put under scrutiny), searching for any sign of where they’ve disappeared to. That’s if he’s even in a good state right now. Rex has been listening, he knows Kenobi’s returned to this ship- and he knows Cody said General Skywalker would have to fight him. There’s no way he’s any sort of calm right now.

They were supposed to check in a cycle ago. The Republic knows they’re gone by now.

He almost hopes that they get declared KIA. A Separatist hijacking would be much easier to explain away than what they’ve done. But he knows the odds are not in their favor in that arena. The debugged and dark ship they took is a dead giveaway, after all, if the lack of medical personnel weren’t.

He’s never felt this guilty in his life.

He was bred to live and die for the Republic- at least, that’s what he’s grown up hearing, that’s what’s been drilled into them from day one. His world view is slightly skewed, now, but it hasn’t stopped him from regretting his actions. He knows he left the general behind to the mercy of the lion’s den. He knew this the moment he left. And it’s eating him inside, because his men are behind too, and they’re not escaping this unscathed, either.

He’s so tired.

When is Cody coming to see them?

He could excuse the first while, what with them staging a rescue for Kenobi and all. But Kenobi has returned, he knows that, and still there’s been no sign of Cody. He does know they’re here, right? He must, he was the one to direct them here in the first place.

So why hasn’t he shown up?

He gets the answer towards the end of the day cycle, when the cell’s lights have just begun to dim, the hallways bright as ever. It doesn’t come in the form of his brother, no- it comes in the form of two former Jedi.

“I wish I could give you two a warmer greeting,” Kenobi says, voice cold and face unrevealing, contrasted by the concerned frown on Ahsoka’s lips, “but needs must, as you know.”

Fives stands in an instant, before Rex can say anything. “Let us out. We haven’t done anything. Your Mandalorians didn’t even give us a chance to explain, they just took Tup away!”

“That was under my orders, I’m afraid,” Kenobi says- and he is just Kenobi, now, because Rex can’t see a Jedi general when he looks at him. “Any soldiers of the Republic who come under my care are to be detained until their chips can be removed. Tup was a special case- he’s in the medical ward, currently.”

“Under your care,” Fives scoffs under his breath, and Kenobi’s eyes flash in the low light.

Rex turns his attention before the situation can escalate, smiling wearily at Kenobi’s companion. “Hey, kid.”

“Rex.” She’s smiling, but she swallows, her eyes moist. “It’s good to see you. You too, Fives.”

Fives softens at that. “You as well, Commander. I’d give you a hug, but, well.” He raps his fist against the ray shield.

Ahsoka turns to Kenobi, and she must receive some sort of signal from him, because the shield is down the next instant. She rushes towards them, and it takes hardly a second for the pair of them to envelop her in an embrace. Rex keeps one eye on the man in front of them, but some tension is relieved from his very bones. Tension he had no idea even existed until this moment.

“Missed you, So’ika,” he murmurs, noting absently how much taller she is than she was at the beginning of the war.

“I- I missed you too,” she says, and Rex is glad he’s in his blacks, because he can feel when she squeezes them tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Fives insists, a little harsher than perhaps necessary. Rex looks over- he’s glaring at Kenobi.

The man is staring back, almost in challenge.

Osik, those eyes are unnerving.

They step back, Rex letting out a breath. He decides to get on with the next order of business. “Where’s Cody?”

The atmosphere drops immediately- is it darker, now? Colder? Ahsoka’s eyes are wide, twitching to the side as if she wants to look at Kenobi. The man himself hasn’t changed, but the air around him seems almost charged.

That’s… not a good sign.

“He, uh…” Ahsoka looks down, that shininess in her eyes persisting. “He’s in a coma, Rex.”

A coma? “How?” is what sputters out from him, fear settling within him. Kriff it all, the tension is back.

“He-”

“Anakin stabbed him,” Kenobi interrupts, voice clipped. It sounds more mechanical than angry, but his eyes tell a different story. “Planetside. He’s stable.”

That looks like that’s all they’re going to get from him, but Fives, apparently, isn’t satisfied. He pushes his way forward, until he’s the closest to Kenobi. “Oh, and I suppose you’re blaming it all on our general, huh? I’m sure you had nothing to do with it whatsoever.”

Oh, it’s definitely colder now.

“I was hoping we could have a civil discussion.” Kenobi tilts his head, ice dripping from his tone, and all of them step back instinctively, even Ahsoka. “I can see, now, that’s not going to happen. If you’ll excuse me. Ahsoka, dear, you may stay with them as long as you like.”

He disappears as smoothly as he arrived, taking the cold with him.

Ahsoka laughs a little, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. “Like he could stop me.”

Rex turns to Fives, ignoring the shaking in his muscles. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that he led our brother into battle and allowed him to be put into a kriffing coma!” Fives shakes his head in disgust. “Don’t you wonder how General Skywalker didn’t recognize him? He clearly prepared for Cody to fight on his behalf.”

“Obi-Wan suggested durasteel armor,” Ahsoka says quietly, half-hearted smile forgotten. “Cody took it. I have some, too.”

That’s wonderful. Great. Cody and his di’kutla bleeding heart. Just perfect.

“Regardless,” Rex pushes forward, “now is not the time to be antagonizing a Sith! Especially not when we’re looking to cooperate with him.”

“Oh, is that the plan?” Fives laughs, but there’s no joy. “He’s a kriffing traitor, Rex! Cody may have worked with him, but there’s no way in haran I’m putting myself in his presence if I can.”

“Not even to keep our brothers safe?” Rex turns away. “Don’t think we don’t still have a job to do, Fives. This isn’t over.”

“Oh, clearly.” Fives rolls his eyes, folding his arms. “After all, you only told me about the chips when we were leaving the karking Republic.”

“Boys,” Ahsoka interjects, softly, and suddenly Rex regrets ever raising his voice. “We can talk about this later. We should calm down. As soon as we get to Mandalore, the medics will remove your chips, and we can plan further. For now, let’s just… breathe.”

Fives exhales, long and deep, and Rex does his best to follow suit. “Sorry, Commander.”

“It’s alright, I understand.” She really shouldn’t, Rex thinks- sure, they’ve seen some insane osik over the course of the war, but there’s no way any of them should be accustomed to a situation like this. “So, um… I heard some details, but… why are you guys here?”

Ah. Rex sits on the metal floor, guiding the others around him. “We, well… Tup’s chip activated. He shot General Tiplar.”

At that, Ahsoka looks absolutely horrified. “How?”

Rex shrugs a little. “We’re not sure, some sort of malfunction. We were supposed to take him to Kamino for evaluation, but you remember, Cody told me he didn’t want the chips to be public knowledge, so I made the executive decision and… brought us here. Kix is staying behind, de-chipping the 501st as quietly as he can.”

I hope, he thinks, reviewing the state he left his general and battalion in.

Ahsoka raises a hand to her mouth. “That’s… that’s awful.”

Rex doesn’t know how to respond- he knows it’s awful, he’s living it. But Fives changes the subject. “And you, Commander? How did you get here?”

She exhales slowly. “Obi-Wan found me on Coruscant and offered me a place to stay. Rex knows how I got caught up with Cody and the chips. When I heard they were sending retrieval ships to Ringo Vinda, I came with. After this, though, I’m done.”

Rex starts a little. “What do you mean?”

“I’m moving to the residential areas on Mandalore,” she says, wringing her hands. “I’m bringing half the 212th men Obi-Wan took with me. I’m waiting til the end of the war. Then… well, I’m just waiting.”

She looks up, suddenly, her eyes wide and hopeful. “I don’t suppose I can convince you guys to come with me?”

Rex closes his eyes for a bit. It’s a nice thought, just waiting the war out in comfort. “I can’t speak for Fives, but I can’t, not yet. I have to keep an eye on Kenobi, I have to see this through to the end.”

Fives doesn’t say anything for a long while. “I’ll… I have to think about it. I’d love to, but… I have to think.”

Ahsoka nods, seeming disappointed but not entirely surprised. “It’s alright. I know you guys have a duty.”

“That we do,” Rex says, looking up at the ceiling.

It just looks a little different than it used to, that’s for sure.

The three of them sit in silence, just contemplating the ridiculous mess that their lives have become.

He wishes Cody were here.

<()><()><()>

“Here you are, Mistress Padmé.”

C-3PO places the teapot down in a slightly-jerky motion, alongside the two cups that are already on the table. Padmé smiles and nods her thanks, and the droid exits the room, leaving them to their own devices.

Padmé pours some for her husband, first, placing the cup in his hands, and he manages a weak smile in return. Then she pours her own cup and sips it gently, leaning into his shoulder, feeling him lean against her as well. They sit like that, in silence, for a good while, basking in each other’s presence.

Padmé knows that Anakin was on trial today- not an official trial, not really. Just a hearing with the Jedi Council. But considering the talk that’s been circulating around the Senate about him and the 501st, she’d be surprised if they didn’t treat it as a trial. After all, every senator she’s talked to since Ringo Vinda is either calling for imprisonment on the basis of treason, or removal from the Jedi Order and Republic entirely.

Honestly, it doesn’t look good from a politician’s point of view. First, his student is accused of murder. It hardly matters, in the eyes of the Senate, that she was found innocent, in the end. One of his troops shoots a Jedi general in the crucial moment of a battle. That troop disappears, along with his two highest-ranking men in the 501st. Then it comes out that his master- the closest thing the Senate recognizes as a father- has joined the Separatists, and that’s why he was indisposed at the time of the trial and desertion. The Senate is having a field day with that one, in particular- no matter that Obi-Wan defected ages ago, the fact that they’re only hearing about it when Anakin’s battalion is under suspicion is enough basis for at least a suspension.

But from a wife’s point of view- oh, she hates that the galaxy has done this to her beloved.

“Probation,” Anakin growls after a while, over his tea. She’s seen this before- when the despair ebbs away, the anger sets in. She draws herself a little closer to him in solidarity. “For the foreseeable future. I’m planet-bound.”

She can’t say she didn’t expect it (honestly, she’s a little relieved), but… “And the 501st?”

He scoffs, standing in one move, almost causing her to spill her tea. “They’re going back. Reassigned to a Shadow.”

That causes her to blink. She doesn’t want to aggravate him any more, but she does want to understand. “A… Shadow?”

He shakes his head. “An investigator. A Jedi spy. They want to spy on my men. This man- he’s never even been on the front lines! And he’s an ‘old friend’ of Acheron’s.”

Oh- that’s not good. She doesn’t know which detail, exactly, makes her heart rate spike with fear; the fact that his battalion is under direction of a spy friend of Obi-Wan’s, or the fact that he’s calling Obi-Wan by his Sith name. Probably both, if she’s being honest.

“It could have been worse.” She tries her best to give an encouraging smile, rising and placing her hand on his arm, but she thinks she falls short. “With the way the others were talking, with what the Chancellor was saying… Ani, I thought they were going to arrest you.”

“They might still!” He paces, pulling away, frantic and burning with injustice. “The Council acted like- like they were sparing me! Showing me mercy! Like they were trying to help, by tearing me away from my men! I should be with them! Especially with Rex gone! Force, he- he didn’t even bother to explain!”

“Anakin…” Padmé knows him, she knows this isn’t going away any time soon. Particularly not with the antagonism surrounding the Council in relation to him. So she decides to take it the way she normally does- calmly, and kindly. “Come here.”

She sets her tea down, vaguely noting that Anakin’s own has spilled across her carpeted floor. She pulls him into her arms, allowing him to cling to her like a lifeline.

“I’m- I’m so angry, Padmé,” he says, voice still clipped. “I- And… I’m scared. Because I shouldn’t be angry. But I can’t help it. They’re- all of them, they make me so angry.”

“I know.” She does. Likely more than anyone else, she knows how he feels. And she understands. Even as much as she knows he’s trying, she also knows his circumstances are trying him. “I know, it’s okay.”

“Obi-Wan would know what to do.” It’s quiet, almost deflated. Murmured into her shoulder. “But he’s not him , anymore, is he?” His voice breaks.

Padmé’s throat feels frozen, and she clutches him just a little tighter. “I’m… I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You didn’t see him.” His voice is low and sharp. “He was going to kill me, Padmé.”

Her breath hitches.

“Ahsoka was there, too.” He shakes his head, the motion pulling them apart the slightest bit. “I didn’t see her. But she found her way to him, she was going to rescue him. She chose him. Over me.”

She doesn’t know what to say. She can’t. For one, she can’t believe that Ahsoka would do that. She can’t believe Obi-Wan would do that. She can’t-

She forces herself to take a breath, steadying her shaking.

“I just…” Anakin exhales, and she feels moisture on her shoulder. “I’m scared. Of him. For her. Of me. I- I need this to be over.”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t have to, as she guides him back to the couch in her arms. She wishes she could do something more. She…

Stars, it’s all so messed up.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, the lie boiling on her tongue. “It’ll be okay.”