The Light of Dark Stars

by UnSparkly_Ink

Summary:

The boy is undersized, underfed, underclothed – and force, he really is wearing rags – in the middle of a large circle of much better dressed adults, who’ve been explicitly tasked with judging him. Half a galaxy away from anything he might call familiar, but for the fact that this child, this boy, must be singularly used to the sensation of appraisal, must be expecting some new cruelty. The boy could definitely use a hot meal and a new set of robes. He should probably see a medic. Depa would say he needs a hug. Mace is not good at hugs. Nevertheless, he turns what he hopes is a gentle expression towards the boy. Who does his best not to cringe away.

Notes:

This is... the inkling of the beginning of an idea. I have no idea how it would play out moving forward, but I might poke at it a bit more from time to time.
I just like the idea of Mace interjecting at any point in the Council's kinda circular non-logic from TPM to get everyone to just cut the crap.

The new work title is a temporary placeholder while I figure out what fits, since the oiginal only really works for the first chapter. I am deeply sorry for anyone who got spammed with updates while I figured out how to do that.

Chapter 1: A New Line of Questioning

“Your thoughts dwell on you mother?”

“I miss her”

“Afraid to lose her are you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Everything”

Mace cuts in, before Yoda can continue. There was no malice in the question, and now is not the time for old worn-out lectures.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” The boy’s eyes are unnerving when they pierce him. He does not have the pad as a shield this time. Without it between them, he feels suddenly naked.

“My sister.” Comes the short, reluctant, answer. Mace can only raise an eyebrow. The boy looks down again. His feet shuffle. In the force, his aura drops from apprehensive, frustrated, perhaps a little combative, into a deep melancholy. It is grief, plain and simple. The kind of grief a master feels when they lose a padawan. What any of them would feel at the loss of a crèchemate, or another person close to them. No child should have cause to feel this type of pain. And it feels old. Worn in like an old boot. Familiar as an childhood blanket. The boy is only nine. To feel such, so young, it is a devastating revelation.

“We were sold apart.” The boy tells his shoes. The sound still carries off the marble of the council floor, ringing through the councillors’ ears. “Ages ago.”

Mace thinks his lungs might freeze. Sold. No wonder the boy felt so dark, soaked in a miasma of negative emotions.

“Sold?” Adi’s voice is tremulous next to him. None of them want this to be true.

“You were a slave?” Ki-Adi is not always known for his tact.

“I’m a person!” is the indignant response, “and my name is Anakin!”

Mace is brought up short. Force. They hadn’t even asked the boy’s name before they’d started the test. He can feel the realisation rumble out through other masters in the room. The friction and resentment engendered by any experience with Qui-Gon Jinn had smothered his better instincts. The council had grudgingly proceeded with the test, for Jinn. Mace will need to meditate on the fact that his opinion on his fellow jedi blinded him so much to the actual youngling in front of him that they managed to miss this. The simmering resentment that always bubbles when Mace is exposed to Qui-Gon Jinn, though now boiling higher than it has in many years, is finally made secondary to the youngling actually in front of him. And it is only when that grudge is pushed to the back of his mind that he can properly take in just how cold the child seems. The boy is undersized, underfed, underclothed – and force, he really is wearing rags – in the middle of a large circle of much better dressed adults, who’ve been explicitly tasked with judging him. Half a galaxy away from anything he might call familiar, but for the fact that this child, this boy, must be singularly used to the sensation of appraisal, must be expecting some new cruelty. The boy could definitely use a hot meal and a new set of robes. He should probably see a medic. Depa would say he needs a hug. Mace is not good at hugs. Nevertheless, he turns what he hopes is a gentle expression towards the boy. Who does his best not to cringe away.

“We did not suggest you weren’t.” Instead of reassuring, Master Piell’s tone is accusatory, bridling at the perceived implication of the boy’s words. The effect on Anakin is immediate, his entire force presence shrinks in on himself, pulling away from all of them at a speed which leaves Mace breathless. The boys hands clasp in front of him. His feet turn so that he is facing Master Piell. His eyes do not leave the floor. Something indelible about him seems to slump.

“Yes Master.” Even the boy’s voice is defeated. Mace never wants to hear it again.

“The Jedi do not keep slaves.” The boy flinches. “Slavery is illegal in the Republic.” No reaction. Mace barely holds in a sigh. “Did Qui-Gon explain to you, that if he brought you here, then his intent was to free you?” The boy’s nod is enthusiastic. Small mercies. His weariness of a moment ago is gone, Mace is no longer staring at the top of his head.

“Master Qui-Gon bet on me, sir. He won me off Watto and” he pauses, little fingers twisting in threadbare, rough-spun fabric, “and he said I was free.”

“But…” That melancholy, the same brought up by the mention of his sister, returns.

“He said there wasn’t enough to free my mom too.” Any traces of released tension snap back in an instant. Mace is going to have to meditate for a long time tonight, if he does not want to end up strangling Jinn.  Of all the reckless, careless, flatly stupid things Jinn has done, this may be the worst. A headache is building behind his eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose, vainly hoping that will stave it off for a few hours. For just long enough. He can feel the other masters in the room shifting, the tension strings between all of them. How are they going to fix this particular Jinn-style clusterfuck?

“In such circumstances,” Master Koon is the first to speak up “It is natural that you would be concerned for her welfare.” The boy’s shoulder’s slump, the tense twist of his fingers in his shirt eases. Thank the force for Plo Koon, and his innate ability to know how to deal with younglings. The man had seriously missed his calling as a Crèchemaster.

“Watto’s gotta be hoppin’ mad” the boy confides, eyes huge. “He’s lost a lot ‘cause I flew in the race, and I’m not there for him to take it out on. And mom can’t reach her back on her own. And there’s no one else to pick up the slack, so Watto’ll be even more angry. More’n I’ve ever seen him before, I think. And I dunno what he’s gonna do if he gets that mad.” The boy is near panting, as what was clearly well-hidden panic barrels through his small frame  and tosses the boy into a spiral. “He could kill her!” the boy cries, then pauses struck by something even worse “he could sell her!” the word is a horrified whisper. In the future, looking back at this moment, Mace will understand why that prospect is so much more horrifying to the boy than the alternative that his mother could be beaten to death. Right now, that distinction is lost on him.

He cuts the boy off before he can spiral any further.

“That’s enough.” The child flinches. So does Mace. He has never been a particularly delicate touch. The boys negative emotions, pent up until this moment, slosh wildly around the council chamber, soaking them all in one small boy’s cold fear.

“I think” he tries to weigh his words carefully, heated anger and chilling fear warring in the force around him, “that we have heard more than enough.” He focusses on the boy “You have given us much to discuss young one, much to think about.” Several masters are nodding along with the sentiment.

“We must thank you for your bravery Anakin, in appearing before us today, and answering our questions.” Shaak Ti[1], second only to Plo Koon in terms of sheer parental instinct, and parsecs more serene (Plo Koon is given to pranks) takes up the reigns of the conversation before he can accidentally scare the boy any more. “If you return to the chamber outside, you will likely find Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon waiting for you.” Whether it’s the prospect of familiar faces, or if the boy truly does just have terrible taste in friends, the idea of seeing Jinn again brightens the kid up considerably, and he trots out of the chamber without another word. The doors close with a penultimate thud behind him, leaving the councillors alone with each other, and with a decision. Now the work begins.

No one speaks. The silence settles into stillness. No one seems willing to break it.

“We cannot send him back to Tatooine.” Mace wants to make sure that option is off the table. Whatever else they may think of, in deciding what to do with the boy, they cannot even consider a situation that would so clearly bear a high risk of re-enslavement.

“Agreed.” Plo Koon, at least, will be on his side. Others around the room are nodding. Including Master Piell, which is unexpected. Yaddle, quiet up to this point, finally speaks.

“Simple, this question is, hm? Obvious, the answer.” Her stare lingers on each of them. No one speaks. “Remain with us, stay here, the boy must.”

“Great danger, I foresee in his training.” Yoda, of course is the one to contradict her. “He is too old.” The master continues, ignoring Yaddle’s expression. “Too much anger there is in him.”

Yaddle’s emphatic ‘hmph’ shows what she thinks of that line of reasoning. “Anger, would you not feel, Master Yoda, if enslaved you had been?” the question is pointed. The sound of uncomfortable shifting filters through the space. Suddenly, no one is willing to look either of them in the eye.

“The boy is certainly strong in the force.” Oppo Rancisis, having been trained by Yaddle, is presumably immune to her scathing ability to put others in their place with a well-chosen question. “And we know that there is a darksider out there, whether or not Jinn is correct that the being was a sith.” He pauses, waiting for the rest of the counsel to struggle towards the conclusion he has already reached, “Would it not behove us, then, to at least ensure that so strong, and so vulnerable a child does not end up under their power? Or that of someone worse?” it is a damning indictment that not one of them had even thought of that possibility before now. the continued shuffling, and avoidance of eye-contact, attests to this oversight.

“I am less concerned with what potential danger he may pose in the future” Shaak Ti speaks up again “than I am with the care the child is obviously in need of right now.” Adi nods enthusiastically along with that sentiment, Mace could easily see Depa agreeing with it as well, which is what decides him.

“Regardless of the boy’s potential future, he has been brought here by one of our own, and is, for the moment at least, under our care.” Surely, none of them can argue against immediate measures to take care of the boy. They do not necessarily have to commit to training him, if they give him a change of clothes and a hot meal. “Besides,” he continues “if there is a danger to training someone of his strength and potential, then are the safest hands not our own?”

“An interesting point.” Master Tiin is folded over, elbows on his knees, eyes closed to better take in the arguments. The force around the room vibrates like a string instrument, each master’s considerations adding a new note to the dissonance.

It is Adi who makes the salient point, the one that brings every master from their individual notes into harmony.

“Where else could such a boy go?” she hits upon the crux of the matter. For the time being, at least, Anakin will belong here.

When the chamber doors open again, it becomes very clear very quickly that Anakin had not found Jinn and his padawan waiting for him in the ante-chamber. The small desert-boy was a lone figure in the vast frame of the double-doors. He looks around in surprise at the noise, and the sudden stream of light from the wide council chamber windows. Mace’s dislike for a certain Jedi Knight notched a little higher. He couldn’t quite catch hold of his sigh, before it fled into the chamber. The boy inches his way back into the centre of the circle, hesitance in every step. Mace attempts to mould his face into something that projects “reassurance” with what he will hope is at least middling success. Masters Koon and Ti are also solidly in the youngling’s corner, so he’s at least got some backup in the force. There’s also Adi, who Mace suspects just wants to squish the youngling’s cheeks. None of them have time to voice these sentiments to the nervous boy, before Jinn is finally striding his way back into the mess he’s dumped in their laps.

“He is to be trained then.” The desire to punch the smug smile right off of Jinn’s face returns with a vengeance. He watches the man place a proprietary hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and has to restrain himself from snapping. It is Yoda who answers.

“No.” Mace watches the boy’s face fall. Monitoring Anakin’s read on this situation is far more important right now than gauging Jinn’s. “A child, he still is.” Yoda continues. “A Padawan, you still have.” Mace had never before had cause to be so grateful for one of Jinn’s more selfish decisions; but his desire to cling to his padawan past the average age of trial – by mere months, but still, it breaks a pattern for Jinn – at least keeps the boy out of his hands. For now. Yoda is still speaking.

“Strong in the force, the boy is. See that we do.” Mace looks up to see Jinn’s mouth hanging open. Yoda has clearly forestalled another tirade about the force and prophecy that Mace does not want to hear. “Stay here he must then, hm?” that had undoubtedly been Jinn’s game here, the only reasonable outcome in this situation. Jinn knew it, they all knew it. “Return him to Tatooine” Anakin flinches “to slavery” Padawan Kenobi’s head whips around to stare at the child. Interesting, had he not known? Did Jinn not tell him? “we cannot” Anakin’s shoulders relax under Jinn’s hand. He receives an absent-minded pat.

“But. Too old, the boy is. Angry. Afraid.” Anakin is staring at the floor again. Where Yoda got his reputation for being ‘good with younglings’ is beyond him, he’s worse at this than Mace is. “Dangerous, his training would be. Clouded, his future is.”

“But he is the chosen one, you must see that!” And there’s Mace’s desire to punch him. Returned in full force. Mace has had quite enough for one council meeting.

“What we see Qui-Gon Jinn, is that you have bought a child – strong in the force, yes, but still a child – and brought him here to be trained. Have you at least begun the necessary filings to establish Anakin’s citizenship?” the silence that descends is awkward. Jinn is completely still. His padawan is staring at him. The boy just looks dejected. Shaak Ti speaks into the stillness.

“Chosen one or not, the boy requires far more than just training, Jinn. Anakin has burdens that no other youngling in this temple has experienced, if we are to make the exception for his age, we must also take his background into account.”

Jinn opens his mouth again.

They are, at that moment, interrupted by an envoy from the Queen of Naboo. She is returning to her planet, to an active occupation. Mace does not know whether to admire or despair at the girl’s determination. Jinn and Kenobi are still technically assigned to her. Anakin is still technically Jinn’s property. Because of course, Jinn has not been busy filing the boy’s paperwork, or doing anything useful while Anakin was with the counsel. From the eye-roll aimed at Kenobi, Mace would bet Jinn has instead spent the time arguing with his padawan. All three of them are therefore set off to return straight back to the hangar, ready to take the Queen home.

 

[1] In the stills from the film, Shaak Ti is not in the council session where they question Anakin, but Depa Bilaba is. Given that Depa is Mace’s padawan, I’m making the executive decision that she is too young to be a master yet, so I’ve decided to swap her out for the older, more commonly mom-vibed Shaak Ti. I’m aware this is probably a consequence of Depa being a nameless background character in the movies, before fleshing her out in other media made the timeline wibbly, but is this not what fanfiction is FOR?

Chapter 2: Trust and Promise

The light is warm. Sunset light streaming in through the corbelled windows. It seemed wrong, when the body it illuminated was so cold. Qui-Gon Jinn looked slightly smug, even in death. Perhaps because he knew he’d gotten his way. He’d made his padawan promise. The young man’s determination to follow through on this dying request himself would be commendable, if it wasn’t so clearly a desperate response to the sudden loss of his master. Mace would call it attachment if he didn’t know better. This wasn’t attachment, this was shock. Or maybe the right word would be trauma. The boy himself was somewhere in the maze of Theed Royal Palace being cooed over by the queen and her handmaids. Last he’d seen of the Anakin, he’d been hand in hand with Queen Amidala, half hidden behind her voluminous skirts. It had been sweet to see how the two children had bonded, if a little melancholy, to see such burdens on to such young beings. At the very least, Mace reassured himself, it meant the boy would likely have a place to go, if the Jedi could not keep him. They would hold the funeral tonight, here on Naboo. Jedi presence would be needed at the celebration of victory, and there wasn’t time to bring the body back to the temple and return before that. Besides, the queen had voiced a desire to honour one of their saviours, which meant the funeral would be an Event, itself necessitating other Jedi be present. Kenobi could not be expected to shoulder that burden by himself. He’d only been a knight for a day. Which was also why he could not be allowed to bully his way into training the boy, promise or no. He was still too raw, too new to knighthood, and far too young to take primary guardianship of a child so damaged as Anakin. He could only hope Yoda was making him meditate wherever the two had scurried off to, there wasn’t much left of their lineage, they should at least be taking comfort in each other. Mace wondered briefly where master Dooku was now, and whether he had heard the news. Last the council had heard, he was somewhere bordering the Unknown Regions hunting up ancient Sith artefacts. He may not even know his padawan was dead.

The light had moved to piercing orange blades by the time the newly knighted Kenobi and master Yoda re-enter the preparation chamber. The young knights eyes darted around the room, trying desperately to look anywhere but the figure on the bier. Still, his eyes seemed inexorably drawn to the body of his master. Yoda’s ears drooped further as he came into the dying daylight. They made a very sorry procession out to the pavilion the queen had designated for their use tonight. The light had died, by the time they reached the circle of stone columns, the light of Naboo’s sun no longer making the pale stone gleam with borrowed warmth, instead they reflected the cold light of far more distant stars. A wooden pyre had been erected around the base of a stone plinth. Yoda hobbled over to the other masters that had accompanied them. He and Padawan – Knight – Kenobi laid the body onto the stacked, dry, wood. Kenobi lingered for a moment, hands hovering slightly over his master’s head, before he finally pulled away and retreated to the ring of observers. The queen and the new chancellor stood stonefaced under one of the wide arches. Anakin stood next to the queen, their hands clasped, hidden within the folds of her gown where the light is absorbed by deep indigo velvet. Kenobi stands on the boy’s other side. He catches the movement out of the corner of his eye when Kenobi startles and stares down. Mace watches him hesitantly reach out and take the boy’s proffered hand.

Mace takes the offered torch from the Naboo attendant. The heat vibrates through his fingers, all the way up his arm. The flame consumes his field of vision. He holds the brand under the pyre, waiting for the kindling to light. There is a small whoosh when it catches. He thrusts the torch in among the branches, and retreats to the edges of the circle. It takes a long time for bodies to burn this way. In the temple, the process feels almost instant. No one speaks as the flames crackle, and Qui-Gon’s body is slowly devoured. It feels like there is no other sound in the world, which is the only reason Mace notices when the boy very hesitantly tugs on Kenobi’s hand and whispers “Mister Obi-Wan, what’s going to happen to me now?” he hears the catch in Kenobi’s throat, whatever automatic answer had leaped forth dying in the face of the young knight’s realisation that he did not know. They did not know. The Jedi would take him back to Coruscant, that much was certain, he had too much power, and too little training, for them to let him alone now. They will train him, give him some grounding, a way to avoid losing his mind or flattening those around him in a populated galaxy. Yoda had not ceased grumbling. Mace thinks he heard Yarrel Poof say the word ‘Evaluation’ in a tone of judgement he was extremely glad the boy had not been present to overhear.

Kenobi still hasn’t spoken. He is staring down at the boy with his mouth open. Anakin is growing increasingly anxious under his gaze, beginning to shift on his feet and drawing the queen’s attention away from the crackling flames. Mace takes a step forward, catching their attention.

“You’ll come back to the temple with us, Anakin. We’ll look after you.” He tries to make his face look gentle and welcoming. The little moue of consternation on Anakin’s face hasn’t evened at the reassurance.

“But - ” he hesitates, eyes flickering rapidly between the two of them. The queen’s dress rustles as his grip tightens on her hand. There’s a distinct wrinkle when she squeezes back, pulling his hand closer to her. The fire reflected in her dark eyes takes on a protective edge.

“You are free now Anakin, I promise, you can say whatever you need to.” Kenobi’s voice is gentle, a sorrow completely unrelated to the man in the fire stealing through his words. The queen’s chin tilts down, her flickering eyes warm with approval. They draw strength from each other, the two young people in front of him, Mace can see it pulsing between them, shared back and forth in a way that shouldn’t be possible without a force bond, shimmering in the firelight.

“But they said you couldn’t train me! That means I couldn’t be a Jedi! So what am I going to do?” Oh, of course that’s what the boy understood. It’s shocking, really, how such an old being could be so very short-sighted. Not for the first time, Mace finds himself frustrated with Yoda, and the mess his lineage has made. Before he can even attempt it, Kenobi is speaking again.

“I made a promise, Anakin, I told Qui-Gon before he died that I would see you trained. And I will do what I must.” Mace lays a hand on Kenobi’s shoulder, stemming any other promises before the young knight talks himself into forsaking the order for the boy.

“What that means, Anakin, is that you will have a choice. There is room for many possibilities in your future, becoming a Jedi is only one of them.” The little divot is still between the boy’s brows, but the pout is thankfully lessening. Mace crouches, bringing his face to the same level as Anakin’s. “The Jedi will help you, whatever you decide. You have a great amount of potential in the force, but the path of a Jedi is not an easy one.” The boy nods, his eyes flicker over to the body on the pyre, then back to the floor. He nods.

“Mister Qui-Gon said, sir.” At least he knows, though he doubts that would dissuade the boy. He doubts any potential hardship would seem as real in the boys mind as the trials he has already lived through, already overcome.

“But,” those pale eyes flicker up and between them again, “what if I think I’m meant to be a Jedi? Sir.” Mace doesn’t think he has the emotional capacity to deal with the boys reluctant deference right now, not while one of their own is re-joining the force, and he will have to smile at politicians in the morning. “I felt it in the – in the… force?” he looks to Obi-Wan for confirmation “It felt…right. Inside me. And around me.” Then, inexplicably, he looks up at the queen. The red dots on either cheek shift up with her gentle smile. The fabric shift again where their hands are still held together. There’s no telling what the boy felt, if he had a vision, or if the feeling of being around other force-sensitives for the first time was so new that the boy noticed the difference.

“Then perhaps you will be.” The little frown finally smooths out. “Whatever the future holds for you, Anakin, the force will always be with you.” The boy needs more than any other initiate they have ever inducted into the crèche. Shaak Ti was correct, but the boy is in their care now. They can do no less. “When we get back to the temple, I will introduce you to some of the other initiates.” He doesn’t know why he keeps talking, only that the boy’s anxiety has not completely dissipated, and Mace wants it gone. “They can help you get used to living in the temple, with the rest of the jedi. You’ll be starting from a bit behind them, they’ve been learning since they were in the crèche, but I’m sure they’ll help you learn some of the basics, and you’ll catch up in no time.” He pulls one corner of his mouth up, and is relieved when he sees Anakin’s mouth tilt up in response. “I have no doubt that you have the capacity to be an excellent Jedi, Anakin, if you put your mind to it.”

He only notices when he stands up again, that the new chancellor – Palpatine, wasn’t it? This planet will need a new senator after the celebration – has been watching the whole exchange out of the corner of one eye, head tilted ever so slightly towards them to catch what they’ve been saying. He doubts the queen or any of her attendants have noticed his attention. It’s subtle enough. But Mace is used to being spied on, he knows the subtle hints and tells that give away another person’s attention. It raises his hackles for no reason Mace can readily understand. With the danger so newly past, it makes sense for the entire populace to be hyper sensitive of anyone allowed near their queen, and Anakin is already being hailed as a planetary saviour. His interest makes sense, it is completely explainable. But still. Something in Mace rankles. He is extremely reluctant to leave the little trio when Yoda gestures him over to the edge of the gathering.

“Dangerous times, these are. A new darkness, there appears to be.”

“There is no doubt then? The mysterious warrior was a Sith?” Yoda nods. The stone that has been sitting in Mace’s stomach since Qui-Gon first described the dark zabrak warrior opens up into a yawning pit of concern.

“Always two there are. No more, no less. A master and an apprentice.” The pit deepens into a cavern.

“But which one was destroyed, the master or the apprentice?”

Yoda does not reply. They have no way to tell. The force around them is murky, permeated by a darkness that had not even noticed encroaching. The only points of light around them are their fellow jedi. At the centre of the gathering, the boy – Anakin – blazes like a binary sun, hot and bright. There are no answers for them here on Naboo. All they can now do is wait.

Chapter 3: Life in the Trees

Notes:

so, uh... Hi. *obnoxious drinking straw noise*

With the benefit of hindsight, Mace can admit to himself that his brilliant plan of introducing Anakin to Jocasta as a way to get him quickly and easily up to speed with the other youngling’s his age had backfired spectacularly.

His tiny boyish charms, and innocent demeanour had drawn her right in, just as he’d predicted. What he hadn’t accounted for was the voracious intellectual appetite that had been unleashed, and Jocasta’s combined enamour with the small boy who called her Grandmother the same way he called Mace ‘Teacher’ and her pride at showing off the temple’s incredible archives, had made for an incredibly potent charm offensive. Honestly, he should have seen it coming the first time he’d brought Anakin into the quiet, vaulted space. The boy had listened to Jocasta’s standard youngling explanation of what the archives were and how they worked, before looking up at her with his big blue eyes and gasping

“You mean I could, I could learn anything? Anything at all? Really?” and Madame Jocasta Nu, who Mace wouldn’t have said had a single soft bone in her body, had melted.

“Yes little one, anything you desire to learn, you will be able to find in the archives.”

Anakin had abruptly looked down. His consuming force presence tinged with embarrassment. He’d mumbled something at the floor, tucking his head steadily further down until his neck and some of his chin had been swallowed by the collar of his new robes, padded, against the ever present chill brought on by malnutrition. Their first roadblock. All his excitement had vanished in a second.

“What is it, Anakin?” he crouched down, and leaned in close. Anakin, he’d learned, did not do well divulging his insecurities to strangers. Giving him the illusion that it was just the two of them, even if Madame Nu was demonstrably within earshot, might be just enough for whatever issue this was. He seemed to at least trust Mace. And Mace was resolutely ignoring the warm glow that engendered in his chest. He categorically refused to think about the way the boy had shadowed him, even at some points holding onto the back of his robes, all the way to Coruscant, for the same reason. He turned to Mace so easily now, and his little head lifting to meet Mace’s eyes was absolutely not the best thing he’d seen all day. No matter what Depa thought.

“I can’t read.” He whispers, fingers clenching into fists around his obi.

“Then you are in the perfect place, young one.” Madame Nu breaks the illusion as gently as he thinks is possible. “What better place to learn to read than a library?” Anakin is back to staring up at her like she hung the moon.

“Could you teach me?”

“Of course I can,” She held out a hand, which Anakin still waited for his encouraging nod before taking, “Shall we go see what we can find?” and the two had trotted off together into the bowels of the archives. At least he always knew where he could find the boy.

Except today. Jocasta had not seen him since he left for midmeal earlier in the day and Knight Kenobi, one of the few adult jedi who had also gained an occasional Anakin-sized shadow, had been away on a mission for several days.

Anakin had, much to his relief, begun to acclimate fairly quickly, and he was already being placed in the occasional youngling class. Usually below him in age, but far better suited to his level of familiarity and control in the force. That was the next logical place to look. Consulting the schedule of classes, physical courses, research retreats, and meditation room reservations garnered two possibilities: There was a youngling class introducing the philosophy of the force, and the various Jedi sects around the galaxy, and there was another guiding meditations for older chrechelings, and younger initiates in the room of a thousand fountains. There were only a handful of people Anakin listened to about anything philosophical. Mostly Madame Nu, Depa, her partner and fellow escapee from the tender mercies of Qui-Gonn Jinn Feemor, and himself. Almost certainly, Mace thinks, because they are the most likely to put up with (and in the cases of Feemor and Jocasta, even encourage) his endless, endless, questions. Why this? and what about that? And my Mother says this? Until it was surprising the boy wasn’t blue in the face.

Normal younglings do not question like this. But, Shaak Ti was correct in what she had so bluntly pointed out the first day Anakin had crashed into their lives, this boy is no normal youngling.

So, to the gardens he goes. Anakin had been enthralled the first time he’d taken him there. Perhaps even more so than he was by the archives. Shaak Ti had, again, been the one to come up with the best way of approaching Anakin and his background. The soft, awed, “There’s so much water!” will stick in more than a few master’s heads for long, long time. There is a crowd of younglings scattered throughout the room of a thousand fountains. Some by the pools, some meditating in the open glens, and a few stragglers running from the minders, several in the trees, laughing. It took him a moment to find Anakin among the jumble of bright force signatures. The younglings all let loose here, and it somewhat obscured the bright little star  that was Anakin in the force. And his shielding had improved, even if only marginally. It was still better than the nothing he had had before. Enough that Mace could tell his suspicion was correct; Anakin was among the younglings clambering up the trees, but not enough to pinpoint him without having to search for his fuzzy blonde head.

That had taken a while to adjust to as well. The sight of Anakin without any hair was a startling one. It made his eyes look even bigger, though it lent a harsh cast to the rest of his face, emphasised how scrawny he was. The hospital gown hadn’t helped. The little black square that sat in his palm, his small pleading voice explaining about old lives, and new beginnings, and freedom.

“You have to take it all off, when you’re really free, ‘cause – ‘cause you’re a new person now. It’s like, like taking the chains out of your mind. It makes yourself free, not just your body.”

Knight Kenobi had looked vaguely uncomfortable, fiddling with the clippers, and – as he was apparently wont to do in such situations – had offered up a fact: “You know Anakin, the average base human replaces all their cells, every seven years.”

Anakin had looked contemplative, then slowly delighted. He’d sat still while Kenobi passed the shears over his head with a broad smile on his face.

Mace heads towards the trees. As he gets closer, he can see the mad grin on Anakin’s face as he reaches for a higher branch on…

“Master Saa.” It has been an age since he’s seen his old teacher. One yellow eye opens below Anakin’s now flailing foot.

“Hello, padawan mine.” Her gentle voice creaks and sways.

“You can talk?” Anakin’s boyish voice edges on shrill in his startles excitement. “You have talking trees?” he looks so delighted, Mace can’t help but laugh. Master Saa laughs with him. She reaches up to catch Anakin where her laughter shakes loose his grip on her branches.

“Hello, Young one.” She sets him gently down in her lap, where he stares at her face with the open, naked sort of wonder that only Anakin can seem to muster, and regularly does at many things that Mace would consider common place. “I am Master Traa Saa.”

Another gasp, “You’re a teacher?”

“Yes, Young one. In fact, I taught you friend here!” She gestures at him, and he sits down, bringing them all back to eye level.

“You taught teacher Mace?”

“She did, I was her padawan learner when I was not much older than you are now.”

“But teacher Mace, you know so much!”

“I didn’t always, everything I know I learned from Master Saa.”

She laughs again, it sounds like the rustling of summer leaves. “Hardly everything, Padawan mine, you ventured beyond my teachings years ago.”

“That is so cool!” Anakin distracts them from where he has been swivelling his head between them like a lightball match. “so you” he pokes a finger into Master Saa’s face – manners are one of the few things Anakin hasn’t been willing to learn – “taught teacher Mace, like teacher Mace taught Lady Depa! It’s like… like a family!”

Traa Saa laughs again, and settles him more firmly in her embrace. Hells, he’s going to be invited to lineage dinner, isn’t he?

“Exactly, little one. The Jedi are each other’s family, we pass our wisdom down generation by generation, much as people do the galaxy over.”

“Oh! Well that’s okay then.” And he nestles happily into Master Saa’s hold.

His phrasing is strange.

“What’s okay, Anakin?”

“If the Jedi teach like Family, because what family teaches you is… it’s real. Because when you love somebody, you tell them the truth. It’s the kindest thing to do.” Well that was. Unexpected. Another one of Anakin’s unique gifts; little nuggets of history or philosophy dropped like an immutable truth. Never failing to bring everyone around him up short.

“I suppose we’d best invite you to family dinner then!”

Mace called it. He won’t tell anyone, but he did call it. Depa will see it at dinner anyway. He doesn’t think Master Saa ever stood a chance. Anakin is exactly the kind of rascal she likes, if the way she dotes on Tholme’s padawan and grandpadawan are any indication. Anakin’s face scrunches in confusion. He looks to Mace.

“but… you said anyone could eat in the big hall?” his face tips down again, and the next sentence is much quieter. “I thought I was already invited.”

The transformation from a ball of sunshine into a wet puppy is truly impressive.

“Of course, little one.” Master Saa is quick to offer comfort. “The cafeteria carries a variety of cuisines suitable for beings from all over the galaxy,” which was why the younglings always ate there. Mace couldn’t imagine trying to negotiate anything smaller with a dozen hungry younglings to feed. “but it is not the only option. Many Knights and Masters live in quarters that come equipped with kitchen facilities. I live in such quarters, and I require my lineage to come to my abode and allow me to feed them at least once every month.”

Anakin is silent while Mace watches him turn this new information over in his mind. When he speaks, the words come slowly. “and… you want… to invite… me?”

“Yes young one, I think you will fit in with us very well.” She looks at Mace when she says this. He’s not sure he likes the implication in her yellow eyes. He is not taking another Padawan, not when Depa is so newly knighted. It’s only been a few years, well, five, but still. And besides, he’s a busy man, he is on the council.

“I’d like to be your family, Teacher Saa.” And, there Anakin goes again, tripping him up heart first. It’s exasperating. Anakin is making it a habit.