Chapter Text
“Mandalore?” Luke repeated the word, half dazed.
What had started as a bumbling mission report had turned into another mission assignment. His back was aching, the cut on his thigh was throbbing through its bandage, and he hadn’t slept in two days. The Council would have to forgive his lack of coherence since they were the ones who wanted to see him the moment he landed.
“Yes, we believed you would be a good fit for this mission. You are fluent in Mando’a, correct?” Master Gallia said, her face impassive in the early morning sun. Coruscant buzzed with traffic in the windows behind the Masters’ heads. It was growing harder and harder by the moment for Luke to block out the Force impressions of all those beings whizzing by outside.
He needed sleep desperately.
“Yes, Master, but I’m not the only Jedi who is,” Luke frowned as he tried to concentrate, his gaze flicking to Obi-wan, who seemed to be doing his best to hide a smirk. Something about that made him vindictively glad to be the cause of half the man's grey hairs.
“True, but the Council feels your unique gifts are suited to this mission,” Master Windu picked up the conversation, “Your proficiency in combat and your skill with younglings makes you suited to earn the respect of the Mandalorian people.”
“Is that what this will be, a bridge-building effort?” Luke asked.
After the end of the Clone Wars, Mandalore had struggled to find its footing in the midst of their own civil disputes. Every attempt at government had fallen apart within a few years, though things had been quiet for the last few years. Any offers of Jedi help had been summarily rejected and the planet had become increasingly insular, news of its inner workings seldom reaching outside ears.
“In a way,” Master Billaba said, a small smile on her face, “We have received word that there is a new Mand’alor, one who has been able to unite the different factions. Apparently, he comes from a very orthodox sect, one with ties to Death Watch. Despite this, he appears to be open minded, not only to other Mandalorian practices, but to Jedi assistance as well.”
“Mandalore has reached out to us, then?” Luke guessed.
“They have,” Windu nodded and leaned forward, fixing Luke with a piercing stare, “They requested that we send a Jedi representative to Mandalore with the purpose of identifying and training Force-sensitive children.”
Luke’s jaw dropped.
“We were equally surprised, Knight Skywalker. Mandalorians are known for their protective nature when it comes to their children,” Obi-wan’s chuckle was melodic. There was mischief dancing in his eyes when Luke looked at him, “We have agreed to send a Jedi to test their children - adults as well, if any show promise. That Jedi will then establish a training school on Mandalore, serving as its leader for at least a year.”
Obi-wan paused and then continued softly, almost wistful, “Our hope is that, if we are able to establish a rapport with Mandalore, the school will eventually become an Outpost, if not a Temple.”
“We realize that the political situation on Mandalore has been tumultuous at best,” Billaba said, drawing Luke’s attention as her smile grew serious, “But, there has not been a Mandalorian Jedi since Tarre Vizsla. It is vital that this mission succeeds.”
Luke blinked at the twelve Masters for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He began haltingly, “While I am honored, I’d like to request that someone else be chosen. I’m hardly qualified and my diplomatic skills are-”
“You, it will be,” Yoda spoke up for the first time that morning. Luke had assumed his old master had been dozing, but apparently not. “You, it must be. No other, there is.”
The other Councilors made no move to refute this statement. Twelve sets of eyes watched him, Yoda’s the most unreadable. Luke stared back at his former master, a sinking feeling moving to the pit of his stomach.
“When do I leave?” Luke said, subdued.
“As soon as possible,” Windu replied, his expression not unkind, “We don’t want to keep Mandalore waiting.”
“If that is all, Councilors?” Luke asked, praying that he would be dismissed. They nodded their ascent, wishing him a good rest after his mission. Luke hurried out of the Council chambers, lest someone else accost him with another mission. He had just begun to feel safe when he reached the last set of doors.
“I would feel terrible if that leg injury hindered you in getting back to your quarters,” Obi-wan called behind him and Luke suppressed a sigh, slowing down to wait for the older man to catch up. He had noticed after all. “Allow me to accompany you?”
“You’re going to anyway,” Luke groaned as they turned down the corridor, “A heads up about this mission would have been nice you know.”
“It's all been very hush-hush. We weren’t sure about the sincerity of Mandalore’s request until last night,” Obi-wan waved his hand dismissively.
His tone became more serious, “You’ll have to be careful, Luke. None of us have been able to discern why the Mand’alor has chosen to contact us now. Uncovering that reason may help us establish a more concrete friendship with the Mandalorians.”
There was a pause in the conversation as they descended the stairs leading to the communal gathering space outside of the knights’ apartments. Luke had to take the stairs at a limping pace, his thigh twinging at every move. Obi-wan’s hand came up to hover at his elbow, never touching but there nonetheless.
Other Jedi were milling about, nodding in greeting as they passed. In comparison to their soft cream and brown robes, Luke’s dark figure was an anomaly. When he was a padawan, he’d started wearing the black after he’d seen a holocron of Anakin demonstrating lightsaber techniques for defending against droids. It seemed like an appropriate way to honor the man. Han said it made him look tired and pale. Leia had punched him for that.
The similarity between Luke and his father had only grown over the years, despite Luke’s best efforts. More than once, Jocasta Nu had accidently called him Anakin while scolding him for being too loud in the library. People with a grudge against Anakin found it easier to take their anger out on him than Leia. Older Jedi began to give him nervous glances when his abilities started to far outstrip his agemates.
The worst had been Rex.
Luke had come back from a long mission just after his Trials and walked into Cody’s apartment, unaware Rex was visiting. During the mission, his hair had grown longer than he usually kept it and he’d gotten a good scrape over his brow on the right side a week prior. Rex had turned to greet him and his glass of water had clattered onto the floor as his whole body went slack, the word ‘General’ lingering like a thunderclap in the air.
Today, for good or ill, Luke looked mostly like himself - tired and happy to be home for the briefest of reprieves. He and Obi-wan began to ascend the stairs on the opposite side of the courtyard to Luke’s third floor room, the hubbub of the other Jedi fading out behind them.
About halfway up the staircase, Obi-wan cleared his throat and said in a low voice, “If this mission goes well, the Council is considering granting you the title Master.”
It took everything in Luke’s sleep deprived body not to stumble on the tile steps.
“Master? I haven’t taken a padawan yet,” Luke gave Obi-wan a bewildered look. The Jedi Master only returned it with his best diplomatic smile.
“You’re about to have several,” Obi-wan reasoned, “Everyone knows how well you do with the younglings in the creche and you’ve advised half the Knights in your age group on teaching their own padawans.”
All Luke could do was shake his head.
“There is another side to it as well,” Obi-wan continued, “Grandmaster Yoda is aware of his age. You are the obvious candidate to succeed him.”
Luke’s chest squeezed tight, breathing suddenly difficult. He eased the feeling back out into the Force, letting its warm light fill the space inside of him.
“I doubt that,” Luke swallowed.
“You will be the last padawan he takes. He chose you for a reason, Luke.” There was no hint of a lie in Obi-wan's words. Luke glanced at him again, ignoring the rising lump in his throat as those blue eyes looked through him, and he turned away.
“Maybe,” Luke said as they had reached his door. He was glad the hallway was empty at this time of the morning because his shielding was beginning to slip, “But you of all people know how cryptic he can be. He could have chosen to train me because he didn’t want to deal with my father all over again.”
“If that was his concern, he would have sent you to Mace,” Obi-wan snorted. Mace had been Leia’s Master. Neither of them lingered too long on the implications of that.
It didn’t matter now anyway. Leia had left the Order after her Day of Demand to pursue a different calling. Luke didn’t envy her choice at all. Leia got less sleep than he did.
“Do you really think I’m the best fit for this mission?” Luke asked. There had been a few rumors disguised as concern about what would happen if Luke took on a padawan. None of them had been positive.
Now, the Council was expecting him to start a school on the homeworld of their ancient enemies. No pressure at all.
“Luke, you will be a fine teacher to these children. Think of it as practice for the younglings you’ll train here after you become a Master,” Obi-wan laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The touch was warm and wonderful. It was hard for Luke not to lean into it, not to clutch at Obi-wan’s robes and bury his face in them like he had as a child.
“Send my greetings to ba’vodu ,” Luke said, trying not to let regret color his voice. Luke missed Cody desperately, but it seemed there wouldn’t be time to see him before he left for Mandalore. Nor would he see Leia and Han for that matter.
“Of course,” Obi-wan said as his hand fell away, “Promise me I won’t have to drag you to the healers for that leg.”
“I’ll go down after I’ve had some sleep,” Luke said. Obi-wan gave him a warning look and Luke threw his hands up in surrender. He was diligent about taking care of his injuries. Obi-wan was just used to dealing with people who weren’t.
“I’m glad to see you, Luke. I’m just sorry you won’t be here for long,” Obi-wan said. There was something unspoken lingering about him, but Luke was too tired to press him for it.
“Me too,” Luke sighed. They bid each other goodbye and Luke was left to limp into his one room apartment. It was just as it had been before, bed with scratchy sheets in one corner, unused desk on the opposite wall, everything a shade of brown or beige.
The room was practically bare save for the two plants in the windowsill beside his bed. Luke was the proud caretaker of a wortwood bonsai grown from the seed Beru had given him and a jaresh vine that had originally belonged to Qui-gon Jinn. Hints of Ezra’s Force signature lingered around the plants. Luke would have to thank him for watering them while he was gone. He wondered how they would fare on the trip to Mandalore.
Luke groaned at the thought and began to methodically strip down to his underclothes, leaving them on the floor. Laundry would wait until later.
He eased himself gingerly down onto the hard mattress, careful not to jostle his leg too much. The blinds snapped shut with a half formed thought in their direction. It did little to block out the buzz of other living beings on the floors above and below, even less to muffle the constant roar that was Coruscant’s population. His head hit the pillow easily, but it wasn’t as soft as he remembered and a hint of mustiness lingered in the air.
Mandalore.
The optics of the mission made sense to him, if he thought of it from the Council’s perspective. Luke was well known for his combat skills, something Mandalorians could respect, and he had a leg up on most Jedi when it came to familiarity with Mandalorian culture. Sending a contingent of Jedi would agitate this new tentative partnership, so one would have to do and it would have to be a Jedi comfortable with being alone in a harsh and hostile environment for a long time.
Besides all that, Luke did like to work in the creché and had enough lesson plans to cover at least a year of training, if not more. In the end, the Council’s choice was very logical. What made him nervous was the way Yoda had looked at him when he’d protested. It was too reminiscent of the expression his former Master used to get when Luke was about to learn a lesson the hard way, usually through his own stubbornness.
Staring at the ceiling with roughly one day cycle before he’d be back out in the black again, Luke felt a coldness well up in his chest.
“Be with me,” Luke murmured to the dim room, closing his eyes, “Please, be with me.”
The Force curled around him, like water flowing over a rock, soothing that coldness but not washing it away entirely. Luke measured his breathing, long deep lungfuls that sent him near instantly to the cusp of sleep.
In the murkiness between a deep slumber and waking, a vision too real to be a dream slipped through his consciousness. Luke saw himself, perhaps a few years older, sitting in the Council chambers in the Grandmaster’s seat. All the other chairs were empty and covered in a fine layer of dust. Outside, the huge cities of Coruscant were deserted.