FicWad

Additional Author's Notes: 1) For those who don't know, in the GFFA, a minder is a kind of healer similar to a therapist or a psychiatrist and are often empathic (if not actually telepathic). And understanding Lorrdian kinetic communication is considered akin to being an empath/telepath.
2) Everything wouldn't fit in this chapter in one post on the lj. To keep chapters of a comparable size, I am splitting the final scene in half here as I did on the lj. The last scene will continue IMMEDIATELY in the next chapter!







More than seven centuries old, the Alderaanian Royal Palace is a rambling, multistoried affair of icicle-like turrets and oddly natural seeming ramparts, the whole of its overall structure resembling a sort of enormous natural outcropping of ice-crystals when viewed from the remove of the higher atmosphere. Both the seat of the planetary government and the home of the royal family, the Palace's all but labyrinthine interior is filled with nearly as many offices, libraries and museum-like showrooms as it is with actual living quarters, and its interior is mostly fashioned after the manner of the Galactic Republic's high classical era, meaning that it easily has as many grand stairways and sweeping, spiraling staircases as it does actual turbolifts. Most sentient beings would find its kilometers of winding corridors all but impossible to follow without either extensive maps or an extreme familiarity with its layout, with even the artificial intelligence of most droids lacking in the proper kinds of familiarization preprogramming unable to easily deal with or negotiate the Palace's unarguably elegant and beautiful and yet just as indisputably all but endlessly intricate and complex system of rooms and stairwells and passageways. Jedi are not most sentient beings, however, and, in any case, the interior of the Alderaanian Royal Palace has always reminded Obi-Wan of a brighter, more open, and somewhat more vibrant (if perhaps ever so slightly less refined) version of the Jedi Temple at Coruscant, making it even easier for him to remember his way. Though it is, of course, not quite as richly appointed (and is, naturally, much smaller than even the main body alone of the easily city-sized Temple), the overall sense of the place (well. Its interior, in any case) has still always struck him as being so very similar to that of the Temple that Obi-Wan likely would not feel truly lost even if he were somehow to mistake a turning and find himself in a part of the Palace's structure that he is unfamiliar with. That is how comfortingly familiar (most of) the Palace's interior feels, to him.

He has never quite been able to decide if the similarity exists because of a deliberate attempt made by the Alderaanians over the years to model both their seat of power and the home of their royal family on the primary home of the Jedi Order or if the sense of similarity is simply a coincidence, an effect caused by the fact that the Alderaanians are, as a whole, an extremely highly cultured people who produce, patronize (in the sense of subsidizing), and import some of the most highly valued, admired, and innovative art of the galaxy. Whatever the real reason for this feeling of similarity is, Obi-Wan finds that the sense of easy familiarity works wonders on his nerves, calming and relaxing him to the point where he is finally willing to admit, over the bond, I fear I am going to be somewhat out of my league, here, Anakin. I am . . . not very good at giving comfort to other people when it comes to such losses. I fear I've been told once too often, "There is no death; there is only the Force," to make a very convincing fellow mourner. And I must also admit to being somewhat bewildered by Bail's behavior, given what the future Crown Prince has told us about Milady Breha. It rather sounds as if the young Queen suffered from a sort of extended mental breakdown. I am surprised that a minder could not help her.

You know how Alderaanians are about free will - and how Force-sensitivity tends to run in some of these older Alderaanian families. And Bail's a pretty trusting guy, too. If they had to prescribe her some form of medication to help with whatever was wrong and she either had enough latent Force-sensitivity or else was simply clever enough to fool them into believing she was taking it when she really wasn't - or if she took it long enough to convince the minder that she was alright again and no longer in need of such aide, only to cease taking it after the minder had left - then this kind of downward spiral makes a lot more sense, at least to me. Breha never struck me as a very confident or independent kind of person, Obi-Wan. She was very smart and could be strong-willed and very capable in certain kinds of situations, sure, but her entire universe was Bail and her family. She was very good - probably a little bit too good - at hiding or disguising just how much she depended on her family for some kind of greater sense of personal worth and identity. She did so well at her job as Minister of Education because she literally thought of the Alderaanian people as a sort of extended family - a family that it was her responsibility alone to care for and see to it that each and every member received the very best. She actually sort of reminded me of Padmé, in a way, because she pretty much was what Sola and their parents always seemed to want Padmé to be - somebody who lived through her family and someone who worked so hard to help others not because of any sense of duty or justness to it but because of a sense of kinship to everyone. If that makes any kind of sense . . . ? Anakin asks, frowning slightly as he tilts his head to look Obi-Wan in the eye as they stride along the oddly empty corridors of the Palace.

Raising a slightly startled eyebrow back at his former Padawan, Obi-Wan shrugs slightly and replies, I understand what you mean, Anakin. I'm simply astonished by it, is all. I remember a vibrant young lady who smiled as she served tea because she was so very proud of the beauty of her new serving set and who was practically bouncing in place on her chair because she was so incredibly excited to be able to talk over her plans for organizing more aide, overall, from the Core Worlds out to at least the Inner Rim Territories, for the war refugees, who even only a few months into the conflict were already far too numerous for single planets such as Alderaan alone to care for properly.

Please, don't take this the wrong way, Master, Anakin replies after a few heartbeats of silence, his face drawn tight as if in discomfort, a sense of gathering himself up for some kind of difficult or distasteful (or both) act making both of Obi-Wan's eyebrows plunge skywards, but you were always focused mostly on Bail, whenever we came to visit. Bail was a friend of yours a long time before he married Milady Breha, and it showed, love. The two of you were always thick as thieves while the rest of us were sort of left to our own devices. And no offense to him, but Bail always seemed to prefer it that way. He . . . liked having your attention, Obi-Wan.

Anakin -

That doesn't mean you get to blame yourself for any of what's happening now, Obi-Wan! Anakin snaps, cutting him off rather sharply. /Bail was your friend and he adored you, and Breha was someone you barely knew and only because of Bail. It's not your job or your responsibility to make sure that everybody in the galaxy is sensible enough to be honest about their feelings and what makes them happy and live for that, for themselves, instead of other people. I tried to help, by getting Breha to open up some, and she shut down so fast it was like she was a droid whose switch had been flicked off. She didn't /want help, Obi-Wan. She just wanted to cling to her illusions and live through Bail and her family and that was that. Bail and her family were her whole world and she liked it like that. I tried to speak to Padmé about her, once, after the war started, and you know what she told me? She said, "Some people prefer to live their lives vicariously, through other people, Anakin. And as much as we might like them to learn how to live for themselves, the simple fact is that we can't force them to do so. I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you. Milady Breha has a large family and will no doubt one day very soon will have many children - either of her own, or else fostered or adopted from among her family and friends - to help fill her days. Bail adores his wife and he knows how important he is, not just to his family but to the galaxy at large. He will take care of himself as best he can, with the help of his people, and I'm sure he will be here still for many years to come. Milady Breha's preoccupation with family will likely hurt no one but herself. And unfortunately, we can't always make everyone treat themselves with the dignity and care that they should." We argued about it for a while, but in the end I had to agree with her. Just like you're going to have to agree with me, now, because you know just how impossible it is to save every individual, love.

Well, yes, but -

- but nothing, Obi-Wan Kenobi! Unless you want to agree that you were wrong all of those times you told me that I can't save everyone -

Oh, very well, Anakin! I concede the point.

Good. Because this is one argument that you will never/ win with me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You remember that little discussion we had about the Force and balance and how we agreed that the New Jedi Bendu Order is going to need more than just Healers - more, even, than Soul Healers - to heal the hurts that the Code and all of the other impossible rules and expectations have torn into all of our psyches? How I said that even the Force itself won't be able to heal so much damage, undirected, and so we're going to need better Healers than the ones we have - Mind Healers, maybe, if such a thing even exists - and you agreed with me? You remember how you spoke about how we would need to seek out and welcome all of the exiles and outcasts, like Master Djinn Altis and the apprentices he's apparently raised up - despite orders not to do so, as a Gray Jedi - if we want to truly heal these hurts and so avoid eventually falling back into the trap of repeating all of the same mistakes the Order has already made, over and over and over again? This would be one of the reasons why we're going to need to do all of that, to search out and win over those people and find a way to create a whole new field, if we must, combining minders and Soul Healers, because we're all taught, as Jedi, that our talents in the Force yield great responsibility and that we're always supposed to selflessly and compassionately and justly and utterly without any real sense of affection or even attachment strive to help, protect, and save every single individual in the galaxy, even though it's an impossible task, and to assume that any kind of failure on our part to do just that is due to flaws within us, as individuals, since the Force itself is of course perfect and can't be at fault for anything while we're all patently just as far from perfect as it's possible to get - further, even, according to all of those blasted impossible laws and the precepts of the kriffing Code we're raised to obey perfectly and without question from day one within the Order even though, again, it's literally, physically impossible for any material being to be able to abide by all of these rules just because of their nature and our nature as living beings of flesh - and so even though it's illogical and 100 percent damaging and just as stupid as all get out, we all tend to think that each one of us is personally responsible for safeguarding and saving every single sentient being in the entire skroggin' galaxy and drok it, Obi-Wan, we're not and we can't afford to keep blaming ourselves for every single blinkin' thing that ever goes wrong in the galaxy like we always do! It's time and past time for the other sentient beings of the galaxy to start taking responsibility for their own lives and safety and well-being and to start actively helping one another instead of just sitting back and expecting someone like the government or the Jedi or both to take care of everything for them!/

By the time Anakin has finished his tirade, he's planted his right hand accusingly against Obi-Wan's chest and backed Obi-Wan up against the nearest wall, stepping so close that they are literally toe to toe, making Obi-Wan crane his neck somewhat awkwardly against the constraints of the wall at his back and that restraining hand spearing into his chest just above his heart so that he can hold Anakin's increasingly dark gaze. Anakin is scowling so deeply and so furiously that he almost looks like he's snarling, and for a few moments Obi-Wan experiences a strange sense of something almost like lightheadedness in combination with an odd weakness in his knees and a fluttering nervousness in the pit of his stomach - a sensation like nothing he's felt since - since - well, that bizarre flood of inexplicable and thankfully fleeting feelings that had assaulted him, in that arena on Geonosis, when a single cart had quite suddenly rolled out into the merciless light of the great stadium and he had recognized Anakin, bound and strapped to the cart's frame across from Padmé, and for that one frozen heartbeat had fancied he knew what it felt like to die utterly shamed and broken from abject and complete failure - but then Anakin moves as if to press even closer, eyes narrowing suspiciously, and the feeling dissolves back into calm serenity. "Are you quite done now, Anakin?" he asks, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

The scowl deepens to the point where Anakin appears to have fissures gouged into his face around his down-turned mouth and narrowed eyes. "Do you believe me yet?"

"I understand you, Anakin."

"Yes, but /do you believe me yet/, Obi-Wan?" Anakin only demands, somehow managing to loom even closer, hands sliding up to Obi-Wan's shoulders in a grip so firm that his hands are almost painfully tight upon the fragile bones that run so near to the surface there.

"I know how wrong the Code is and I understand how damaging the rules we have lived under are - and not just to us but to the larger galaxy as well," Obi-Wan replies, resisting the urge to raise another eyebrow when Anakin's nostrils flare angrily (a warning sign, signaling the possibility of an imminent display of potentially destructive temper) because if Bail is hurting as badly as Obi-Wan suspects then they really don't have the time to indulge in any long-winded arguments. Instead, he continues, quietly and calmly, explaining, "I know what it is that we must do, Anakin, and I trust the reasons why we must do all of these things. I even have faith in our ability to accomplish them - eventually. But I'm afraid you cannot ask any more of me quite yet, love. I am trying, Anakin, and I swear to you that I will keep trying. But I'm afraid I don't come with a reset switch." There comes a moment in the midst of Obi-Wan's attempt to explain when Anakin's scowl changes to an actual snarl, but there's not quite enough time to react to it, just to notice it, before Anakin lunges forward, slamming into him hard enough to drive his breath out, his mouth covering Obi-Wan's so quickly that he ends up breathing out into Anakin's open mouth, and he has just enough time to think that perhaps he shouldn't have allowed quite so much dryness to creep into his voice while making that comment about a reset switch, and then there's nothing but heat and more heat and a sense of blinding light. When Anakin finally pulls away, only his hands at Obi-Wan shoulders keep him from falling when his knees buckle. Opening his eyes, Obi-Wan is forced to blink away afterimages of glaring white spots only to have to narrow his eyes against the crackling aura of energy still arcing around Anakin, like a coronal discharge. Dazed and dazzled by light, he murmurs the first thing that comes to mind, a not quite flippant, "Stars' end! Remind me not to get you angry around any open flames anymore, Anakin."

"I told you this was going to be problematic."

"I know you did, Anakin, and I believed you then. I just didn't think things would get quite this volatile quite this quickly. We'll need to meditate on this, you know. If the Force gave us a way to control this, I'm not aware of what it is."

"Yes, well, it'll have to wait a bit longer. Bail, remember?"

"Yes, Anakin, I'm aware of our Padawan's need. I wasn't the one who changed the subject, after all."

The scowl resurfaces at once and Anakin leans in until they are nose to nose and Obi-Wan's knees attempt to buckle again but this time when Anakin opens his mouth it's only to half growl and half laugh, "No, you were the one whose idiotic Code-based behavior necessitated the change in subject."

"Anakin!"

"Obi-Wan!" he only gasps back, now clearly amused, dancing eyes and half smile giving him away despite the perfectly mimicked mix of incredulity with a bit of horrified shock. Giving it up as a lost cause, Anakin finally raises his eyes and asks, with a patently false look of wide-eyed innocence, "What? You told me to get rid of my mask, Master, remember? This means I don't have to play the dunderheaded hero anymore and can actually take the time to plan out things in advance. So all of these arguments against the Code and the former way of Jedi life have all been thoroughly thought out in advance, I'll have you know! You should be proud of me, Obi-Wan, not trying to scold me for calling the Code and the behaviors it prompts in the Jedi idiotic - which I still contend they all are, by the way."

Obi-Wan simply stares at him for a few moments, torn between conflicting urges to burst out laughing or to roll his eyes (blast Anakin for teaching him such a bad habit, anyway! Eye-rolling is quite possibly even more undignified than pacing, in his opinion) and scold Anakin anyway, but as he stares a small twitch in Anakin's right cheek gradually progresses into one of those irrepressibly brilliant smiles, ruining the wide-eyed innocent act, and so in the end Obi-Wan finally allows himself a very small snort as he drily notes, "I meant for you to get used to going without that mask around other people, Anakin. You're already quite open and honest with me as it is, bratling." Unable to keep himself from smiling any longer, Obi-Wan shakes his head slightly (in the process making their noses rub together in a most distracting manner) and, smiling, adds, "But I think we may need to shelve this particular discussion until a later time. Our Padawan is in some need of us and we are . . . let's see . . . still three flights of stairs away from reaching the proper level. Shall we?"

With a triumphant expression that's about half grin and half smirk, Anakin tilts his head to drop a kiss on Obi-Wan's cheek and then pulls back, in the process tugging Obi-Wan away from the wall and turning him slightly so that Anakin can drape his arm comfortably around his former Master's waist. When Obi-Wan's own arm automatically comes around him, as well, Anakin not quite smirk blossoms into a full-fledged grin and he leans in happily until he head is resting against Obi-Wan as he replies, quite seriously, "I'd say /after you/, love, but a very smart man has told me more than once that it's best to face such things together, and I, for one, believe he's right."

Bratling! It took you long enough to learn that.

Slow-learning dunderhead hero-type, Master, remember? Anakin raises an eyebrow out of habit, even though he knows Obi-Wan can't see it.

Obi-Wan knows what he's doing, though, if the answering sense of rolled eyes and a scoffing sort of snort are anything to go by. I seem to remember telling a certain former apprentice not to call me Master . . .

Hmm. But I like it when you master me, Obi-Wan.

Anakin Skywalker!

Yes, Obi-Wan? Anakin asks back in his best imitation of the almost dangerously silkily smooth tone that Obi-Wan occasionally gets whenever forced to deal with someone who is being particularly dense or uncooperative.

You are incorrigible!

I learned it from the very best, love.

You never learned that from me!

Hmm. I wouldn't be so sure of that, if I were you . . .

They are still silently and good-naturedly debating whether or not Anakin could have ever learned such incorrigibility from Obi-Wan when they finally make it to the correct floor and the proper stretch of hallway for their Padawan's rooms. The teasing banter abruptly comes to a halt as a sense of knifing despair abruptly lances out along the network of shared bonds tying them together with their Padawan and the Grand Masters, hitting them like a blow and driving the air out of Anakin in a startled whoosh of breath that is almost a gasp of pain even as Obi-Wan staggers slightly sideways in shock, all high spirits and good humor flying away in the face of Bail's obvious pain. "Great stars!" Obi-Wan gasps, shuddering slightly against Anakin. "I had not known he'd loved her so!"

"He didn't. I think that's the problem," is Anakin's reply, voice flat with certainty.

"But - "

"That's guilt, Obi-Wan. Not true loss. Guilt and shame and a pretty healthy dose of self-hatred and disappointment and not a little bit of anger, which is probably feeding into that sense of inadequacy and dishonor and making the whole dark mass of pain feel more like despair."

"But - !"

"Obi-Wan. Remember how I was supposedly married to Padmé, after Geonosis? Well, as it turns out, we were actually legally handfast for exactly three years and one day. Handfasting is not considered equal with marriage, on Naboo. Handfasting is more like a legalized trial run for actual marriages. Couples contract for a certain amount of time and then those contracts have to be renewed, both in writing and within the bounds of another ceremony, to be considered true marriages. Padmé never renewed the contract and I never even knew that the ceremony I'd taken part in had resulted in a limited-term contract that would have to be renewed to be considered a binding marriage. So at the time she died, Padmé was not bound to any person and I, in fact, was therefore telling the absolute literal truth when I told Sidious that I had never been married. Not only were we never truly married, according to the law of Naboo, we were also no longer even legally handfast the last time I actually saw her alive and well and in her own body - the time I assume the Force chose to somehow intervene and see to it that she would conceive the twins (just in case Sidious ended up winning this round, so I would eventually have a reason to turn back and do what I should have done in the first place and killed that lying Sith son of murglak), since I rather recall being in pain and too exhausted and too worried about you to be of any help in the conceiving department. I spent the better part of four years agonizing over a nonexistent secret marriage, Obi-Wan, hiding more and more of myself from you because of my guilt and shame and tearing myself to pieces trying to convince myself that the anger I felt was directed towards the Jedi Order for forcing me into a situation where I had to hide my actions as if I were a common criminal for daring to agree to love someone and not at myself for being so stupid and selfish or at her for encouraging me, even after she'd been the one to point out why we couldn't afford to even become involved with each other. I tried so hard to be a good husband, Obi-Wan. You should've seen me. I got so good at wearing my masks that a part of me doubtlessly would have been relieved to finally be able to put on a real one that no one would ever be able to see behind, as part of Vader's armor, if Padmé hadn't been killed and you hadn't saved me. And it was only then, as you were saving me, that I started to find out the truth. It was only after Padmé was gone that I found out it hadn't been a real marriage at all, that she only stayed handfasted to me as long as she had partially because she didn't want to hurt me but mostly because she was terrified of seeing you look at her in disappointment, that Sidious had been working very hard to manipulate us into just such a situation and we'd let him do it, and that neither one of us really loved or was in love with the other at any point during all the time we knew one another and yet it was this not-love that would have been responsible for essentially destroying the Republic, the Jedi, and pretty much almost everything good and clean and right in the entire known galaxy as it paved Sidious' way to his Empire. So I think, love, that I am in a slightly better position than you," Anakin insists, his voice perhaps a little bit louder but no less flatly certain and no less durasteel hard, "to recognize guilt and shame and self-hatred and disappointment and anger and inadequacy and dishonor when they are being flung at me like accusations."

"Anakin - "

Obi-Wan's voice is perhaps as anguished as Anakin has ever heard it, but all he does is hiss like a scalded cat and warn, in a low rumble, "Don't/, Obi-Wan. /Do /not try it./ You will not try to blame yourself for what I almost became. I am the one with the higher ground, here, and I will not hesitate to use that to my advantage nor redirect my attack at the last moment away from a killing blow, as you would have done with him. And we/ will/ have words, you and I, when this is over, about that absolute claptrap you would have told our son, about how it was your hubris, your overweening pride, that was responsible for my fall, as you assumed that you could be just as good a teacher to me as Yoda. I do not recall /anyone, /much less Yoda, /ever /volunteering for the job. After Jabiim, Master Ki-Adi-Mundi had to be both ordered to obey and threatened with expulsion from both the High Council and the Order itself if he continued to try to refuse that order, to get him to agree to take me on, even temporarily, as his apprentice. Yoda never even once offered to train me himself. Vader nearly 'accidentally' broke Sidious' neck, in that other timeline, when he found out that Ki-Adi-Mundi had simply been summarily executed by his own clone troopers, he'd been so looking forward to making the Jedi suffer for daring to try, however unwillingly, to take the place of one who could never have been replaced. If Yoda had tried to take your place, after Jabiim, I believe I would have squashed him like the overgrown little green toad he was. Not a single damn being in the entire Jedi Order - not even the much-vaunted and usually unshakeable Mace Windu, despite his too late belief, after Naboo, that Qui-Gon might have been right about me and in any case had at least been right about the need to see me safely trained within the Order, even if he'd not had the sense to try to argue that I would be safer in the Order than outside of it where I would be in danger of falling into the hands of the Sith - ever once /wanted or volunteered to try to train me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you know that as well as I do. Yoda may not have wanted to agree to let you teach me and the High Council may have wanted to split us up, Master, but the real reason they never tried it is because none of them were willing to try to take me on as an apprentice. The only person who ever even tried to seriously suggest that it might be better if I were given to another was the Dark Woman, and I remember how you looked at her and asked if she were volunteering for the job and just smiled and smiled until she finally blurted out that she'd frankly rather be farkled by a madclaw Wookiee than try it. So believe me when I tell you that /you and I will have words about how you let Yoda and Qui-Gon twist you around so much that you were willing to lie to Luke to get him to believe that you and you alone were at fault for the fall of Anakin Skywalker and the rise of Darth Vader."

"Anakin - "

"I said /don't/, Obi-Wan, and I mean it. Unless you wish to leave Bail in there, stewing in his own darkness and despair, for another day or so while he have this out now?"

"Well, no, but - "

"Obi-Wan. What did I tell you about buts?"

Obi-Wan's face and throat immediately blossom a deep red at that particular recollection and the exact same protest, "Anakin! We are in public here!" somehow manages to escape him, despite the look of amusement lurking at the back of Anakin's eyes (which is obviously there only because of his memory of that conversation and is probably specifically due to that exact same startled yelp of protest).

"I know. And we're here to help Bail. I was just trying to remind you of that, is all," Anakin replies, widening his eyes again, though the attempt to look innocent is rather ruined by the grin spreading across his face. And then, before Obi-Wan can gather himself up enough to think of a proper retort, Anakin reaches out to the artfully disguised controls for the double-doors that open onto their Padawan's rooms, laying his right hand upon the decorative paneling and stretching out with the Force to reach his way into the mechanisms within, sending a brief, swift spark of energy arcing out from his flesh into the controls to short-circuit a specific part of the electronic lock, tripping the breaker and causing the doors to slide open, unlocking with a click and withdrawing smoothly back along the tracks set into the walls around them. "Shall we?" Anakin then asks, tilting his head invitingly towards the open doors and smiling at Obi-Wan in a way that dearly makes him wish they had the time to do something about that smile.

The small noise that lodges itself near the back of Obi-Wan throat isn't quite a growl, but it does make Anakin's eyes widen quite nicely when Obi-Wan gives in enough to take a swift step forward, taking hold of Anakin by his shoulders and pulling him down just a little bit, just enough to let Obi-Wan slide a swift, almost brusque kiss across lips that are just starting to move from the shape of a smile to a rounded O of surprise. "Together, bratling. And I think we may end up having words about a few other things, as well, later."

Anakin's grin is a bright and beautiful and sharp as an ignited lightsaber as he nods his head, winds his arm back around Obi-Wan's waist, and (after waiting for Obi-Wan to complete the circuit by placing his arm around Anakin in answer) promises, "If you wish, Obi-Wan. Just remember, later, that it was your own idea, and don't try to blame me if you don't get the results you were planning on.

There are promises and then there are /promises/. Obi-Wan's reply manages to convey both in four simple words: "I won't forget, Anakin."

"Good. Then let's see what we can do to help our Padawan, before his family either suffers from a collective nervous breakdown or tries to call in some kind of reinforcements and ends up making things even worse than they already are."

***

For the past five days, Bail Organa has not eaten anything nor has he slept in anything more than jagged, ragged patches of nightmare-filled and utterly unrestful snatches of naps. The only reason he's drunk anything over the course of those five days is because he wants so badly to simply stop feeling and while the ache of hunger goes away after a fairly short amount of time the burn of thirst simply never slackens. It's simply proven to be easier to drink enough water to keep the thirst at bay than to try to ignore it. Otherwise, it is entirely likely that he would still be sitting in the same place that he'd originally claimed when he first came into these rooms again - on his knees, in the floor, facing the life-sized portrait of his wife (painted nearly six years ago, just before Breha's twenty-second birthday and about nine months before her long, painful disintegration had begun, with the first of what would eventually be several known miscarriages), with the as yet unused coimirc'thoir resting in its open case on the floor in front of him, precisely halfway between him and the wall with his wife's portrait. Aside from the occasional trip to the 'fresher, though, and the sink, he has stayed in this spot for most of the past three days (which is about how long he's been on Alderaan), his gaze tracking slowly back and forth from Breha's sweetly smiling, openly happy countenance to the glimmering rippled pattern set into the curved edges of the dagger. It has been over two thousand years since an Organa has used this coimirc'thoir to willingly shed his or her own blood and nearly as long since it has been used by an Organa to grant the mercy of a (relatively painlessly) quick death to another. The blade has a long history and, according to that history (which is taught to every head of the Organa household) has never yet been profaned by a hasty or unwarranted action. Thus, until Bail is absolutely certain that he has banished all feeling and can think things through properly, he is determined that he will not take the dagger up out of its decorative black jewel-box, for fear that he will somehow spread his own shame to it.

It is for this reason alone that Bail does not react (other than perhaps to shift ever so slightly closer to the open jewel-box and its contents) when he first feels his Masters coming for him, Anakin and Obi-Wan's approach crackling through the Force like a steadily building storm, attempting to weaken his concentration and distract him from duty with the growing presence of their power, sensations that feel like and unlike a wave of pressure steadily building in his ears and surges of static electricity crawling across his skin, pressing inexorably in on him. Instead of allowing himself to become distracted, Bail determinedly ignores the approach of his Masters as best he can, steadfastly . . . right up until the moment when they somehow manage to bypass the locks and controls on the outermost door to his and Breha's suite of rooms and actually come at him, charging across the room at a run as if they both fear that he will decide to spill his life in an attempt to cleanse and repair the honor of his house and manage to implement that decision within the next three heartbeats. As if it were a decision that could be made (much less carried out) in mere heartbeats! He might have laughed and shaken his head at them, if only they had arrived two days ago, before his heart finally seemed to solidify within his chest. Instead, all Bail feels is a vague urge to shut his eyes and turn away from them as they come dashing forward to crowd up around him. He has so many things to think over, to work his way through, after all! What exactly had happened, and why. Fault. Guilt. Ultimate responsibility for the death of his wife and every sentient being who had been aboard the Winter's Heart when she was destroyed. A way to explain all of this - and not just for the way things ended, but the whys of it all and the hows, the chain of events and the ultimate inciting incident accountable for the culmination of this whole hideous tragedy.

Six years, he and Breha would have been married, in exactly eighty-three days. A little over two months. Two months, two weeks, and three days. Bail used to write to Breha regularly, before the war had essentially coopted his life and the days had shrunk until there was no longer enough time for sleep, much less for taking the time to write missives (or even brief notes) home to absent loved ones. (The last time he had been able to write to her had been in the wake of the two nearly successful attempts on Padmé Amidala's life, right before the outbreak of the war, on Geonosis, and that had been little more than a hastily scrawled note, transferred by holo instead of sent on the regular courier to Alderaan, to reassure her that their young Nabooian friend truly was alive and well and had been assigned a protective detail by the Jedi Order.) Bail's actual last contact with Breha had been by comm, and that had been almost a month ago (thirty - no, thirty-one days, now, less than a week short of the thirty-five days that make up a standard month). The last time he had actually spoken with his wife face to face had been . . . four months, two weeks, and four days ago, today. Breha had been in relatively high spirits that morning, even though he had been preparing to return to Coruscant after only a brief seven-day visit home, smiling and speaking energetically about an addendum to the latest refugee bill that he was going to present to the Senate on Alderaan's behalf. She had been wearing one of those gowns she loved so much that she'd ordered a dozen different versions of the exact same dress (same cut, same types of fabrics, same everything but the color) all in different shades of blue from the dressmakers, but her hair had still been loose around her shoulders, not yet bound up for the day. She'd almost been like herself again that morning and Bail had felt so much renewed hope as he watched her absently fiddling with a loose lock of dark hair as she keyed a few last minute notes on the proposed addendum into a datapad for him. Only her last-minute refusal to leave the rooms, to see him down to the ship, had revealed how far she still was from being completely well.

After that terrible miscarriage that had nearly claimed her life, right before Jabiim, Breha had hardly ever willingly gone outside the wing containing their private suite, instead conducting most of her work via holocomm or through private meetings that she held in one or another of the small libraries or sitting rooms either in the main suite or one or another of the connecting rooms that she had, over the years of their marriage, largely gradually taken over until they had essentially become extensions of their private rooms. Stars alone know how she managed to get up the courage not only to go outside of their wing but to venture out of the Palace entirely and onto a ship bound for Coruscant. Whatever news she had received of the attack on Coruscant and Bail's condition after the crash must have been terrifying indeed, not only to motivate her thus but to give her enough sense of steadiness and command to persuade the captain of Winter's Heart to agree to take her to Coruscant like that. The full extent of Breha's condition had been kept close within the family (or as close as possible, in any case, considering how many different minders and healers she managed to go through), but all of Alderaan had known that their young Queen's health was both poor and extremely fragile (a combination that would not allow her to travel back and forth from Alderaan to Coruscant with her husband). Breha must have been so afraid that she was about to lose him that this terror had over-ridden the fears and sorrows that had gradually rendered her unable to deal with the greater galaxy beyond the confines of their rooms. It is the only explanation that makes any sense. Force knows that he and the rest of the family and all of the seven - no, eight, counting that half Lorrdian healer who had been raised to understand Lorrdian kinetic communication and had just received certification as a minder as well - different minders they'd hired to try to help Breha over the past four and a quarter years had all tried to get her to come out of that blasted wing. He can count on one hand the number of times she'd willingly come out during all of that time, though, and every single one of those five instances had involved either a birth or a death in the family.

Logically, Breha must have thought that Bail was dying, or else she never would have left their rooms, much less gotten on a ship bound for Coruscant. Which means that his inability to pilot that simple Flash skimmer away from the Great Rotunda to one of the evacuation points is responsible not only for Padmé Amidala's death but also Breha Antilles Organa's and that of every single being who was on board the Winter's Heart when it was destroyed, since Breha's decision to go to him, on Coruscant, after hearing of the crash and his injuries, no doubt ended up affecting the time that the ship departed Alderaan, either by delaying it while they waited for her or by bumping up their schedule as they hustled to obey their Queen and get to Coruscant as quickly as possible, and so placed the vessel directly in the path of whichever Separatist vessel fleeing from the battle for Coruscant had so casually and so ruthlessly destroyed /Winter's Heart/. And it is his fault that it took the threat of what must have seemed to Breha to be his imminent death to actually get her to a place where she was willing to come to Coruscant to see him, as it is Bail's fault that her . . . condition ever got to the point where she was essentially unwilling to ever leave the confines or the immediate vicinity of their suite of rooms. She never would have ended up like this, if only he'd been a better husband, paid more attention to her, caught on to the fact that something was terribly wrong, earlier, and gotten other, better healers and minders in to see her and help her, insisted that they stay focused and not be distracted by her apparent (and false) willingness to receive help and to bounce back from tragedy upon tragedy, her sweet smiles and seemingly open, guileless face nothing more than armor she'd put on to hide herself from both the healers and her family, some trick of latent empathic ability of her own (as one shocked and stymied minder had finally opined, right before he withdrew himself from his position as the Alderaanian royal minder, claiming that it was impossible to help someone who used her empathic powers deliberately to deceive those who were only attempting to aide her) somehow serving to act as a barrier between her and everyone who was only trying to help her.

This is his fault. All his fault. He never should have agreed to marry Breha. He'd adored her, of course, but he hadn't ever really been in love with her. And he hadn't ever given her the love and attention that she'd needed. Obviously he hadn't, or else she never would have become so fixated on the idea of having children of her own that it could have become the center of her whole world and raw, open, gaping chasm of a wound festering at the core of her, consuming her from the inside out. It must be his fault. That's the only thing that makes any kind of sense. He'd known Breha essentially since her birth, and she simply had not been like this, before they were married. Why would she have been? The Organas and the Antilles families are both Alderaanian to the core. The families have always openly practiced both fosterage from among the various cadet branches of each family and closest family friends as well as merit adoptions from outside the extended network of clan ties. They have never been so unutterably foolish as to believe that the worth of a person relies on his or her ability to reproduce or that blood alone is the one true measure of an individual's real value and the sole deciding factor of true kinship. Logically, she cannot have gotten such an idea from her own family, not should she have been able to arrive at such a notion because of anything any of her family by marriage practiced or believed. No, the insidious belief that gradually, over the course of their marriage, grew to the point where Breha's sense of self-worth was inextricably tied to her ability to produce a living blood heir for both the family and the throne of Alderaan and inexorably sank lower and lower as miscarriage followed miscarriage and it became more and more clear that it simply would not be possible for her to ever carry such a child to term, herself, must have its roots somewhere in Bail's failure to love her as she'd deserved. Logically, if Breha had only known that she was loved by her husband for who she was, irregardless of what she could or could not do, then she never could have come to believe that she had worth, as an individual, to him and to the family only because of what she could do, the blood heir that she might bear. Logically, then, this is entirely his fault.

When Bail opens his eyes again, Obi-Wan is kneeling over him, hands warm and tight with concern on Bail's shoulders (Anakin standing, in turn, behind Obi-Wan, with his own long-fingered hands curled in a manner that seems bracing, somehow, rather than comforting, as if Obi-Wan needs Anakin's strength to remain where he is), a steady stream of melodious comfort coming out of his mouth. He's blocking Bail's line of sight to both the dark jewel-box with its gleaming contents and most of Breha's softly smiling face. That's alright, though. Bail knows them both now by heart. When he slips his eyes shut for a moment to double-check, Breha smiles at him from one side and the edge of the knife winks at him from the other. A man might almost be tempted to smile back, in the face of so much beauty. But then Obi-Wan's hands tighten an increment, almost to the point of pain, and he shakes Bail, just a little, startling him into opening his eyes again. Obi-Wan is bending down closer to him, concern and pain blazoned across his features like banners. Dear Obi-Wan. Even now, he is still more beautiful and more precious to Bail than anything else in the universe. Anakin Skywalker has no idea what a lucky man he is - or how absolutely he has been tasked, for in becoming Obi-Wan's chosen it is he who has accepted ultimate responsibility for Obi-Wan's continued health and happiness. And while Obi-Wan may be many things, no one who knows the beloved young Jedi Bendu Master would ever be tempted to accuse him of being overly (or even all that very) careful of his own safety or well-being. Lovely, lithe, alive Obi-Wan. Bail would swear that he has somehow gained a hand's breadth in height or more, since his dramatic return to Coruscant, with Anakin and that traitor Palpatine, from the sieges in the Outer Rim. He is hopeful that it is indeed so, and not just some sort of strange figment of his imagination.

Bail is well aware of Obi-Wan's past. He knows that Obi-Wan is what the Jedi refer to as a child of Coruscant - either a child abandoned or necessitating actual rescue rather than one simply given over to the Order for training - and Master Qui-Gon's sorrow always seemed to Bail to be the product of a personal surety that Obi-Wan had been rescued from circumstances even more dangerously dark and dire than Anakin Skywalker's slavery on Tatooine. It comforts Bail a great deal to think that perhaps the wholehearted and apparently limitless love that Obi-Wan has finally accepted from Anakin is somehow repairing the physical hurts (as well as the mental and emotional and perhaps even the spiritual, hopefully) that have been dealt to Obi-Wan over the course of his life. He wishes he did not have to add to the already disproportionately outsized burden of pain that Obi-Wan has been made to shoulder during his life. Unfortunately, though, as Bail well knows, wishes, like dreams, only rarely come true. Obi-Wan has Anakin now, though, in every sense of the word. And he also has the twins, now (those miraculous, gorgeous, impossibly sweet-tempered and well-behaved babies), as well as the Grand Masters, to help see him through any pain that the loss of one Bail Organa might cause him. No matter what Obi-Wan may be saying or thinking now, Bail is certain of the truth. What happened with Breha and the Winter's Heart is entirely Bail's fault, and it is his duty to honor that truth by redeeming himself and the whole of the Organa family from the shame he has accrued by causing this tragedy. He is sure of it, now. Quite sure. Despite what his Masters are doubtlessly trying to tell him, he knows better. And he knows what he must do about it, too. Now, if only Anakin and Obi-Wan would move out of the way, so he can get about things . . . Hmm . . . Perhaps, if he were to explain to them, calmly and rationally, then they would move aside . . .

***

Bail looks absolutely horrible.

He's in one of the antechambers just off of the bedroom, all but prostrated on the floor in front of a life-sized portrait of Breha Antilles Organa. Barefoot, bedraggled (and likely only not scruffy with several days worth of beard because of the long-term depilatory he uses on certain portions of his face and neck) and ragged in a way that has little to do with his clothes, Bail looks almost cadaverously thin in the black trousers and long-sleeved, loosely billowing shirt of black linen that look as if they've been slept in and worn for days, all of the modest progress that has been made in restoring the Crown Prince of Alderaan's health (far too much of his previously quite excellent health having been sacrificed, over the course of the war) in the time since the war essentially ended, with the revelation of Palpatine as Sidious and Sidious' death, and more undone in the space of only a week. He looks far worse than he did when he ran headlong into the Council Chamber, the day he became their Padawan, and the change in appearance is even more shocking and heart-rending than that which Obi-Wan had observed in him, when he had first seen Bail again, after his capture on Jabiim and the events of Rattatak and Rilfor. The older man quite simply looks ghastly, as if he's been physically dragged through nine hells face down and a sizeable part of his spirit still hasn't quite managed to find a way back out of that maze of hells and into the safety of the man's body again. Obi-Wan has seen men who have been dead a week (longer, in cold climes) who looked better than Bail now does. His overlong hair is little more than a ragged tangle of snarls and mats, and it looks shockingly black against the weirdly pallid translucency of his skin, his normally richly tanned skin having paled to the point where it is almost ghostly. His cheekbones have grown so prominent and his eyes so sunken that his face looks almost as if somehow has somehow rendered his features malleable and then deliberately deformed then, pushing the eyes back almost impossibly far within their sockets and drawing the cheekbones up and out until they look as if the blades of the bones are in danger of slicing their way through the muscle and skin stretched so tightly across them and might at any moment or any hint of provocation scythe their way through to the open air.

Far worse than Bail's appearance, though, is the constant roil of agony and self-hatred and shame pouring off of him, into the Force. In the instant that Obi-Wan and Anakin enter the room, they are both nearly flattened beneath the overwhelming sensation of hideously terrible guilt, black despair, and utterly unrefined pain, the sense of Bail's grief so heavy that they both stagger a little, bumping into each other and having to grab onto one another's arms to keep from falling, their knees trying to give way under the weight of that sorrow, topped over as it is by so much self-flagellation and such a strong yearning towards self-destruction that Obi-Wan finds his eyes watering helplessly with empathic pain even as his body is convulsively wracked with a sympathetic shudder of self-loathing. Bail doesn't seem to notice their appearance at first, all of his attention apparently caught up in contemplating something on the floor in front of Breha's painting. It takes Obi-Wan several long moments to regain his sight well enough to see what it is that has captured Bail's attention so completely, and he regrets figuring it out almost as soon as he does. The knife is still resting untouched upon its bed of velvet within its open jewel-box, but Obi-Wan recognizes the curved, sickle-like shape and the importance of the waved patterns in the ancient durasteel metal of the blade. It is a coimirc'thoir that Bail is staring at unblinkingly, as if mesmerized, one of the ancient so-called mercy-givers and justice-granters, a weapon that most likely has not been used in thousands of years. Bail's expression, as he gazes on the dagger, is one of almost physical hunger, and for a moment Obi-Wan is simultaneously so light-headed with shock and so wracked with pain that he's certain he's about to either pass out or be sick to his stomach. He sways into Anakin, /hard/, jostling him enough that his slack-jawed face is physically turned aside from the sight of their Padawan, kneeling in a huddle of abject misery on the floor, and then a burst of incredulous shock, followed by a rush of almost blinding anger, informs Obi-Wan that Anakin has seen the dagger. And then, just when he's certain that things can't possibly get any worse, they do.

Bail notices them. And, opening his mouth, he begins to speak.

***

Bail's eerily calm, matter-of-fact recitation of all of the ways he has managed to work things out in his mind so that he is entirely to blame for what has happened - the fault both for what happened to Breha and the ultimate fate of the Winter's Heart and her passengers clearly resting squarely and solely on his shoulders - leaves Obi-Wan aghast, dumbfounded, and utterly horrified, not only shaken but literally shaking in response to Bail's claims of guilt and duty. The oddly toneless outpouring prompts a far different response in Anakin, though. While Obi-Wan is essentially struck dumb and left floundering, unable even to wrap his mind around the notion that Bail could honestly believe this - this - this absolute pile of poodoo/, Anakin is incensed, a furious mental growl of increasingly vile Huttese curses culminating in an angry snarl of, /Do you see now why I will /have words with you, Obi-Wan, over the way you would have internalized all of the blame for my fall, in that other timeline? /Anakin's hands tightening on his shoulders and giving them a little shake to emphasize both his determination to eventually address this matter and his displeasure at needing to explain such things, not only to Obi-Wan but apparently also to their Padawan, now, as well.

Why - ? How could he ever - ? Anakin, how -

Hush, love. This is something I think I'm going to need to take care of alone, without you. Your confusion would only distract Bail from the truths I need to tell him.

But -

Obi-Wan. He may have been your friend, first, but he is my Padawan, now, too. And I know more about this you do. Don't make me fight two battles for him at the same time, when just the one is going to be difficult enough. Please./ Stay with me, though the link, but at least go far enough out of this room that Bail can no longer see or hear you. Take that - that /filthy /thing - /Anakin snarls again, scowling in the direction of the brightly gleaming blade in its darkly polished jewel-box - /get it out of here, where I won't have to worry about him trying to make a grab for it, and let me handle this. /Please, love. I can do this much more easily if you're not here to distract our Padawan.

But - !

Obi-Wan. Beloved. Do you really want to hear me call our Padawan seven different kinds of fool and selfish to boot, and explain, in painfully accurate detail, just how his insistence on taking on all the blame and assuming that the only way to possibly right the wrong he has supposedly brought upon himself and his household and his family and everybody else who happens to be associated with him, too, because of the way he's allegedly caused all of these deaths, would be to take the most cowardly possible way out of the whole mess and kill himself - therefore making sure that he won't have to deal with the aftermath of this tragedy - instead of doing the actual right thing and sticking around to try to help pick up the pieces of what is really a senseless act of destruction that is no one being's fault but the being who actually commanded that Separatist ship to fire on and destroy the Winter's Heart? Do you really want to hear me tear into him for having the arrogance, the temerity, the blind gall, to assume the blame for the ultimate outcome of this other being's decision?

Anakin -

Obi-Wan. It's alright. Really. I've got this one. You don't have to do every blasted thing yourself, you know. The world as we know it won't come to an end if you let me handle the first part of this one little crisis on my own. We truly are partners, now, a team of equals. That means we can behave like sensible adults and trust one another enough to let one of us handle things like this, when challenges arise that happen to be something that one or the other of us is just honestly better suited to deal with.

But Anakin -

If it'll make you feel better, love, I can even promise to let you handle part of whatever the next catastrophe that threatens happens to be - as long as it's not something that would require both of us to attend to, of course. Alright?

I don't know, Anakin. He's in so much pain -

- and it will only get worse, if it's not nipped in the bud as quickly as possible. Which is why I need you to take that filth out of here, please. Alright?

I'm going to keep the bond as open as I can, Anakin. Just in case.

Good. It might do you some good to hear this, too.

Anakin -

I know what I'm doing, love. Go on, now. Give me some room and let me get started.

Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe you spent too much time with Mace, as a child, and some of his pessimism rubbed off on you?

Anakin - !

You asked, Master.

It was a rhetorical question!

I know, love. But I thought it deserved an answer, anyway, Anakin replies, lips twitching into a small smile, despite the grimness of the situation. Then, gently, he adds, It'll be alright, Obi-Wan. I promise you that it will. Go on, now. Let me do this. Bail needs me, this time. It doesn't mean he won't need you later. In fact, he probably will need you fairly soon. I expect I'll make him cry and you know how hopelessly awkward I get around people who are crying. You'll probably have to come and rescue us both, then.

Anakin. Bail is a good man who's suffered the shock of an unexpected loss, on the heels of several other life-reordering shocks. Do try to be careful. Not everyone is as strong as you, Obi-Wan warns, turning his head and tilt his neck back so he can look up into Anakin's eyes.

Anakin, though, merely placidly notes, I know. Some are even stronger, like you.

Anakin -

I will be just as careful as I can, love. I rather like Bail, now that I understand him a bit better, and I don't want him to suffer. I want him to be well and to have the chance to grow into his full potential, as our Padawan, too. He deserves that, at the very least, after all he's done, all he's given, for the sake of the greater good. Don't worry. It'll be alright. Trust me, okay?

I do trust you, Anakin. Never think that I don't. I just . . . worry.

I know you do. But if you don't stop fretting and get going soon, love, he's going to come to the end of his spiel and start wondering why no one's saying anything back. Alright?

Very well. If anything happens -

- I will call for you the instant I need you. I promise. Go on, now.

I'm going, bratling, I'm going! Obi-Wan doesn't quite grumble in exasperation as he pushes himself abruptly back up to his feet, turning to brush the backs of his fingers briefly but lovingly across Anakin's left cheekbone, his expression softening momentarily towards a smile, before he turns back around and scoops up that infernal knife, case and all - holding onto it by the fingertips (an obvious look of revulsion on his face) as if it might turn about and bite him if he were to hold on to any more of it than the absolute bare minimum required for him to keep a hold of it all - and, without so much as a word, strides rapidly back out of the room, the ramrod straight angle of his back eloquently revealing his displeasure with the whole situation.

Bail's attention is turned so far inwards that the doesn't even seem to notice Obi-Wan's departure, continuing to recite his supposed thoughts as to how he's to blame for what happened to the Winter's Heart and his wife in the same coldly measured and oddly lifeless voice. Anakin lets him keep talking for another minute or so as he comes around to stand directly in front of the man, deliberately folding his arms in front of him and summoning up an expression of coldly calculated scorn to plaster across his face. He isn't at all looking forward to what he's about to do. However, having unfortunately been in similar straits more than once himself, Anakin has a pretty good idea what it would take to get Bail to let go of his idea of personal culpability long enough for any kind of reason to take hold, and since Bail doesn't have an Obi-Wan to save him, either directly (through sheer force of will and unstinting love) or indirectly (via the existence of an immediate danger so great as to overwhelm all other sense of personal failing and guilt with the unrefined and all-consuming need for rescuing), regrettably, Bail's just going to have to make do with the far less pleasant but (hopefully) no less effective alternative that Anakin has, over the years, perfected (mostly by watching Obi-Wan use his supposed failures and failings as goads to drive himself to feats of endurance and accomplishments and other such successes that should have, by all right, been impossible for any man to attain) in order to help himself through slightly less catastrophic crises of conscience and of self. Such tactics are not are not, by any stretch of the imagination, pleasant, and a part of Anakin desperately hates to have to subject Bail (and not just because the man is his and Obi-Wan's Padawan) to something that will indubitably hurt him immensely before it does him any real good. Unfortunately, he knows of no other way to reach Bail, much less actually help him, that would not involve actually using the Force to overpower a part of the man's will, and that he simply will not do.

In short, there's no other way to help Bail than this - at least not that Anakin can think of. And since he knows that Obi-Wan would have volunteered the information immediately, if any reasonable way of helping to alleviate or to even just to shield Bail from some of his pain (short of knocking him out and restraining him so that he could do no damage to himself) had occurred to him, odds are that means that there is no other viable alternative, at least not under these circumstances. So he's stuck with this, just like Bail. Which doesn't mean that he has to like what he's about to do, of course. It just means that he has to do it, regardless of the fact that the idea of it is making him feel vaguely queasy, and make sure that he does a good enough job of doing it that he convinces Bail utterly of his sincerity. Which means that he has to get this absolutely right. Feeling oddly defeated, Anakin heaves a mental sigh, forces himself to ignore his own disquiet and growing feeling of nausea, and then steels himself, opening himself up to the Force just as much as he can, consciously trying to imitate Obi-Wan and let its power fill him up to the point where it will guide him as much as his own thoughts and instincts will.