FicWad

*Author’s Note: The scene that wouldn't all fit in the previous posting on the LJ and which I cut at the same place here for continuity continues immediately below.









As they’re finally finishing up, Obi-Wan remarks, a little bemusedly, “You know, I’m not entirely sure where I’ve managed to tuck all of this food away to. There’s something a little disconcerting about being able to eat this much and know I’ll still be hungry again before the day’s over with.”

Anakin only shrugs, washing down a dessert pasty with another slug of caf. “Jedi metabolisms always run hotter and faster than those of non-Force-sensitives. I’m not surprised you need to eat more – you’re using your gift a lot more now than you ever did, before.”

Obi-Wan inclines his head slightly, acknowledging the point. “True. And then also, there’s quite a bit more of the Force readily on hand now for Force-sensitives to use. Hmm,” Obi-Wan makes a thoughtful noise deep in his throat, a slight crease appearing in the center of his forehead. “We should probably make a recommendation to the Temple to see to it that the food stores and the meal sizes are all increased. The Grand Masters may not have considered it.”

“I wonder if they could make themselves solid enough to eat, if they wanted to. You know they ought to be able to craft themselves new bodies out of the Force, like we did for the twins. Other Jedi should’ve been able to manage this trick of becoming one with the Force while retaining individual consciousness. I wonder why none of them have ever made themselves new bodies and come back to the Temple, to set the Jedi right about things, before,” Anakin frowns, snatching up another two pasties as they gather themselves up to leave.

Obi-Wan sighs, a pained look flitting briefly across his face, before he replies, admitting, “That would be why I suspect that there are not only rules of some sort among Force spirits and other entities of the Force, governing their interactions with the living, but that Qui-Gon and now Dooku have violated those rules, in aiding us.”

Anakin juggles pasties left-handed so that he can place his right hand comfortingly on Obi-Wan’s nearest shoulder. “They’re not going to take the Grand Masters away from us. Not without a fight. I don’t care what they’ve done that they weren’t supposed to. It must have been the will of the Force, or else they wouldn’t’ve ever been able to help us get to a point where we’d be ready to be able to see and hear them. And that means that the others were actually all shirking their duty to the Force, by refusing to do anything to help arm us against Sidious enough that we could deal with him without plunging the whole galaxy into chaos in the process.”

“Somehow, I doubt they’ll be quite so cooperative as to be reasonable enough to see things that way,” Obi-Wan merely notes, the corners of his mouth quirking slightly upwards.

Anakin just shrugs. “Then we’ll just have to convince them otherwise, won’t we?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, laughing a little, as they make their way up towards the suite assigned to Mon Mothma. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you?”

Anakin just grins and shrugs again. “What is it that you’re always telling me? Something about the Force providing so that we’ll be able to do whatever we must, when the time comes?”

“I think I should prefer it if the Force didn’t have to attempt to provide for any kind of hostile confrontation between us and these entities of the Force!”

Having managed to eat enough to be able to handle the rest one-handedly, Anakin slings his right arm companionably around Obi-Wan’s waist, pulling him close as he replies, “Yeah, well, you won’t get any argument out of me there. Anyone with enough strength and skill to become a Force spirit would automatically be much more helpful as an ally than an enemy. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to just get to do whatever they want to do to our Grand Masters. Whatever else they may’ve done or not done, when push came to shove, Qui-Gon and Dooku helped us with Sidious, they protected the Temple against Order Sixty-Six, and they’ve helped take charge of things, so that the Order and the government won’t crumble into chaos. Qui-Gon and I are still going to have us a little discussion about his teaching methods, sometime, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to just abandon him to a bunch of blue laze-about bad excuses for glow-worms. We take care of our own, even if they’ve apparently forgotten how to be loyal.”

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, declaring, “I’m going to remind you of that, the next time you feel the need to complain about having to trust in the Grand Masters.”

“Hey, just because I’ll defend them from any Force entities who think they can get away with hurting them, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop questioning Qui-Gon and Dooku myself!” Anakin half laughs and half seriously protests, making Obi-Wan shake his head, shoulders shaking helplessly at the level of indignation in the protest.

They’ve managed to work up a fairly good head of steam, bantering back and forth about Anakin’s rather odd definition of loyalty vs. how much protection the Grand Masters deserve vs. what consideration (if any) any entities of the Force might deserve, by the time they reach the doorway to Mon Mothma’s suite. Still laughing at a rather overblown example from Anakin of the response any interfering entities of the Force deserve to get from them, Obi-Wan reaches for the door’s unit, pressing the button that will cause a chime to sound inside and alert the suite’s occupant that she has a visitor and trying to school himself to calmness. The sound of a muffled voice calling, “It’s not locked, dear! Come ahead in!” makes him raise his eyebrow, startled, his surprise melting into amusement at the look of almost comic puzzlement on Anakin’s face as he looks over at Obi-Wan and silently mouths, Dear?!

Obi-Wan just smiles and shrugs, quietly noting, “Obviously, she’s expecting someone. We’ll have to try to make this quick.”

“What, you don’t think we should stick around and lecture our new sister about the dangers of letting strange people into her rooms?” Anakin quips, grinning crookedly.

“I think she knows better than to do so anywhere else except such a place of safety as this,” Obi-Wan pointedly replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes and hitting the key that will release the seal on the unlocked but still shut door, clicking tumblers in the lock over until the door can be pushed open with a slight touch, so that he and Anakin can both file in to the suite.

The sight that meets their eyes as they enter the antechamber certainly goes a long way towards explaining why Mon Mothma didn’t just key the door open from her side, as the lady in question hastens into the room, hands, face and neck, and a good portion of the front of her plain blue dress liberally smeared with some kind of dark purplish goo, making it look rather as if she’s been attacked by a hoard of toddlers waving around paintbrushes dipped into far too much paint. She’s trying (and mostly, from the looks of things, failing) to wipe some of the substance off of her face with a wet washcloth as she hurries into the room, and so the two have a few moments of grace time, to try to compose their faces (though it takes an actual nudge of an elbow to the ribs to make Anakin shut his mouth). Mon Mothma, shaking her head in disgust and looking up from the cloth, stops short just past the doorway, obviously shocked to see them, and flushes with embarrassment, the portions of her face and neck not streaked with purple turning a dark rosy pink, as she exclaims, “Bendu! Anakin! I wasn’t expecting you!” She stands there for a few heartbeats, twisting the purple-stained washcloth in her hands, before finally recovering enough of her equanimity to smile (a bit sheepishly) and tell them, “Do come in and have a seat. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a mess, at the moment, but I am glad to see you. I’ve been wondering if you’d gotten the message I left.”

“About the departure time, yes. We spoke to Bail, and he seemed to think that tomorrow morning, around half past nine, would be a good time to plan on leaving,” Obi-Wan replies, a bit distractedly, before finally simply breaking down and asking about the purple gunk. “Should I be offering, in traditional big-brother fashion, to chase down assailants with paintbrushes?”

Mon Mothma’s uncovered skin flushes a far more violent shade of red. Shaking her head, she quickly assures him, “It was just a silly accident.”

“Should we ask?” Anakin asks, so clearly hoping to receive a positive answer that Mon’s blush fades and a small smile turns the edges of her mouth up.

“It’s not a very interesting story, I’m afraid. Basically, though, all of this,” she replies, gesturing slightly with her speckled and smeared hands towards herself, “came about because Sabé and the other handmaidens have recently begun teaching me how to design and make some of my own clothes.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows both go up at that. “I’m afraid I fail to see the connection.”

Mon shrugs slightly, flushing ever so slightly again, not quite meeting his gaze, as she replies, “It seems that somehow, in between unpacking and repacking on Naboo, doing so again on Coruscant, and then unpacking again here, a dye packet accidentally got removed from its container and shuffled in among my personal toiletries. I was sorting through some of them, repacking what I could, when I discovered it, apparently by accidentally jostling it more than it’s supposed to be. I am sorry for the mess. I’m not entirely sure what this dye is, so I asked if Lyxé or one of the other current handmaidens who would be most likely to know could come down, so I’ll know how to get all of this off of me. I’d rather not show up to Winter’s formal presentation and the binding ritual for making Bail her honor-father coated in indigo dye.” She shakes her head, a bit ruefully, and then adds, “I suppose I should be grateful I didn’t get any of it in my eyes or mouth, but it’s a bit hard to remember such things when one’s hair and skin is rather liberally streaked with blue-purple dye.”

Obi-Wan is opening his mouth to reply when Anakin rather hurriedly reaches out along the bond and commands, /If you’re about to offer to try to use the Force to lift the dye off of her or strip the dye out of her hair and the upper layers of her skin, then /don’t.

Obi-Wan blinks, caught entirely off guard by the abrupt order. Excuse me?

Think for a moment. What did I have to do, that time, after I was pushed into that vat of berry-wine and came out dyed red-purple from head to toe?

Well, you had to strip off your ruined things, so I could see how badly – oh. Oh./ Oh, dear. Obi-Wan stops dead at that, blinking in startled dismay. I see what you mean. But what if the dye can’t simply be washed out?/

Anakin smiles at him indulgently. Then I’ll offer to help her. She doesn’t have a crush on me, after all.

Obi-Wan manages to resist the urge to either roll his eyes or huff in impatience, but only because Mon Mothma is watching them. /This /crush business is becoming rather tiresome. I certainly don’t remember ever having such problems before. Are you quite sure – ?

You’re a bit more devastatingly obviously beautiful now, love. The Force makes you shine, even for those who aren’t overly sensitive to it.

Then why isn’t she blushing and stammering around you, pray tell?

Because I lack that Kenobi charm?

Anakin!

Hey, it’s not my fault she prefers older men to younger ones!

Oh, for pity’s sake! You don’t have to sound so pleased with the whole situation!

Anakin smirks at him unrepentantly. After all those times you’ve laughed at me over my ‘adoring masses of fans,’ I think it’s only fair I should get to laugh at you a little bit, now, too.

Huffing slightly over Anakin’s response (despite his best intention not to), Obi-Wan turns determinedly away from Anakin and politely tells his merit-adoptive sister, “I’m sure it will wash out. Lyxé is probably just looking for whatever’s necessary to keep it from setting.”

“Yes, well, I certainly hope so,” Mon agrees with a heartfelt sigh, smiling a little shyly as she looks up at him briefly from under her eyelashes. Then, as if seeming to realizing that they’re all still standing up, she gestures towards one of the couches, earnestly insisting, “Please, do sit down. There’s no need for you to both stand, just because I can’t. I’m sure someone will be coming soon, but in the meantime, if you don’t mind, I’d like to know a little bit more about what happened on Naboo. Is there any word yet on Sabé’s condition?”

“The damage to her spinal column was considerable enough that she’s likely still in the bacta tank for her first round of therapy. They’ll probably have her in and out of the tank for most of the next seven days, even if Barriss decides to combine bota with the bacta treatment after she arrives on Naboo, and I believe they were planning on keeping her sedated, to keep her from moving about and perhaps inadvertently adding to the damage. It takes a great deal longer for the bacta to penetrate far enough to heal injuries to the nervous system than it does to heal anything else, even broken bones, and the tissue will be fragile, as its healing,” Obi-Wan explains, a bit apologetically, as he takes a seat on the couch that will give him the best vantage of the doorway where Mon is still hovering. “I’m sure she’s perfectly fine, though. They would have commed, if anything were wrong.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I’m sure you’re right about that,” she admits, frowning a little anyway. “Still, I do hope they comm, when she comes out of the bacta tank. And I hope they at least have a droid watching the tank, to make sure she doesn’t try to get out of it before she should. Sabé has never cared enough at her own health.”

“I think Keiana has some of the guards watching her, in shifts, just in case she wakes up before she’s supposed to,” Anakin interjects, settling down on the cushion next to Obi-Wan and slinging his left arm up on the back of the sofa, behind Obi-Wan, long fingers dangling so that they just brush up against the edge of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “People who’re strong in the Force tend to have quicker metabolisms than the norm, and she’s definitely Force-sensitive, so they’ll be keeping an eye out, since that kind of faster metabolism tends to burn through drug dosages quicker than normal, too.”

The faint rosy blush returns to Mon’s face and neck as Anakin semi-embraces Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is mightily tempted to ‘accidentally’ elbow Anakin in the side for deliberately trying to prompt just such a reaction. Before he can quite make up the his mind whether or not to do it, though, a chime from the door unit sounds, startling distracting them all and driving the thought from his mind.

“Lyxé?” Mon calls out after a few moments of startled silence, the first of them to recover from the surprise of the sudden (if technically expected) noise.

Sounding rather as if she’s entirely amused with the whole situation, Lyxé’s familiar voice calls back, “Yes, Mon, the calvary arrives! I’ve brought Moiré with me, to help. We’re pretty sure we know how to get that particular dye off you, so never fear! Is the door unlocked?”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Do come in! I’m afraid I can’t get the door myself – my hands are rather the worse for wear, at the moment,” Mon replies, ruefully glancing down at her hands (both liberally streaked with purplish-blue) and shaking her head a little. “I’ve had company, while I was waiting for you,” she adds, as the door drifts open.

“Oh! Bendu Masters Kenobi and Skywalker,” Lyxé pauses for a moment just inside the door, startled in spite of the warning, before continuing on into the room, crossing over to stand in front of them, where she gives them such a dazzling and warm smile that they both reflexively find themselves blinking, as if to banish sun-spots. “Bendus, thank you so much for what you did for Her Majesty. The people of Naboo can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us.”

Moiré Novaren’s severe face relaxes into a smile of her own as she simply gives them both a full salute, followed by a low, reverent bow to each of them. “Milady is right. Thank you so much, for all you’ve done, Bendu Kenobi, Bendu Skywalker.”

“Keiana and Sabé needed us. We couldn’t have done other than what we did,” Anakin replies, entirely seriously, nodding at them both solemnly in turn.

“Anakin’s right. Even if we hadn’t been able to get to them as quickly as we did, we still would have had to have gone to them – or at least tried to get to them. We couldn’t have left them to suffer, not when we could possibly help them,” Obi-Wan adds, allowing a gentle hint of chiding to enter into his voice until Lyxé and Moiré both seem to understand that their actions were prompted not so much by the fact that a Queen had been injured but instead by the fact that two of their friends had been injured in an unproved attack and that he and Anakin had been frantic with worry for both Keiana and Sabé.

“The Bendu Masters are very loyal and quite protective of their allies, especially when those allies are also their friends,” Mon declares, somehow managing to make the statement seem both calm and conciliatory and pointed in such a way that the two men will know that she understands the reasons for their response and sympathizes. Then, flashing them an apologetic smile, she adds, “However, in this case, I don’t believe there’s a great deal they can do to help this particular friend out of her rather colorful,” she makes a small gesture with her hands, her smile turning self-deprecatory as she indicates her thoroughly splattered skin and gown, “mess.”

“We’ll leave you find ladies to your work,” Obi-Wan acknowledges the gentle offer of a way out of the room with a smile and a gracious nod as he pushes himself back up to his feet, waiting a few heartbeats for Anakin to regain his feet, too, before continuing. “Anakin and I will likely go and have a visit with Saché and Yané, to see if there are any questions they have that we might answer.”

Mon half bows in understanding and response to their polite nods, and then Lyxé smiles at them and bobs a curtsey as the two direct polite nods in her direction. Moiré steps aside to palm the door open for them, giving them a crisp bow as they pass by. They manage to make it out the door and down the hall a ways before the laugh that Anakin has been suppressing escapes him and he sags back against the nearest wall, one hand raised helplessly to his mouth to muffle the gales of laughter wracking his frame.

“Alright, laugh it up while you can. You’re still the adoring public’s favorite poster boy, my friend, and you’re still the one who’ll be doing most of the interviews we’ve agreed to set up with various HoloNet reporters, once we’re back on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan declares, well and truly miffed, when Anakin continues to laugh as hard as ever after a couple minutes of waiting for him to recover his composure.

“Poster /man/, I’ll have you know! And I hate to tell you this, Negotiator, but they’re going to want to talk to you, too,” Anakin merely points out, still chuckling, as he pushes away from the wall to sling an arm companionably around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “And there’s no use trying to worm your way out of it, either, because I seem to remember that it was your idea to make us all a bit more personable by giving those interviews.”

Obi-Wan makes a noise of unmitigated disgust in the back of his throat, but doesn’t try to argue the point (perhaps sensing that he would not like the outcome of any such argument), and they make their way over to the wing that’s been set aside for the visitors from Naboo without any actual instances of open, rather less than genial disagreement. Saché and Yané are in the small but comfortable suite that’s been set aside for their personal use, packing for a departure back to Naboo that, as it happens, is set for half an hour before the time agreed up between the Jedi Bendu and Mon Mothma, and they welcome Obi-Wan and Anakin by unabashedly throwing their arms around their necks and pressing grateful kisses to their cheeks. Obi-Wan is actually a little bit less flustered and caught off guard by the flurry of desperately tight embraces and kisses than Anakin, who hasn’t ever had a lot of contact with the two former handmaidens, seeing as how they were the two who were left behind on Naboo when Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan rescued and fled with “Amidala” (and the two who were least present during the many festivities following Naboo’s liberation, given the hardships they suffered during Naboo’s occupation), and he calmly strokes a comforting hand along the curve of Yané’s bowed head and shaking shoulders, holding on to her and rubbing soothingly circles across her back until her tremors subside and the thin arms clenched almost painfully tight around his neck relax of their own accord.

“It’s alright, Yané. Sabé will be fine. I promise you she will be,” Obi-Wan tells her, voice pitched soothingly low.

Saché is the one to reply, voice pitched low and fierce. “We should never have left her – never have split up! Terrible things happen, when we split up! We should have known better than to do something so foolish!”

“This isn’t something that you’ve caused. If anything, I’m afraid that Anakin and I may have inadvertently allowed this to happen, by leaving the shell of Sola Naberrie’s body behind on Naboo, as we did. We thought it would be safe, leaving the body there for another member of the Order to retrieve, since Sola had been exiled from Naboo,” Obi-Wan quietly counters, shaking his head at their apparent foolishness in assuming any such thing. “Sola’s already badly damaged mind and soul were broken and shredded apart, resulting in the eradication of her whole spirit, when Padmé’s spirit accidentally fell into that body. The body that was left behind when Padmé then moved on into the Force seemed to be nothing but an empty shell and it should have been safe. I can’t understand how we could have missed noticing that enough of either Sola’s mind or Sidious’ tampering survived intact to eventually allow that body to be party to such mayhem. But it’s fairly clear that either we did, or else there was some other being who’s also been corrupted and trained by Darth Sidious and who’s knowledgeable of the kind of sensitive information that Sola was privy to on Naboo and able somehow to track that body down and remove it from a Force-dampening cell in Dala City.”

“You can’t blame yourself for Sola: we’re the ones who missed that she’d been turned,” Yané says quietly, moving slightly within the circle of his arms so that she’s not clutching quite so desperately at him. “We should have seen it. All that information about the different training facilities in Theed, the parts of the Palace barracks complex that had been set aside for the new guards, the timing for flights back and forth between the Palace and the Lake House Retreat, the places within the Palace or Theed where Milady chose to speak to certain allies . . . we always assumed that we either had moles or traitors among some division of the Royal Naboo Security Forces or that the few two-faced handmaidens who were proven beyond a doubt to have been infiltrated into the program or otherwise blackmailed or bought out by the Trade Federation and the other Separatists were responsible for the leaks. You and Anakin barely ever met Sola, while we saw or heard of her constantly. How could you be expected to discover her treachery, when we never noticed what was going on right under our noses? Did you know she used to vanish, for weeks and even up to two full months at a time, around the anniversaries of her miscarriages? The Thule family owns a large manor, up in the Gallo Mountains, above the village where Sola and Padmé were born and where their only surviving grandparent, Ryoo Thule, still lives – a relic from an earlier time, much like the Naberrie Lake House Retreat, when those who survived the awful hive virus plagues suddenly found themselves wealthy, instead of just solidly middle class. Sola’s husband, Darred, learned to arrange his schedule so that he would always be gone at least two to three weeks on either side of those two anniversaries – off supervising the creation of the various buildings and complexes he’d designed – while Sola was supposedly up in the mountains alone, meditating on her losses, and no one ever even thought to bother to check up on her, to see if she was actually there, because we all knew how badly she’d reacted to the miscarriages and how close she came to despair and the time alone seemed to help calm her and give her strength. Ryoo and Pooja stayed with their grandparents and thought of the extended visits as vacations from their parents, and she would comm regularly to check up on them, so no one ever thought anything of it. Great stars, how she played us! She must have been training under Darth Sidious then and reporting all that she’d learned since their last meeting or conversation to her Master.”

“Yané’s right. If the Sith Lord could turn Padmé’s own sister, there’s no reason why he couldn’t have turned someone else – a minor court functionary, an appointed aide to the Princess of Theed or the Governor, a trusted member of the Security Force, anyone with the ability to get close enough to either Milady or the Queen to find out some of the same things that Sola knew or to be in a position to verify Sola’s information, if the Sith Lord had any doubts,” Saché adds, her voice still pitched low but sounding more tired and grim now than half frantic with fury. “Padmé sent us all messages. She explained about what had happened to Sola. There couldn’t have been enough of anything left of her, after that, to mount an escape like that, from a Force-dampening cell. Someone has to have gone in after her. There must have been another traitor among us.”

“Messages?” The look Anakin exchanges with Obi-Wan is so plainly a question about when Padmé would have had time to record messages for all of her remaining handmaidens and former handmaidens that there’s no need for him to ask it out loud, just as there’s no need for Obi-Wan to do more than look back at him, helplessly, clearly as confused as Anakin is.

“It was a tradition Milady started, after the Trade Federation’s invasion,” Saché quietly explains. “We all made them and updated them every year, at her urging, on the anniversary of the parade celebrating our victory over the Viceroy Gunray and his toadies. It’s . . . easier to keep our farewells up to date, that way, and to make sure that everyone who needs to be told goodbye will be, even if there isn’t any time, at the end, to record new farewells. Any such recordings and letters that she didn’t have time to send, herself, there at the end, will have been released when her will was read. Farewells recorded for handmaidens who have already perished will be added to the Palace archives, along with other materials relating to the fallen and to the handmaiden program itself, for the edification of future rulers of and Senators from Naboo. There were some things on hand, at the Naberrie house, that she was able to have Threepio gather together for you, but I’m sure you and Anakin will both have several more items waiting for you when you go back to the Temple. I know she asked Sabé and Dormé both to send several things that they’d been asked to hold for the two of you on to the Temple, if it seemed as if things might be happening too rapidly for you to have time to attend to them before you left Naboo.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan trade astonished glances. “She never spoke of such a thing,” Obi-Wan declares after a moment, the words coming slowly, thoughtfully, “but I see the wisdom in prerecording such farewells. It would be one – or several – less things to worry about, for the one making such recordings. And the recordings themselves would be of great comfort to those who are left behind. I’m surprised she never mentioned it, though. The Order could benefit from such a tradition, especially during such troubled times.”

Yané and Saché trade looks, Yané slipping away from Obi-Wan’s comforting embrace to stand next to Saché, linking an arm around her waist and leaning in to her when Saché snakes her right around about Yané’s waist to pull her close. With a slight shrug, Yané finally delicately half declares and half simply offers for consideration, “The old Jedi Order was rather adamant about the rules of its Code. Prerecorded farewells intended to provide comfort for the bereaved might conceivably be taken as a violation of the precept that there is no death, only the Force. Milady did not believe that the Jedi Code was a healthy model for any kind of sentient being to live his or her or its life, but she had no wish to offer up insult to the whole of the Jedi Order. The Jedi, after all, have always been strong allies of Naboo, and Milady was a born diplomat.”

Obi-Wan inclines his head in acknowledgment of the explanation and silent rebuke. “I understand. However, I still believe the practice could be of service to the Order, now. The New Jedi Bendu Order isn’t modeled on the Code, and I think it would be wise for us to do what we can to alleviate the wilder, more dangerous forms of grief that can follow when individuals lose others to whom they’re strongly attached.”

“I think she would be extremely glad to know that the Jedi Bendu are going to make such recordings,” Yané offers, smiling. “She worried a great deal about Jedi and the effects of the Code. It would make her happy, to know she’s inspired a tradition that will help to counter the effects of growing up under that Code.”

“Then it will be done,” Anakin immediately and quite firmly promises, eliciting a small (and slightly indulgent but mostly just simply pleased) smile from Obi-Wan as well as widely beaming smiles from Yané and Saché.

“Thank you. Both of you.” Yané’s smile is all but luminous, transforming her face until she’s so radiant that she looks, for a moment, oddly like Padmé, the day of the parade celebrating Naboo’s victory and subsequent liberation from the droid armies of the Trade Federation.

“It is our pleasure,” Obi-Wan replies, smiling his assurance. “Is there anything else we can do for you ladies?”

Yané and Saché share a silent look, their eyes communicating for them, and then Saché asks, “Can you tell us more about the New Jedi Bendu Order? It would be nice to know what to expect, before we start training.”

“Of course! Forgive me for not thinking of it myself. Do you know if you’re going to be training with Sabé, at Dala City, or with Dormé, on Coruscant?” Obi-Wan asks.

Saché and Yané share another look before Yané replies, admitting, “It appears as if we may be doing a little bit of both, at least at first. We wanted to stay together as much as possible, but Moteé and Ellé, who are more familiar with Coruscant as it is at the moment and who think it would be best for them to stay with Dormé because of this, at least for now, are fairly recent to handmaiden duty themselves, and so those of us who have been handmaidens decided, together, that it would be better if two of Milady’s original handmaidens also go to Coruscant with Dormé and stay with her for at least a few months. Handmaiden training is individualized, of course, but the training also encourages handmaidens to work in pairs and in groups made up of such pairs. We trust each other, of course, but it still makes things easier for us when we each have a specific partner to rely on. Unfortunately, Moteé and Ellé both lost their original partners in an attempt on Milady’s life about a month ago and have been working together since mostly by default. Unless she finds a new partner among those sent to train as Dormé’s handmaidens, Moteé will probably end up with Sabé, given that her face is shaped more like Milady’s face was and therefore more like Sabé’s is, while Ellé will probably stay with Dormé, for much the same kind of reason.”

“We gather than the New Jedi Bendu Order won’t object to members who form such partnerships or who work in teams,” Saché continues, picking up the thread of thought where Yané has left off, “but we’re a little bit confused as to just how it is that we’re supposed to be trained as actual Jedi Bendu when so much of our time is going to be devoted to our various duties as handmaidens and as teachers and trainers of various new handmaids.”

“There are techniques known to the Jedi by which large amounts of information can be passed on from one person to another as perfectly as if that information had been dictated by the first and memorized verbatim by the second. Except for in the case of language transmission or vital sharing of data during an ongoing mission, though, the Order has generally frowned on the use of such abilities,” Anakin explains. “I think they didn’t want to make things seem too easy for us, especially as younglings in the Temple and new Padawans, and that’s why there were so many rules against teaching younglings and recently initiated Padawans such methods, unless it was an emergency. It supposed to keep us from being arrogant about how easy things come for us compared to how much effort they usually to take for those who aren’t all that incredibly strong in the Force. The older Masters didn’t want us to get complacent or take things for granted. They wanted us feel as if we had to work for what we wanted, the same as anyone else, and so feel as if we’d worked hard and actually earned all of our knowledge and skills the old-fashioned way, instead of just pretty much effortlessly absorbing it all out of the mind of somebody better trained and more informed or at least differently informed than we were. The techniques for learning things by sharing and assimilating someone else’s knowledge, though, are pretty much all alike and they’re all fairly simple, too, once you’ve got mind trickery and the kind of basic telepathy that goes into a Master-Padawan bond or just regular mind-to-mind speech down pat. Of course, that kind of thing won’t help actually new trainees condition their bodies to the actual use of the Force or lightsabers or anything like that, but it will impart all of the necessary data to guide them through the process of using the Force or lightsabers or whatever else the person who’s agreed to share knowledge thus has decided to pass on.”

Obi-Wan clarifies Anakin’s answer by adding, “After focusing on the basics of telepathy, shielding, bonding, touching another’s mind, and being able to perform various kinds of mind tricks, most training will involve working with one or more highly trained individual Knights and Masters, in such a way as to allow new recruits to absorb as much different information related to the Order and to the process of becoming and being a Jedi as possible without also passing on the old damaging rules and mistaken limitations embraced by the old Jedi Order. The Grand Masters and Anakin and I will be meeting, after our return to Coruscant, to share information with each other in much the same way. Afterwards, the Grand Masters will likely instruct and share with the other former Masters of the High Council, who in turn will share with and instruct the other Masters and more experienced Knights returning to the Temple on account of the General Recall, and who in turn will share with and instruct the newer, younger Knights, and so on and so forth, until only Padawans, younglings, and new recruits remain. They, in turn, will be put into groups – including many of the Padawans who still have individual Masters of their own, as many such pairings are less than optimal, due to the war – and taught in classes by a variety of Masters and Knights, who will instruct them first of all by sharing and then by overseeing their mastery of the information that has been shared though a process of physical conditioning and the proving of various skills imparted thus that will make the assimilation of all such information complete.”

“In other words,” Anakin explains with a wry smile, “we’ll teach you how to touch and sense the Force, how to speak mind-to-mind with another and form different bonds with other people, how to shield against accidentally overhearing another’s thoughts and emotions or projecting your own thoughts and emotions, and how to deliberately go into the minds of other beings and trick them into believing what you want them to believe, even over the evidence of their senses, and then we’ll shortcut the rest of the training by making like computerized archives and downloading masses of useful information directly into your minds. Most of the time you spend training will end up being with weapons and with actual manipulation of the Force, not studying and learning about information pertaining to weapons and weapon use or ideas about the Force and how it works.”

“Is that safe?” Yané asks, sounding slightly aghast at the entire idea.

“It’s safer than the alternatives,” Obi-Wan replies, holding her gaze so she’ll know just how serious he is. “We’re going to need as many trained Jedi Bendu in as short an amount of time as possible.”

Saché and Yané trade looks again, clearly startled and more than a little dismayed by his response. Saché is pale and almost sickly looking when she points out, “That doesn’t sound very encouraging, Master Bendu.”

“Unfortunately, it isn’t meant to be encouraging,” Obi-Wan grimly replies. Eventually, though, the ice in his eyes softens and melts, and he quietly adds, “However, it also happens to be the truth – just as it’s true that this method should prove to be safer and more reliable, in the long run, than the old Order’s rather limited and far too rigid method of instruction. In addition to passing on information about such things a various galactic languages and cultures and the Force itself, we will also be sharing a certain amount of visceral and immediate knowledge of just what abuse of the Force and embrace of any of the various philosophies that espouse the precedence of a Dark Side of the Force leads to. That, in addition to the supportive network of various working and learning groups and family units, should keep those who are instructed thus from giving in to any temptation to deliberately stray from the path of the Jedi Bendu into dangerous territory.”

Yané’s eyes are so wide with shock that her pupils appear to have swallowed her irises, creating two spreading pools of darkness so complete that they look blinded by blackness. “But isn’t that – wouldn’t you be – I mean – ” she stammers, voice hoarse with surprise and confusion.

“Indoctrination? Placing limits upon the free will of other beings? I would have to say no to both questions,” Obi-Wan calmly cuts in. “Sharing information in this way won’t involve any arbitrary forcing of information upon others, nor will it involve curtailing the mind or actions of other beings by brainwashing them into believing in a certain way and avoiding certain actions. All we will be doing is offering up data, including a very real accounting of one person’s tragic, unexpected, quite painful, and even more destructive fall to what he had been taught to believe was the Dark Side. Children who’ve been burned by touching hot stoves learn not to touch such objects again in such a careless fashion. It’s an extremely rational, instinctive response to protect oneself against pain and damage. We may be capitalizing somewhat on that response, but we most certainly are not forcing anyone to behave or believe in a certain manner. All we’re doing is offering up a more immediate example of the ways in which power can corrupt, if one is foolish enough to allow it or encourage it to do so. It should prove a more effective deterrent than merely insisting that, as a Jedi, one should not or must not do or feel certain things, don’t you agree?”

Saché raises an eyebrow when Yané turns her head to look at her, as if to imply,/ Well, he does have a point, you know./ After a few moments, Yané shrugs slightly and nods in agreement.

“Tell us more,” Saché half requests and half demands, turning her gaze back on Obi-Wan so that the firmness of the command is ameliorated by the plea obvious in her eyes.

“Please,” Yané adds as she pulls Saché over towards the room’s rather large L-shaped sofa and gestures to Obi-Wan and Anakin to come join them.

Pleased with the direction the conversation has taken, Obi-Wan and Anakin trade small but satisfied smiles and quickly cross the room to the couch, even more swiftly working out, silently, along the bond, what to say to Padmé’s two former handmaidens, so they’ll be able to reassure the other former handmaidens (and therefore also any other new initiates that they end up bringing to the Order with them) as to the nature of their instruction and commitment, as both trainees of the New Jedi Bendu Order and handmaidens of a future Queen of Naboo and the interim Senator of the Chommell Sector, without any more misunderstandings about the Force (as had essentially happened with the assigning of specific handmaidens to duty with Sabé and Dormé), their duties as new members of the Order who already happen to have careers among their own people, or anything else that might happen to come up along the way.

***

Winter Qa’nira Gicelís M’Khaddar Retrac is a pale-skinned, lovely child of about nine months of age with shocking stark white hair framing a soft oval face with enormous bright green eyes that seem to take in and absorb everything around her with the same kind of obvious, avid concentration that one might expect from a young Jedi afraid of missing some vital clue . . . or else a well-trained thief, spy, assassin, or some other such profession combining aspects of those three occupations. Obi-Wan takes one look at her, as they’re gathering for the ceremony binding Bail as her honor-father and her formal presentation as both the daughter of Sheltay Retrac and Ob Khaddar and Bail Organa’s honor-child, mutters, “Great stars, that’s right, she remember everything/!” thrusts a blinking and curious looking Luke into Anakin’s empty arm, and hurries over to intersect the proud parents and honor-father-to-be. “It is important that this child receive Jedi training,” he insists as soon as he reaches them, his voice quiet but firm. “She may not be particularly strong in the Force, but she does have a rather overdeveloped eidetic sense of memory. This child will remember /everything that she learns and that happens around her in such a way as to impact at least one of her senses – every sight, every sound, every touch, every scent, every taste: it will all be recorded, however trivial or important, however joyous or painfully tragic, in such a way that/ nothing /will ever be lost to her mind. She’s going to need to know how to shield herself, how to banish things to the back of her mind so that they cannot constantly plague her and organize her thoughts so that the memories can’t and won’t overwhelm her whenever she tries to call them up. There are certain things she could eventually figure out for herself, but proper training will make it much easier for her to cope. Please, see to it that she’s trained. I fear she’s going to need it.”

Winter’s parents book look startled (and more than a little apprehensive, on the part of her artist father) at the proclamation, but Sheltay soon recovers her aplomb enough to smile and declare, “We have already decided to request such training for her, when she is old enough for it. If she is strong enough for the training, we will surely see to it that she receive it, Master Bendu.”

That level-headed response settles that particular matter, and, thankfully, things go quite smoothly afterwards. The ceremony itself is relatively short – an odd mix of blunt practicality and old-fashioned spectacle. Sheltay and Ob, dressed in elaborate formal costumes of layered, rainbow-hued cloth, stand up together before the assembled witnesses and carefully place their white-gowned child on an oddly altar-like plinth, in plain sight of the assembly. They then recite (in highly formal Old Alderaanian) their names and lineages back twenty-one generations on either side (twenty-one apparently being the traditionally established uppermost limit for such ceremonies), their occupations, and the fact that they are, indeed, the blood parents of one Winter Qa’nira Gicelís M’Khaddar Retrac, after which they both publically submit to blood tests and carefully oversee the collection of a sample of Winter’s blood to prove that they are speaking the truth about being her biological parents. The results of the blood test are displayed on individual datapads that are then circulated solemnly through the gathering, after which the vindicated parents announce (still in extremely formal Old Alderaanian) that they have gathered together friends and family to witness the proclamation of their daughter and the naming of an honor-father for her, to provide her with protection against harm should they both perish or be rendered unsuitable as guardians before Winter comes of age and is no longer in need of a family to guide and protect her. Alessya Retrac Organa (who managed to take the sample of Winter’s blood for analysis so skillfully that the baby merely blinked up at her and smiled, apparently bothered not a whit by the proceedings) gathers up the datapads displaying the results of the blood tests and then steps back so that Bail can step forward and be named as the proposed honor-father for Winter.

Bail, who’s also ceremoniously dressed in layered clothing (though his is such a pale shade of blue that it’s nearly white), offers his own name and lineage to twenty-one previous generations on either side, his occupation and various proofs of the fact that he is stable enough to be able to raise a child (including the fact that he has a rather large extended family of his own who would be available to help him, if he were called upon to raise Winter), and the fact that he is willing to act as Winter’s honor-father. Sheltay and Ob then recite obviously traditional formal acknowledgment of his willingness and acceptance of the various proofs he’s offered as to his fitness to act as the honor-father of their child, and Alessya steps forward holding a very small, very ornate, very ancient sickle-shaped knife, which she uses to cut a small line at the base of Bail’s right thumb that curves down across the side of his palm, drawing a thin line of blood. Bail carefully (if somewhat awkwardly) dips his index finger into that line of blood and then reaches down to draw the first and last letters of the old Alderaanian Oġam writing system (predecessor of the formal Nabooian Futhark writing system, which is so very different from the Aurebesh used by those writing in Basic) on Winter’s pale forehead, symbolically binding her to him from that moment forward for the rest of time. Stepping back, so that he’s standing behind and to the left of Winter on her displaying plinth, he allows Alessya to place a bandage on his cut hand, and then carefully reaches down and picks her up, lifting her up high over his head to display her even more prominently as he declares himself to be Winter’s honor-father, tested, accepted, sworn, and marked in the sight of all present in the room. Sheltay and Ob ritualistically intone something to the effect that as it has been witnessed, so shall it be recorded, to which Alessya formally proclaims that “the all-pervasive binding life-force of the universe bears witness and makes record of all,” thus ending the ceremony.

Formalities concluded, they all file out of the open-aired pavilion and into the gardens proper, Winter gurgling and babbling in a surprisingly soft voice as Bail cradles her gently in his arms. Luke and Leia, in Obi-Wan and Anakin’s arms respectively, move their own heads back and forth as much as they possibly can, trying to keep track of everything that’s going on around them, occasionally waving an arm or a foot and punctuating such movements with burbling coos and high pitched laughter. Leia keeps turning her head in Winter’s direction, as though tracking her, while Luke squirms and twists around to keep Leia squarely in his line of sight, and it isn’t until Alessya remarks, in a slightly shell-shocked voice, that the twins are still far too young to be tracking motions like this that it occurs to anyone just how extraordinary their behavior is. Obi-Wan and Anakin, though, just shrug. The twins came into the world knowing who their parents are and able to focus their marvelous bright blue and blue-black eyes on the faces of their fathers – their gazes alert, curious, profound and somehow strangely knowing, and unblinking when they first found Anakin and Obi-Wan’s faces – smiling up at them beatifically when they bent down into their fields of vision and following the movement of their mouths as they spoke and their bodies when they moved as effortlessly and as intently as two curious young adults might have. Winter has been their playmate and companion on Alderaan, and, despite being most of a year older and therefore more mature than they in body (if not so in mind or spirit) and in spite of the briefness of their time together, Winter has made an indelible impression on the twins, especially Leia. The twins seem to sense that something has changed for Winter, and so they watch her (and each other as they’re watching here) closely, curiously, apparently trying to spy out proof of that mysterious change.

When Lady Alessya continues to watch the twins with shock evident in the lines of her face, Mon Mothma laughs and tells her, “The twins aren’t really babies, though. You shouldn’t think of them as infants, or you’ll drive yourself mad, noticing all the ways they fail to conform to the normal behaviors evidenced by babies. Luke and Leia are Force-wise souls in quite small, very young, highly vulnerable bodies that are going to take several years to grow up enough to catch up with the minds they’re hosting. Don’t mistake the twins for their soft little warm bodies. As the Grand Masters themselves had said, the twins are much more than just their bodies.”

Leia punctuates Mon’s declaration with a particularly firm sounding coo that breaks the tension and makes Alessya laugh, and the moment of awkwardness passes.

Remind me to do something nice for Mon later on. I’m not sure we could have explained the twins any better ourselves, /Anakin silently notes, flooding the bond with a sense of gratitude. /If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was a Jedi Bendu herself.

Obi-Wan smiles and notes, She’s something even rarer: an honest politician who wants to help change things for the better of all, rather than the betterment of her own pockets.

Like Padmé.

Yes. Precisely like Padmé. I’m surprised that it took the war to really bring her to my attention. Force knows she was one of Sabé’s strongest allies, during Sabé’s time as Senator, and Bail made a point of allying himself with her, when Mon was elected Senator of Chandrila and the Bormea Sector. I think perhaps it was the time she took to warm to Padmé that kept me from realizing any earlier just what a strong and imminently capable ally she can be. Padmé told me once that she feared she’d angered the Senator from Chandrila by replacing Sabé as Senator without a vote, even though Sabé herself had explained to Mon that she took the position as Senator always intending to give it up to Padmé once Padmé’s time as Queen came to an end. I registered Mon only as an added source of stress for Padmé, though, rather than as a just and strictly fair politician who might very well become a formidable ally.

Anakin shrugs ever so slightly, so as to avoid jostling Leia. Yeah, well, we were awfully busy in between when Padmé became Senator and the Clone Wars started. If we spent much more than a couple of months on Coruscant in those two years or so, I’ll eat mynock pie. And I wasn’t exactly the galaxy’s safest teenager, either. You had your hands full.

Perhaps. Still, I am pleased that she’s become a close ally now. It’s reassuring to know that someone who combines such perceptiveness and wisdom with so much blunt practicality and honesty is going to be one of the few politicians essentially running the known galaxy.

No argument, there. If I could, I’d put Mon and Bail and Sheltay and maybe a few other people from Bail’s family in charge of the whole blasted thing. I’m sure they’d do just as good if not better than these other Consuls will. I know Bail Antilles is coming out of retirement to help Alaina settle into her duties as both Queen of Alderaan and Senator, but frankly I’m a lot more reassured by the fact that Sheltay’s agreed to join Alaina’s staff in pretty much the same position she’s filled for our Bail.

I’m sure the other Consuls will do fine. If not, they can be replaced quickly enough. The sentient beings of the galaxy aren’t going to tolerate any more career politicians who care more for their own careers than the well-being of the people they’re supposed to represent.

Anakin inclines his head in thoughtful agreement. True. We’ll see to that, won’t we? Between the interviews we’ll be giving and the release of Sidious’ records, I mean.

Exactly. Poster boy, Obi-Wan replies, lips quirking into an uncontrollable grin.

Anakin’s response is the mental equivalent of a yelp. /Hey! That’s poster /man to you!

If you insist . . .

Anakin gives him a smouldering look and then silently and suggestively growls, I’d do more than insist, if we weren’t in public with the twins . . .

Hold on to that thought, Anakin. We still have one more night together here, to make use of that lovely private suite, remember?

At that, Anakin shoots him a slightly incredulous dirty look./ And you claim /I have a one-track mind!

Well, you are the one who brought the subject up in the first place.

Only because I was provoked!

And whose fault is that?

Yours! Or well, that is to say, I – oh, for pity’s sake! I’m not going to win this one, am I?

I should think not, Obi-Wan replies, his smile ever so slightly smug.

Anakin carefully moves one shoulder again, more to suggest a shrug than in an effort to make the actual gesture, and then raises his eyebrows in rapid succession, grinning suggestively. I suppose I’ll just have to find some way to reward all that cleverness of yours later on, then . . .

And as I said, I believe you should hold on to that thought, at least until tonight . . .

Since I can’t grab hold of anything more interesting just now, I suppose it’ll have to do.

I should think so!

Spoilsport.

Bratling.

Stick-in-the-mud.

Sore loser. Not to mention constant loser of perfectly good lightsabers . . .

Hey! You want me to hold on to that thought, or not?

Obi-Wan smiles in such a way that Anakin finds his eyes growing wide, his breath coming short, and his heartbeat thundering noisily in his ears. You think you could avoid it, if I didn’t want you to stop thinking about it?

Uh . . . I am so not going there. I’d lose for sure.

Smart. I may grow used to your wisdom after all.

A slow smile blossoms into a smirk on Anakin’s face, at that, and he raises an eyebrow, asking, Does that mean I get to repeat this thought in perpetuity?

Was there ever a question in your mind as to whether you would?

Anakin grins at him cheekily. Nope.

Well. Then I’d say you have your answer, wouldn’t you?

Just wait until tonight, and I’ll show you just how much of an answer I have.

I’m sure you will. Just careful how much you waggle those eyebrows in the meantime, love, or others will notice and wonder what in the worlds it is that you’re doing.

Don’t worry. I love being able to talk with you like this, without anyone else hearing or knowing that we’re talking. It’s . . . freeing. I really would eat mynock pie before I’d let anyone do something that could take away from that.

Just be a little bit more circumspect, and you won’t have to eat anything at all.

Oh, but I can think of so many interesting things I’d like to taste and lick and swallow . . .

Anakin/ Skywalker! /Obi-Wan gasps, instantly flushing bright red.

Don’t blame me! I have a one-track mind, especially when provoked, remember?

A one-track mind to the gutter! Obi-Wan scolds.

Anakin, though, just grins at him lopsidedly and shakes his head. Nah. Just to the bed. Or the couch. Or a sofa. Or a table. Or a counter top. Or really, anyplace where we can –

Obi-Wan hurriedly cuts him off, hastily insisting, I think I get the idea!

Anakin’s response is an extremely unnerving, slow, thoughtful, almost dreamy smile. Oh, good. That should save some time, then, tonight.

Anakin!/ We most certainly are /not going to –

This time, Anakin tilts his head questioningly, ever so slightly, instead of raising an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. Oh, no? Not even if I . . .

What follows is a barrage of mental images and impressions so raw and explicit that Obi-Wan finds himself blinking dazedly up at Anakin, his mouth and throat so dry that he could not have spoken out loud just then (either to Anakin or anyone else) even if he might have wanted to. It takes Obi-Wan several long moments to recover enough to make a weak rejoinder, and his mental voice seems oddly thready as he forces himself to release and take another breath and notes, /Great stars. You really /are going to be the death of me . . .

Just a few little deaths. Well. More than a few, actually. Jedi stamina and all. If anyone ever doubts the Force wants us to be happy, all that person needs to do is compare how many times someone strong in the Force verses someone not so incredibly strong in the Force can –

Anakin . . . The sense of breathlessness in Obi-Wan’s mental voice transforms partway through his name into a groan, and Anakin’s small mock-innocent smile widens so rapidly and becomes so bright that Obi-Wan finds himself blinking, again, as if to chase away the dancing afterimages that come from facing directly into too bright a source of light.

Don’t worry. I’m not letting this thought get away. Tonight will be for us.

I believe you. Force help me . . .

Anakin covers the laugh that escapes him by turning slightly away from Obi-Wan, as if in response to some particularly amusing gesture on Leia’s part. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. I’m sure the Force will help you, like it always has.

That’s what I’m afraid of!

Anakin just grins a little bit wider and tilts his head down and to the side so that he can look up at Obi-Wan through the fringe of his eyelashes. I suppose I could hold the thought a bit longer, if you think it might help. If we waited long enough, the Force could, conceivably, lose interest in us . . .

Obi-Wan gives him a rather pointed look and rather dryly notes, Somehow I rather doubt that’s very likely to happen.

Anything is possible with the Force. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me? is Anakin’s oddly half prim and half playful response.

The bond reverberates with the distinct impression of an indelicate snort. In this case, I imagine even the Force has some limits.

Well, then we’ll just have to take advantage of its limitless bounty while we can, and so prove ourselves properly grateful for its gifts, now, won’t we?

You are incorrigible, Anakin.

And you like me this way.

Force help me, I suppose I do. I shudder to think what that says about me.

That you have impeccable taste and could love only the most perfect mate of your heart?

You’re pushing your luck, bratling.

And you secretly like it when I push the envelope, my beloved fussbudget. You’d have nothing to scold me for, if I didn’t.

Acerbically, Obi-Wan retorts, I believe I could think of something.

Anakin just grins suggestively and tilts his head again so that he’s looking up at Obi-Wan through his eyelashes. Oh? Perhaps I can help you with that . . .

I imagine you could, at that, but not now, if you please! We are in public, here, after all!

Tonight? Anakin asks, in an oddly hesitant and yet hopeful tone.

Obi-Wan gives him an openly incredulous look, both of his eyebrows climbing rapidly up towards his hairline. After all of that, could you possibly have any doubts?

Hmm. I suppose not, at that. Tonight, then. For us.

Yes.

The smile they share could have easily scorched metal, but luckily enough (for Obi-Wan’s sake of propriety) no one else seems to notice it.

***