The Metaphor Of The Heart Of Etheria Still Has Me Emotional. All That Magic, All That Beauty Was Twisted

ThEReS No PoSsIbLe sCeNaRio wHeRe KaRa cOuLd hAvE tOlD LeNa AnD iT dIDnT eNd BaDLy

me, pulling up 500 fics from aO3:

having a job is very weird bcos by and large your coworkers will be a variety of ages and you will not all be at the same stage of life. your coworker will be like, well I’m off home to spend time with my husband & child, what are you going to do with your evening? and you’re like, well, I plan on playing Rollercoaster Tycoon for as much as it as possible

what we have now

Cal awakens on Tanalorr, and what seems to be a perfect day begins to go wrong. Post-Jedi: Survivor with spoilers. Rated PG-13ish for established Merrical. Angst, grief, hope, love, ~2450 words.

--

The morning light of Tanalorr filters gently through cracks in the temple ceiling, sending down soft, gold-edged rays through the small private chamber where he and Merrin have set up a room.  Cal mumbles, rolling over on the makeshift bed and taking half the covers with him.  Merrin is warm and sleepy beside him, her skin soft against his own, and he draws her closer, breathing in the sweet smell of her hair.

“We have slept in again, Cal Kestis,” she murmurs throatily.  “I blame you, of course.  You kept me from my rest.”

“Someone was awfully frisky last night, I seem to recall,” Cal yawns.  He hardens slightly, remembering her insistent kisses last night, how she eagerly undressed him, her hands, her mouth, her --

He lets out a long breath.  They have work to do this morning with the others, and he knows he shouldn’t let himself get distracted.  No matter how much he might like to be.

“Still thinking about it, are you?” Merrin asks, amused.  She rolls over and props herself up on one elbow, leaning over him.  He drinks in the sight of her, soft gray skin and dark tattoos, a wicked grin.  He bites back a groan.  

Her gaze flicks back, and she peers under the covers with a knowing smirk.  “Ahh.  I like the way you think.”

“Hey, come on, now.  We promised we’d check in,” Cal half-protests.  “The Path needs us to get this housing ready, and we need to have that meeting with --”

The familiar sound of BD’s servos whirs as the little droid hops over to them, blithely ignorant of their nudity and innuendo.  Cal sighs, drawing the sheets higher over Merrin and himself.  

“Cal, my dear Jedi, you said you were going to teach the droid to knock.”

“I’ve been busy!” Cal says.  Merrin simply raises one eyebrow and gives him one of those looks, the sort that makes his brain short-circuit and his pulse quicken.  For a moment he’s tempted to tell BD-1 to come back later, that he’d made a mistake with the time and really the meeting with Cere was for tomorrow, not today.

But something disquiets him, a frisson rippling through the Force, there and gone before he can put a name to it.  His arousal vanishes, and he looks away from Merrin, unsettled.

“Cal?”  She sits up, the blanket falling down around her waist, the golden light bathing her skin in a warm glow.  “What is it?”

He shakes his head.  “I don’t know.  Something felt… off.  I’m not sure what it means.”  He sighs.  “Probably just guilt about how late we’re going to be.  We’d better get going.  Make it up to you later?”  He gives her a small smile, and is gratified when she returns it twofold.

Cal sends BD-1 off to wait as they get dressed, but they meet him at the front of the temple, where he is waiting patiently for them.  Cal bends to lower a hand and BD clambers up to his regular perch as they step outside into the fresh air.  The glorious Tanalorr morning greets them with misty light, and brightly colored banners ripple from the temple in the breeze.  Gardens stretch alongside the path, tall leaves fluttering in the wind, fruits and vegetables beginning to swell and show in colors of scarlet, violet, emerald.

The three of them travel through the gardens and back along the creekside path leading away from the temple.  Merrin seems content, but Cal cannot help but look over his shoulder as they walk.  There is only BD-1 there, cheerful and loyal as always, but there’s still a nagging feeling, something skittering at the back of his mind.  

He tries to ignore it, his feet tracing the familiar trail alongside Anchorite Creek.  They cross the new stone bridge, a beautiful melding of angular Jedha architecture with jeweled motifs unique to Tanalorr; the lilac-blossomed larien tree, the clever waterhare, the carvings of the Koboh Abyss.  He always appreciates this bridge and the way his footsteps ring on the stone, but for a moment it almost feels like its solid arch tremors beneath his feet.

“Did you feel that?” Cal asks.  BD lets out a beep in the negative.  Merrin shakes her head.

“Feel what?”

“Nothing,” Cal says, stone solid beneath his feet, and he tries to believe himself.  We’ve made a perfect world.  What is there to worry about?

They meet back up with the others at the village, which is already bustling at this early hour.  The sight cheers him, and his odd mood fades into the background.  He takes a deep breath and smells the morning meal on the breeze, rich with spice; Pyloon’s of Tanalorr keeps Greez busy, even with several residents working with him as sous chefs.  He and Merrin will have to stop in for a bowl of waterhare stew when they next get a chance.

They keep heading toward their destination, passing Narkis Anchorites working with refugees from the Hidden Path, raising another set of new residences.  Cal nods to them as they pass.  He recognizes some of the Anchorites from Jedha.  There are new members of their order, too, only identifiable by the Tanalorr-lilac stripe they wear on their sleeves.

Not everyone wears the garb of the Anchorites; droids roll or walk along the dirt streets on their business, and plenty of people with bare faces wave as they make their way to the Archives.  A few of the refugees he recognizes from his days as a Padawan, other survivors besides himself: a young woman with her dark hair in tight braids, a tall man with olive skin and piercing blue eyes.  Pride unfurls in his chest, pride and a fierce protectiveness.  They’ve built so much here.  And there is still so much more to do.

Many of those who cannot help in the physical efforts of building work in the new Archives, cataloging their growing knowledge of the Jedi Order and its history, and it’s here they head, Cal keenly aware they’re late.  That must be the reason he’s feeling off.  He knows exactly which slightly disappointed look Cere will be wearing --

The smell of smoke, ash dancing in the flame-choked air, red and black --

Cal staggers, sagging against the door as it slides open.  “Cal!” Merrin cries, slipping a steady arm around him.  On his other side, a familiar man in robes braces against him, helping Merrin to keep him upright.

“Cal!  Have you taken ill?” Master Cordova asks.  Together he and Merrin lead Cal to a seat near one of the desks, where he bows over himself, breathing hard.  BD-1 chitters at his shoulder.

“You don’t feel it?” Cal gasps.  He holds out his hands, ash coating his fingertips.  He doesn’t understand.  “Look at my hands.  There’s something terribly wrong --”

Merrin and Master Cordova look at his hands, but they seem worried, exchanging concerned glances.  “I will get Cere,” says Merrin, and claps Cal on the shoulder, her hand squeezing him tightly against his jacket.  “We will figure this out, Cal.  Together.”  

Cal looks down at his hands again.  They’re clean once more, and his head reels.  What’s happening?

“Tell me what you sense, Cal,” says Master Cordova, kneeling carefully beside him.  His brown eyes, always so wise, seem troubled.  Cal knows it’s because of him.  He tries to center himself, reaching for the Force, but it feels muted and hazy, muffled somehow.

“I saw fire,” he manages.  “Fire and ash.”

“A memory, perhaps sensed by your psychometry?”

“No, this didn’t feel like a normal memory,” Cal tries to explain.  “It feels like it’s something that doesn’t belong here.  Like something that isn’t real, that never happened.”  He gazes around the room, drawing comfort from its soaring shelves of twinkling datapads, the silver globes lighting the hall, the sweet smell of larienwood incense.  He tries to ground himself in the library, in all they’ve built here.  “It couldn’t have happened.”

“It may have been a vision, then,” Cordova muses, getting to his feet and sitting down on the chair beside Cal.  “The Force may be sending you a message of things to come.”

Cal shakes his head in frustration.  He’s not a Padawan.  “I know we can have visions from the Force, Master Cordova, but I always feel so tightly bound to the past.  I’ve only had visions of the future in places where the Force is magnified and concentrated, like Ilum or Bogano….  The past has always been so much easier for me to access.  This didn’t feel the same way.”

“Perhaps that’s changing,” says Cere.  Cal lifts his head to greet her, and their eyes meet--

She’s so light in his arms.  How could someone so powerful, so strong, be so, so still?

Cal recoils, panting.  The smoke chokes him, blinds him, engulfs him.  He’s lost in it, reaching for his lightsaber, finding nothing there.  He cups his hands around his mouth, calling, hoping, begging.  “Cere -- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have been there --”

“You okay there, scrapper?” 

Cal opens his eyes.  The smoke has vanished as quickly as it had come, and the temple soars over him, golden daylight streaming through its windows.  Bode gives him a broad, easy grin, smile lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes.  Dagan’s lightsaber hums in his palm.

“This isn’t right,” Cal whispers.  “It isn’t real --”

He raises a gloved hand.  Imperial black against crisp ISB white.  He lets the frantic rage shriek through him, a desperate eruption of pure hate boiling forth, he wants this, needs this, a weapon, he’s nothing but a weapon --

The temple shatters around him, Tanalorr shatters around him, and he remembers everything.

***

“Cal!  Cal.  Come back to me, Jedi,” Merrin murmurs throatily.  He realizes her arms are around him, holding him tight against her chest, his cheek nestled against the soft skin between her breasts.  Her twin heartbeats pulse in his ear, a metronome grounding him here, now, safe.

For a moment, they simply stay there.

“What happened?” she asks in a soft voice.

Cal reluctantly sits up, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling.  They’re in the Mantis, back in one of the narrow bunks they insist on squeezing into together.  He knows they could sleep separately, but neither of them like to do it anymore if they can help it.

“I dreamed of Tanalorr.  The way it should have been.”  His throat constricts, and it takes him a moment to steady his voice.  “It was beautiful, Merrin.”  He wants to tell her everything.  The new Archives, the lush gardens, the voices in the streets; Cordova… Cere…. 

Instead he buries his face in the crook between her neck and her shoulder, and breathes in, and breathes out.

She strokes his hair gently, fingers twining through the strands that tickle the back of his neck.  She presses a kiss to his forehead.  “We will make it so, Cal.  I promise you.”

“Maybe.  I hope so.  But she’ll never see it.”

Her fingers still, then shift for her hand to cup his cheek.  She slowly lifts his chin until he’s gazing at her, her dark eyes bright.  “No, she will not.  That is something we cannot change.”  She blinks, and a flicker of her own grief passes across her face, a painful mirror to his own.  “I miss her too.  Cere and Cordova both, but Cere… she was part of our family.”  Tears glisten, unshed but unashamed, in her eyes.

They haven’t talked of Cere this openly in weeks, busy with fighting the Empire on Koboh and taking care of Kata.  But now the loss is here, sitting in the space between their breath, and the wound aches so, so much.  

Anger flares within him.  How can his mind have given him so much detail of Tanalorr vibrant and growing, of a world where they’d truly won, and yet so little of Cere?  When he would have given anything to see her again, to speak with her -- to apologize --

But he remembers how his mind had tried to tell him he was dreaming, and his heart sinks.  He had known.  Even in the midst of a dream that felt realer than real, he’d known.  

There is no bringing Cere back, not even in a dream.

Cal swallows, feeling sick.  It’s all a mess, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel about any of it.  The Jedi Order would tell him to let it go, but the Jedi Order itself is dust and ashes, and he feels the feelings anyway, Order be damned.  

Grief feels different now than it did as a child.  It’s no less confusing than it was then, but back then he’d been so desperate to survive, so powerless to protect himself, that he’d shoved the feelings down as far as they could go.  Now the feelings and the Force are both as powerful as they’ve ever been.  He feels the Force crackling throughout him, body and soul, straining to be used.  He’s healed his connection… but is that such a good thing, now?  There’s violence poisoning his connection, an intoxicating rage, a searing hatred, the darkness…

He shivers, and he steps away from it, for now.

“I don’t know--” His breath hitches.  There’s water tracking at the edges of his eyelids, a burn in his chest.  “Even through everything, even when we were apart, she was always guiding me.  And without her, I don’t know if I can be enough.  For Tanalorr… for the Path… for Kata….”  Imperial black on ISB white.  “For you.”  

“You are enough for me, Cal Kestis,” she says, and he sinks back into her embrace.  

“But the future --”

“Is what we can make of it,” Merrin says, her voice steely.  “We will find the way together, you and I.  That is how we will honor Cere and Cordova.  And the Jedi, and my sisters.  And if you stumble in the darkness, I will lead you by the hand; and if I do not see the path, your light will guide me.”  She kisses him, her open mouth slanting over his, then pulls back.  She blazes with determination, so beautiful he can hardly bear it.  “Do you trust me?”

The world falls away, and Cal lets it.  There is only this moment, shimmering between them.  The grief and darkness will be there waiting for him when he returns, he knows that much, but for now, there is only Merrin.  He takes her hand in his, and he knows that no matter what lies ahead, the two of them are bound together.

“Always,” he whispers.

She smiles, and the world feels perfect once again.

Possessive baby Anakin sounds so cute though. He just forgets all about Qui-Gon. Decides Obi-Wan HAS to be his master. Anyone asks him why? “Cause his glow is pretty.” I headcanon Ani can see the force around people when he wants too. Also I’m pretty sure that if Obi wasn’t grieving when poopytine came along he’d fight him.

Inhindsight someone really should have seen this coming even if theredhead had been standoffish, Anakin had been attached to the manlike a limpet for as much of the time as he could to the point whereObi-Wan was softening.

Itstill came as a surprise when Anakin said he wanted Obi-Wan as hismaster, the nine year old shuffling in close and wrapping his armstightly around the redheaded knight waist and holding on to the lostlooking man.

“YoungSkywalker, you do understand that while capable, Knight Kenobi hasonly just been knighted? He is not as experienced as master Jinn?”Plo questioned softly, one of the few councilor’s that had notfrightened Anakin as much as the others and therefore could stillsalvage a relationship. When the boy nodded, Plo tapped his clawstogether. “Then would you please tell us why you’re choosinghim?” Plo asked kindly.

Itwas not an insult of Obi-Wan’s skills, it was an honest question ofwho had the longest experience so Obi-Wan didn’t take offense to iteven if it stung a little bit considering he was the one who hadtaken care of the Sith on Naboo while Qui-Gon had been knocked out onthe walkway by said Sith.

Restinghis head on Obi-Wan’s hip while clinging to him, Anakin blinked atthe council. “Cause he glows, just like mom did… only brighterand that feels safe.” Anakin turned his head upwards to look at theone he had chosen as a master, smiling happily up at him withoutreally being aware of what his statement brought.

“Seehim you can? Glow he does?” Yaddle leaned forward, her smooth voicequite the contrast to the croaking of Yoda.

Peeringshyly at her, Anakin nodded. “Everyone glows but Obi-Wan glows thebest…” He glanced apologetically at the still gobsmacked lookingQui-Gon. “Sir Obi-Wan glows softly but warmly? And it wraps aroundme…” He looked up at Obi-Wan. “Please can I stay with you?”He questioned hopefully.

Lickinghis lips nervously, not looking at Qui-Gon at all, Obi-Wan insteadknelt down to give Anakin his full attention. “You heard what theothers said right Anakin? I’m just now become a knight. I’m not…I haven’t been anyone’s teacher before… it might be bette-”

“ButI want to stay with you.” Anakin cut in, his blue eyes wide andround.

Avery small part of Obi-Wan tried not to feel vindictive, the idea oftaking the opportunity from Qui-Gon that he had flung Obi-Wan asidefor.

Thatpart puttered and died as he looked into the very alive and veryhopeful blue eyes in front of him, uncertainty and faint hope risingin his own chest.

MaybeObi-Wan could be a better master to Anakin than what Qui-Gon had beenthese last few weeks to him?

Raisinghis hands, he took one of Anakin’s small ones in his, gentlyturning it over to stare at little scars and callouses. “…If thecouncil grants me permission and you truly wish to be trained by meAnakin, I would be honored to train you to knighthood AnakinSkywalker.” He murmured before looking past the boy to the councilmembers.

Anakinturned quickly, eyes wide before eeping in excitement when there wereslow, cautious nods around, throwing himself at Obi-Wan to sling hisarms around the redhead’s neck, pressing in close.

Hisexcitement rolled across everyone, Anakin’s untrained and powerfulstrength practically a bulldozer to anyone but training would helpthat.

Tighteninghis grasp, Obi-Wan wondered where he would go from today, if he couldreally do this only to look up and meet Qui-Gon’s betrayed eyes.‘…It’s not so fun to be cast aside, is it master.’ He thoughtspitefully but didn’t say, instead tightening his grasp on hispadawan.

Thepadawan who had chosen Obi-Wan on a rainy Coruscant day, the waterpattering against the outside in a gentle rythme and Obi-Wan knewthat the council would be watching them, would be watching thisapprenticeship.

Hedidn’t care.

Thisboy had chosen him and he had chosen Anakin and by the Force, he wasgoing to do his best by this boy, who had come from a less thanstellar situation to become something more than what he had oncebeen.

“Ifthe council will dismiss us, we’ll go get our new quarterssettled.” Obi-Wan stated fondly, half for Anakin and half for thecouncil, smiling at Anakin when the boy pulled back to smile at him,blue eyes sparkling in excitement for the future.

“Goyou can, get your new padawan settled in you must… a long road youhave ahead of you.” Yoda finally croaked, giving his blessing onthe apprenticeship even as his eyes were faintly narrowed and hisears quivered.

Ohyes, Obi-Wan knew they would be watched but with his hand on Anakin’sshoulder, he lead the former slave out of the council chamber andinto their new life, ignoring Qui-Gon.

Maybeit was time for someone other than Obi-Wan to be cast aside.

Ooooo 84 for amethylia/Bastila if you want? :0

thank you Rae!! <3 I attempted to keep it short and sweet lol. brief allusions to Lock (OC of mine) in there, but easily skippable for the uninterested!

84. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

—

After a near week straight of festivities celebrating Malak’s death, Bastila thought that she would be happy to never attend another party again.

She knew that she was in the minority here. Almost everyone else in their bizarre group of companions had been happy to celebrate, no longer hounded by the Sith or living in fear of Malak’s reach on the galaxy. It was as good a reason as any to celebrate, really, and it was why Bastila put on a calm face and a smile, never joining in overly much but doing her utmost to not bring down their moods either.

Even if she hadn’t heard the jokes made about how stuffy she was, the fact of the matter was that less than two weeks ago, Bastila had attempted to kill the people she had been traveling with and had come to consider friends. What’s more than that, one had been her oldest friend and another had been the woman she loved. Allowing them their fun was really the least she could do to make up for it, and she wondered if she’d ever truly be able to do just that.

Leaning against the railing of the balcony, a subtle shift in the Force clued Bastila into a very familiar presence approaching her, one that brought a smile to her face.

“Hey there, Bas,” Amethylia said quietly, the shorter woman wrapping her arms around Bastila’s torso and resting her head against her back.

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