ii.

THE WAR AT HOME

"Listen up ─ there's no war that will end all wars."

Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

CORUSCANT. It always seemed to be buzzing with activity. The city-covered planet never slept. It was alive even this late at night. The stars glittered in the black sky as the hangar dome closed again, and Medea breathed in slowly. Her eyes closed momentarily, and then she exhaled. Medea didn't remember coming to Coruscant. To the extent of her memory, she had always been here. This was her home. Growing up on Coruscant was exciting. You could always spot an adventure out in the transport lanes if you looked long enough. Medea strolled away from her starship and out of the base. There was someone she had to visit before the Council called upon her.

Medea had known Padmé Amidala from before the senator and her best friend fell in love. Medea had known Padmé when she was the Queen of Naboo. Medea's Master and her had been sent on a mission there, back when Medea was only eleven. It seemed so long ago now. They had just been girls. Padmé was older, of course, but the days spent on Naboo together had given them a sense of belonging. She was one of Medea's oldest friends. And it was fate then, that Anakin Skywalker thought of Padmé as if she were an angel. He wasn't wrong. Anakin Skywalker was rarely ever wrong.

When Medea knocked on Padmé's door, she hadn't expected to find Dormé with a frown. "Is this a bad time?" Medea asked timidly. Dormé let her in and closed the doors. "Where's Padmé?"

"She's working, as always," Dormé answered in a tone that seemed full of sisterly frustration.

Medea's eyes narrowed. "What is it?" she asked. "Dormé, spill."

"She hasn't eaten," Dormé sighed and gestured to the plate of food on the table, clearly untouched. "I've been trying to get her to take a break but nooo," she sat down on the couch with a defeated thud. "When does anyone ever listen to me?"

An amused smile appeared on Medea's face. She pointed towards the office, eyebrows raised, wordlessly asking if Padmé was inside. Dormé, arms crossed and cheeks puffed, nodded. Medea's shoulders raised slightly as she grinned. "Sometimes D," she said taking the plate of food from the table and turning to go into the office, "you just have to be creative."

The doors slid open, presenting to Medea a Padmè in crisis. Oh, this was going to be harder than she expected. Medea set the plate down with a clink. "I'd be scared if I were those papers," she commented, making the senator look up from her work.

A look of surprise washed Padmé's face. "Medea!" she gasped and jumped out of her seat to embrace Medea. The red-haired girl chuckled softly as she returned the gesture. "When did you get here?" Padmè asked as they separated.

"Around an hour ago," Medea answered, taking the seat across from Padmé who placed herself back at her chair at her desk. "Figured I'd see a familiar face before the Council sends me away again."

"Well, I'll be disappointing you today because I can't be a good host." Padmé waved her hand at the papers on her desk. "I have to write up a speech."

Medea leaned forward and cupped her chin in her hand. "About?" she asked.

"War refugees."

"Tell me about it," Medea said. And Padmè smiled. Medea never said she loved people. She'd rather show. Asking someone to share their passion was the kindest thing one could do. And the simplest gesture of kindness could fill a galaxy with hope.

"I'm afraid our efforts to free the people are resulting in them being displaced from their homes," Padmè said as she got up and took the seat beside Medea. "If we can't assure their safety, if we can't assure their land back to them without destruction, if we can't provide them apt life conditions then what is the point of a Republic victory?" Padmé's frustration about the crisis was clear on her face. It was one of the things Medea loved the most about Padmé, her passion for the well-being of the people She truly cared. She was one of the best leaders ─ compassionate, brave, and unafraid to speak up.

Medea stared at her with admirance. She sometimes forgot Padmé wasn't much older than her. "So," Medea said, watching Padmé pick on her food and eat, although in small bites, "what are you going to do about it?"

Because Padmé always did something. She would never abandon someone in need of help. "I'm proposing a motion to set up refugee camps and relocation centers," she sighed.

"And what's the hold-up?" Medea knew how to deal with a Padmé in crisis. If Padmé wanted to set up refugee camps and relocation centers, they would already be set. There had to be a problem if they weren't.

"The Senate wants a full report on all the people displaced because of war efforts. I can attest to Ryloth's fate but most of these tragedies go unreported, Medea. Nobody wants people to know about the bad parts. The ugly parts. They'd lose faith." Padmé shook her head. "There is nothing worse than losing faith."

Medea pursed her lips. Padmé was right. So many people lost their homes because of a Republic loss or Republic victory. The battles Medea fought in had always been about winning, they had always been about defeating the other side ─ they had never been about the people. When did they forget the people? When did she forget the people? When did she forget who she was fighting for? When? Medea closed her eyes. Nobody was going to tell about the people of Narvos. They were saved. We won. But what now? Who was going to help them rebuild? Who was going to give them everything a Republic victory promised? Were they really truly saved or were they just conquered? The thought sent shivers down Medea's spine. "I'll attest," she said quietly.

Padmé stopped chewing and looked at her.

"The people of Narvos were left in pieces after the Separatist's attacks. Most of them fled, and many were dislocated from their homes. They need help to rebuild."

"And you can stand witness to that in the Senate?" Padmé asked, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes.

Medea nodded. "I'll do whatever I can to help you."

Padmè smiled. Gratitude washed over her face like light. She reached out and put her hand over Medea's, squeezing it lightly. "Thank you, my friend."

Medea held her hand. Squeezed back tighter. "Always."

»»--⍟--««

THE Jedi Temple stood tall in Coruscant, illuminated by thousands of torches. The spires rose high and mighty. It was not just a building, it stood as a monument. It was a symbol. The Jedi were the ones who stood in the doorway and pushed the darkness back. Medea made her way to the tenth floor, to the Knight's Billet. Dormitories lined down the hallway and the sparingly present Jedi Knights moved about quietly. Since the beginning of The Clone Wars, the dorms had been in use less and less. Medea walked down the hallway, her eyes moving over the names displayed over the doors, and came to a halt in front of one. She hadn't meant to stop here, but the name caught her off guard. Leska. Medea's eyes hurt from blinking back the tears. Leska was a Jedi General. She had died in the bloodiest battle of the Clone Wars. The Battle Of Jabiim claimed the lives of 27 Jedi and more than 9,000 clone troopers.

Yes, the Jedi stood against the darkness but lately, their numbers had started to lessen. They were growing thin, their forces stretched out. Everyone was so busy all the time that didn't even have a moment to take down Leska's name off her door. Medea closed her eyes when her heart wrenched. When will this pain end? Will it ever end? When will it stop feeling like every moment is the end of the universe?

Medea walked away. Everyone else seemed to be doing the same thing and right now, it felt like the best thing to do. She walked away and came to a stop in front of her dormitory. The small rectangle screen in the top center displayed her name. MEDEA CENTAURI it said, and just beside it ANAKIN SKYWALKER. Medea felt herself calm. They could never stay far from each other for long. Medea made her way inside, the door sliding back close behind her. Every part of this room was Anakin. Posters of pod-racing were stuck to the wall, faded and gray. The table was scattered with droid parts and tools. The room echoed him. Every essence.

Medea laid on one of the beds, the one nearer to the door. The bright lights of Coruscant made stripes on the floor as they snuck in from the window. The picture on the small table between the beds held a moment of pure, insurmountable joy. Meda on Anakin's back, each fifteen years old and grinning from ear to ear. Medea sighed and her eyes closed. The Council didn't like what had happened between Medea and Anakin. It was more than uncommon, it was rare. Hadn't happened in a long, long time. The first time it had happened, in recorded history was during the terrible period of time the Jedi called The Hundred-Year Darkness.

During the dawn of Darkness, there were two men, stronger in the Force than anyone else. It had been so long, thousands of years, that their names had been forgotten. But the stories remembered the name of the knife, not the body. These two men were bound together in the Force, by the Force, through the Force. They were more than friends, more than brothers. Their love for each other transcended comprehension. But tragedies find the happiest places to bury their roots in. And so the brothers fell. The clashing of ambitions broke the peace.

One of the brothers was consumed by the hunger for power, for knowledge. He began studying the forbidden teachings of the dark side of the Force and believed that the true potential of a Jedi involved tapping into the dark side, as opposed to his brother who saw the right path: embracing the contemplation and passivity of the light side. The Dark Brother felt betrayed. His brother was supposed to be the one always by his side, always. Against everything else. Against the world.

But the Dark Brother believed that if he could show his brother the power of the Darkside, his brother would join him. Only, the Darkness proved to be more pernicious and insatiable than he could have imagined. The irresistible power the Dark Brother tried to possess, enveloped him. Through him, the Darkness corrupted everything. The Darkness, now unrestrained, assimilated the mind of the Dark Brother, ravaging the memories and knowledge of its newfound container. Unable to resist, The Dark Brother became a captive in his own body. His mind and his very soul twisted to the will of the being he swore to destroy. Then he felt it. He felt within himself the overwhelming desire to consume. He fed The Darkness all the manuscripts and tomes and manuals he could find, and still, it asked more. He fed it himself; the memories and teaching of his short life, the happiness and sadness of it, the ache within himself for the Light Brother, but they were mere trifles to the famine within him. He fed it so much of himself, that it became them. Nothing would stop them. So they took others. The fallen Jedi gained a number of followers, and their actions led to the formation of the Sith.

The Light Brother saw him then, through the Force, being consumed by evil. Fed upon by the Darkness. And so he, too, fell. He fell to grief, shattered and helpless. His better half, the one supposed to be his light through everything was nothing now but an afterimage. An echo. He was no more the little boy who had vowed to be by his side during all his battles. He was gone now, replaced by only Darkness. Terrible darkness. A Darkness that spread like a plague, vowing to corrupt and consume everything it touched. So the Light Brother did what was forbidden by the tenet. By the oldest tenet. He took arms against his own Brother.

Nobody knows how the fight went. No one was there to witness it. All they felt through the Force, everyone, was the death of the Light Brother. The world mourned because all hope was lost now. But the Light Brother did what he had sworn in the Oath when he had accepted to fight beside his friend. He saved him. The act of killing the Light Brother brought back that lost piece of the Dark Brother in the being that had been consumed by Darkness. And although nothing was alive there, hope remained. Because now, The Darkness was weak. Now it was also the Dark Brother. And as long as they were brothers, there was always hope.

So the Sith only feed on the weak now. They subsist on less. Because illness was the enemy of appetite. They take only that which will be missed and then forgotten. But Anakin Skywalker, Medea knew, was not someone who would ever be forgotten. Because that's who Anakin Skywalker was: The most powerful Jedi of his generation. Perhaps of any generation. The fastest. The strongest. An unbeatable pilot. An unstoppable warrior. On the ground, in the air or sea or space, there was no one even close. He had not just power, not just skill, but dash: that rare, invaluable combination of boldness and grace. The stars will always remember Anakin Skywalker.

Medea had felt it as soon as Anakin had stepped foot in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Force bonds, she had heard, were strong. Magical. But this was different. This was overwhelming. It pulsed in her, rippling through the Force. The feeling that washed over her then was recognition. It was remembrance. It was her soul seeing Anakin's and saying, Oh, it's you. I've been waiting. And the wait had been over the day they bonded. Fifteen years old and bound each other for life.

But the Council feared. Because the Council always feared. They started sending them on fewer and fewer missions together. When they were on the battlefield, Anakin and Medea were unstoppable. Every fight would have been a win for the Republic. But there were other things to be afraid of than a lost battle.

Power. It corrupted. It fed the Darkness. And everyone knew what Darkness did to a Jedi.

»»--⍟--««

THE Council sat at sunrise and Medea was there in clean robes, waiting already when they called upon her. Master Windu and Master Yoda were present there, conversing among themselves and they looked towards her when she entered. "Masters," she bowed her head out of respect, hands clasped behind her back.

"Centauri," Master Windu greeted her. "Returning victorious."

A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "Was there ever a doubt?"

"I see these strenuous times have had no effect on your sense of humor," Master Windu remarked.

Medea scrunched her face. "I work hard to preserve it."

"And work hard, you should," Master Yoda added. "Lighten a heavy heart, small moments of happiness can."

Medea smiled a small smile. She looked back up at Master Windu. "Do I have my next mission?"

"You've had a long week, wouldn't you rather rest?" he asked.

"No," she replied immediately. They stared at her. "I mean," she clenched her fingers in fists behind her back, "if someone needs help then no, I'd rather not rest."

Master Windu and Master Yoda shared a look. The Council had certain uncertainties about Medea Centauri and Anakin Skywalker. Master Yoda still remembered the day the two Force-bound individuals had met. It was nothing like he had ever witnessed.

When Anakin had stepped into the temple and Medea had seen him for the first time, a boy so fragile-looking that he appeared to be made out of glass, with the hardness of his expression slowly dissolving into tentative uncertainty, You're not the Chosen One, she had said, the oddest tone to her voice, are you?

Anakin had nodded. So they tell me.

I am sorry, Medea had said.

No, Anakin had said softly. He had drawn a wooden training sword from the rack. Don't be ordinary like that. Don't say you're sorry. Say you'll train with me.

He had held the sword to Medea, hilt first. Yoda had held his breath, afraid to move. He had felt as if he had been watching something very important happen, though he could not have said what.

Medea had reached out and took the sword, her eyes never leaving Anakin's face. Her fingers brushed the boy's as she took the weapon from him. It was the first time, Yoda thought that he had ever seen her touch any other person willingly.

I'll train with you, she had said.

Now they were older and their bond stronger. They could sense each other across galaxies. And being as old as he was, Yoda feared there was only one path this bond could lead them. They couldn't have stopped it, though, could they? Who were they to stop it? They were mortals and the dealings of fate were not the concerns of men. No one alive has ever escaped fate, it's born with us the day we are born.

"To Premiscara you will go," Master Yoda said.

Medea's eyebrows drew closer. "Premiscara?" Medea felt as if there was a fist in her throat. She was going to Premiscara, the place she was born.

"Yes," Master Windu nodded. "The Coronation Day of the new Princess is approaching," he added, "and there are security concerns."

Medea said, "Wait." The corners of her mouth turned downwards and her eyebrows formed an arch as sharp as a knife. "You're putting me on bodyguard duty? Seriously? After I captured Maw?"

"The Chancellor requested you go," Master Windu offered as calmly as possible.

"The Chancellor?" Medea's eyebrows furrowed, voice quieting. "Requested me to go? Personally?"

Master Windu nodded, slightly pleased that he had obviously won their argument. "And we both think some time away from the battlefield would do you good."

"But I'm doing great now!" she reasoned, her voice pitching higher at the end making her seem more like a whiny child than she wanted.

"Lie you do," Master Yoda said. Medea looked at him. "Upset you are, sense I can."

"I'm not -- " she paused. A sigh escaped her lips, heavy and burdened. She shook her head and stared at her feet. "I'm just tired," she admitted quietly.

Master Windu stared at her. He remembered the little Medea Centauri he had found on Premiscara as clearly as today's sunrise. He remembered the first time her bright forest eyes had looked at him -- looked through him. When he had offered the little girl his hand and she had taken it, leaving one life behind with the promise of another. Mace had no idea then that she would grow into one of the fiercest soldiers the Order had to offer. Sometimes when he looked at her, he still saw the brave little five-year-old girl with tendrils of violent red hair and tears in her eyes as she walked away from a family she would never know.

"Well," he said, "that settles it, then. Now, I have other business to attend to," he told both Yoda and her, "so I must take your leave." Medea frowned as Master Windu walked towards the door and stared after him. He opened the door, then halted in minute surprise. "Oh," he said, "and Medea, there's one more thing." Master Windu looked over his shoulder and Medea's eyebrows raised lazily in question. From behind him, a boy peeked around, his green hair stark against the softness of the temple interior. His big, inquisitive eyes looked around the room before Master Windu gently pushed him inside the room. "Your new Padawan is here."

Medea thought she heard ringing in her ears. "My what?" she asked, incredulity lacing her tone.

"I'll go now," Master Windu said at once after seeing her expression and made his way out of the room.

"No, Master - !" Medea went to call after him but the door closed with a soft thud. She sighed. Her eyes moved towards the boy who seemed no older than fifteen. Green hair hung over his forehead as he looked at her from under his lashes, his face colored with every shade of eagerness and delight.

"Hello!" he said excitedly. "I'm Scout!"

Medea huffed, then looked at Master Yoda in exasperation. "Do you really think I'm ready, Master? I can barely keep myself alive on the battlefield." She frowned at Scout. "I don't want to have to carry around another life form." Scout's face fell. Medea didn't see it.

"Ready never you are," Master Yoda told her, starting to walk away. "Together learn you must."

Medea's lips parted. It seemed as if she was going to object again, but then she pursed her lips. Irritation pulled taut the muscles of her face and she cast another look at Scout with undisguised indignation. She did not like this. She did not like this one bit.