The Weaving Force: Chapter 54 (Patreon)

Chapter 54:

Anakin:

A smile tugged at his lip, half because of the memory, half because of the tears of laughter beginning to leak out of Padme’s eyes due to the story. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ll have you know, I played a very convincing tree in the Cinderella play!” He sniffed indignantly.

Her laughter was a snort as they walked through the meadow. “Did you remember all your lines?”

“Yes. All none of them,” he chuckled. “I’m still convinced Taylor gave me that role out of revenge. When Master Yaddle played a tree in her Pocahontas play, she had lines!”

“Master Yaddle.” Padme’s features scrunched up. “The… female Master who is part of Master Yoda’s species?”

“The very same,” he answered, laughing at the memory of Yaddle looking so very happy with just her head and ears jutting out of a tree costume.

In the privacy of his own mind, he giggled at the thought that she looked so happy because she was able to finally be taller than everyone else for a change while in the role. “She played a wonderful tree,” he said, fighting down his snickers.

Padme covered her mouth, eyes scrunching tightly shut at the no doubt hilarious mental image.

“Oh, and Obi-Wan is always the narrator when he’s on Coruscant,” Anakin added.

He’d have to ask Victoria who she picked when Obi-Wan wasn’t there.

“Dare I ask why?” Padme ventured, an eyebrow hiking up to her hairline.

“In the words of Miss Victoria: ‘His voice is damn sexy.’” He remembered nearly spitting out his drink when he first heard that. He was fairly sure it was the first and only time he saw Obi-Wan blush.

Padme huffed out a laugh as they approached the river and the waterfalls. “I thought Jedi couldn’t have families. But it sounds like you are your own families in a way.”

“Miss Taylor and Miss Victoria aren’t… normal Jedi,” he hedged carefully. “I don’t think I am either. Our circumstances made us… exceptions. Exceptional, you could say.” He was sure many Masters would disagree with that notion, but the evidence rather spoke for itself.

“So, you have a family?” Padme asked, almost challenged, really.

“I do.” He felt an upswell of joy at the simple, truthful declaration.

“My mother is on Mandalore,” he explained eagerly. “I visit her rather frequently. She works for a family there that I feel have become part of my own family. There’s Miss Hannah, who always makes sure I know how to protect myself from every type of blaster if I don’t have my lightsaber. Her husband Aras, who helps me train sometimes. Little Jen and Daryan; I’m their uncle.” His smile stretched across his face. “Jen says she’s going to find a Basilisk war droid and ride it to battle one day. Daryan says he’ll become a hero, like the stories his mother tells him. His favorite is Armsmaster, a man that can make any machine and make people feel safe. And then, of course… Master Dooku, Obi-Wan, Taylor, Victoria. I have a very large family,” he admitted openly, and it felt good to say that. To admit it.

“I thought Jedi weren’t allowed to love,” Padme said.

“We’re not allowed attachments,” he explained, giving voice to what he’d long since deduced for himself. “Clinging to love is the forbidden part. But I would say, love is integral to a Jedi. How can you protect a galaxy you don’t love?” he finished rhetorically, finding a contemplative look coming over her features.

As they reached the edge of the river, they saw a family of ducks swimming in its calm currents.

It occurred to him that he’d never seen ducks in person before…

He panned his eyes on the river, and towards the magnificent waterfalls cascading down from the cliffs in the distance, Padme taking a seat in the meadow beside him.

“This is like a dream,” he realized he spoke aloud when the Senator turned curiously to him.

“Pardon?”

“The water…” he explained… not hastily. “When you grow up on Tatooine, this much water is a myth.”

That wasn’t untrue.

Supposedly, Jabba the Hutt used huge cauldrons of water to boil people who’d displeased him alive. That had to be a myth. Anakin couldn’t imagine that much wasted water.

Although… supposedly Kronos was on Jabba’s hit list for just such a fate. He’d have to ask Dennis when he met him next if it was true.

He looked down, finding the ducks happily bathing, water sliding off their feathers like it never truly touched them.

He sat down by Padme’s side. “What about you?” he ventured to ask.

“Me?”

“Family,” he explained, smiling. “You ever think about having one?”

She raised an eyebrow, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at her lip, and he realized he may have stuck his foot in his mouth a bit.

“Mr. Skywalker, what exactly are you implying?” her voice dipped and her following laughter at his blush was still pretty to his ears, even if it was at his expense.

—

He woke with a start; a sick, oily feeling coating his skin, diseased fumes choking his senses in the Force like a poisonous miasma.

Something was wrong. Deeply, horribly wrong.

Padme.

He lurched out of bed, throwing on his tunic in haste and pulling his lightsaber from across the room and into his hand. The hilt felt cold in his grip as Anakin spread his senses outward.

As much as he wished to run straight to Padme’s side immediately, Obi-Wan’s and Master Dooku’s voices were in his ear, cautioning his haste, warning him against the fear and the carelessness it brought.

Fear is the mind killer was something Hebert said often, a quote from her homeworld, and it made sense in this moment as he pushed that fear down and took hold of himself.

The Naberrie summer home had large, wide halls which was good, it gave him room to maneuver if need be, room to see a threat coming.

His reach in the Force was wide, and he used his telekinesis to slowly bring the lights on, the slow bloom of luminance letting his eyes adjust without blinding him and risking an opening.

The choking, poisonous bile in the Force felt like soup here in the halls, clinging to his clothes, his skin; his hair felt drenched with the poisonous feeling, slick like sweat. It was disgusting, horrid.

He made it to Padme’s room. She was close, he was glad she’d agreed to have his room close to hers right now. Reaching out, he felt her life force, strong and steady, asleep.

He knocked, firmly. “Padme. Padme, answer the door.”

He heard her groan; groggy and confused.

He knocked again. “Padme, something’s wrong, please get up and open the door.”

When he heard her voice next it was sharp, the fugue of sleep shoved away.

“Password,” she demanded. Good.

“Nyctophobia,” he answered immediately.

He heard her moving, the door opening immediately afterwards to reveal her in sleep wear… with a very large blaster in hand.

…Good… on both counts.

Distracting thoughts aside, he put his attention firmly on the crisis at hand. “Call the guards. Something is extremely wrong,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Be specific. I can’t just say you’ve got a bad feeling.”

How to explain it? It wasn’t just a ‘bad feeling’. The Force, quite literally, felt diseased around them right now. “I-”

Suddenly, his senses roared at the cloying poison in the air, sharpening to a point at his back, a warning in the Force, as he heard the snap hiss of a blade igniting.

He remembered Mandalore, how even Master Fay couldn’t sense the assassin until it was almost too late.

He whirled. Padme screamed as he shoved her away with one hand, his own blue blade lighting up, just in time to bat aside the thrust that would have run him clean through, both blades crashing into and slicing through the door frame, hydraulics and cabling exploding in sparks and flame.

Anakin’s fist lashed out, following up the hasty parry with a solid punch that threw his attacker off balance, even as he felt something in his hand crack with a stab of white hot pain as his knuckles smashed into the side of a fully sealed helmet.

“Run!” he demanded, blue blade pressing down on the red one, keeping both inside the wall. “Get to your safe room!”

She didn’t protest. She didn’t hesitate. Padme turned and ran, her voice already calling through her communicator for backup.

Two to three minutes. That’s all he had to hold out for before backup arrived!

The assassin’s head snapped up, ignoring Anakin as he watched Padme flee, one hand rising to yank her back with a pull from the Force.

Anakin sensed it and his fury and protectiveness boiled over, his own power in the Force closing around the telekinetic tendril of his opponent like a fist and crushing the assassin’s hold over the Force outright.

His enemy shook, surprised, but then quickly turned his eyes back towards Anakin as he fully focused his attention on the Chosen One.

The red blade was yanked out of the wall, and Anakin slid into the Soresu form immediately, not knowing his opponents skill, but knowing this might very well be the Sith that killed Master Dooku. It was a male. If there were only two, the second was the female Obi-Wan had fought.

He couldn’t take chances if that was the case.

His enemy’s fury slammed into him, like a red wave of heat in the Force, an impeccable Shii-Cho stance driving the red sword down into Anakin’s guard, the overwhelming physical force nearly knocking the Padawan on his ass

Anakin backed away, giving ground, giving himself breathing room, the Soresu’s firm defence allowing him to slide his opponents overwhelming strength off his blade like water off the back of the Naboo ducks he’d seen earlier today.

The blades carved themselves through the walls, ceiling and floor, but where his enemy’s brute strength was greater than his, Anakin was more powerful in the Force. He felt his enemy reaching out, seeking to yank tables, chairs and other pieces of furniture and household items to smash into Anakin’s sides and back to force an opening, but Anakin was simply stronger.

He strangled out his telekinetic grips, literally crushing them before replacing said grips with his own, containing his enemy’s diseased and corrupted presence in an ever tightening bubble as he thrashed and clawed at it, like the inside of a coffin being sealed.

The first item Anakin crashed into his enemy was a chair, the wooden feet cracking tips first into the man’s ribs, his relentless lightsaber assault faltering as Anakin immediately pivoted his stance to the Shien form. Makashi was perhaps better for seizing openings, but he couldn’t discount the possibility that his enemy was holding back still.

His blue blade drove forward, a series of rapid slashes and hard thrusts driving his enemy back before a decorative lamp of some kind slid between his enemy’s ankles, tripping him up as Anakin tried to capitalize with a heavy, downward strike.

His wrist was caught in the man’s grip, the blade halted halfway to its target, and the man’s impossible strength tightened that grip.

Anakin felt the bones in his wrist snap, his scream cut off as he bit his own tongue.

He pulled back his left fist, and the punch he delivered with all his might in the Force would have made Victoria proud

He felt his opponent's chest cave in, the body going slack and flying down the hall before smashing into the wall hard enough to send spiderwebbing cracks through the solid stone.

The bastard’s grip didn’t let up immediately, so Anakin was yanked forward with him, body tumbling end over end before he came to a stop, feeling broken glass and debris digging into his back from the path of destruction they’d carved through the hall.

You don’t have time for pain. Taylor’s voice echoed in his skull; something she always said to anyone when training on Kashyyyk.

His hand reached out, the echoes of his own Force signature letting him find the hilt of his lightsaber and dragging it back into his hand with the sting of pain across his middle knuckle.

Right. The punch he’d given the bastard at the start of the fight.

Right arm useless, left one half injured.

His eyes snapped open when he heard the crash of pottery, his head snapping towards the end of the hall where the Sith, quite literally, crawled forward, shambling on three limbs, lightsaber being dragged behind it, still grasped in what seemed like a useless arm, the blade’s tip carving a glowing line across the floor.

Anakin’s eyes went wide with horror and a spike of fear at the sheer speed the man was closing the distance with, almost unnatural, like his body was a droid being overclocked. Anakin had hurt him. He knew he’d hurt him. Hell, he’d almost thought he’d killed him.

He felt the man’s chest cave in for Force’s sake.

So how in all the Corellian Hells was the bastard moving that fast!

He scrambled backwards, gaining some meager distance as he reached out in the Force, towards the diseased bile ridden presence of the man in front of him and found-

Nothing.

There was nothing there.

No pain. No anger. No fear.

Just disease and corruption.

What was this!?

Then there was no time to think, no time to do anything beyond act. The Sith lurched forward, his entire body being used to swing what must’ve been a shattered shoulder and arm, lightsaber in hand to bring it down on Anakin’s head.

All reason was gone, all form was gone - what was left was madness, pain, hate and hunger for death.

The Padawan lurched to the side, the red blade carving a trench across the tiled floor, his own blue blade dipping into the floor with the movement before he whirled back around to smash his elbow into the helmet, whipping the head to the side to give himself just enough wiggle room to swing the blade between them, carving a line from armpit to ribs and navel, a guaranteed kill.

Then the thing punched him in the ribs anyway.

Anakin felt his bones snap like twigs, the air exploding from his lungs, his entire body curling around the iron hard fist.

You don’t have time for pain!

Hebert’s voice roared in his ear and with a scream. He shoved his hands into the Sith’s chest and stomach, a Force Push sending the monster off him, smashing into the ceiling before Anakin reversed his grip, twisting the man in mid air to smash him head first into the ground, cracking helmet, tile and bone.

It still moved.

The thing lurched to its feet, body broken and twisted in wrong angles as it shambled towards him. Anakin shuffled back, broken bones protesting every movement.

Then, the sound of speeders rushing closer reached his ears, sirens and hard boots on the ground.

Anakin reached to the Force, and pulled.

Three concrete walls were pulled down, like the fist of a God had punched clean through stone and masonry to carve a path for the Nabooian guards, floodlights shining through, illuminating the armored Sith and the Jedi Padawan both.

The flood of guards hesitated, uncertain, and Anakin forced himself into their minds, bolstering their confidence and surefootedness in his desperation. One man charged through the breach, then another and another.

“DROP YOUR WEAPON!”

“DON’T MOVE!”

“GET ON THE GROUND!”

The thing that should be dead lurched forward, and then… Anakin felt it, a tendril of something, a connection he’d never even noticed before reaching across the expanse of a galactic distance.

The Sith straightened, once more adopting a hold over his blade, its body cracking and breaking as it was forced to move despite its injuries.

The Sith lashed out, a whip of telekinetic force sending three men flying back before the rest opened up with their rifles. His red blade moved and twisted, deflecting and reflecting blaster bolts in every direction.

Then Anakin sent a table sailing into his back.

The Sith stumbled, two bolts smashing into his chest and ribs, a third to his leg.

Anakin still felt no pain from him.

But apparently, pain or not, the Sith decided he wasn’t winning this fight. Physically grabbing hold of the table and hoisting it in front of him, he used the heavy wooden thing as a slab shield, retreating back and rushing to the cover of an adjacent room.

When he reached the doorway, the table was sent careening outward like a giant cannonball, the slab of wood smashing into two Nabooian security members and breaking whatever bones it smashed into, sending one man hurtling down the stairs and the other smashing through an urn statuette.

The rest of Nabooian security team members gave chase, rushing forward with weapons at the ready as others rushed to secure Padme and a third cohort approached him, weapons still drawn.

“Weapon down! Hands behind your head!”

He felt momentary incredulity that they didn’t recognize the difference between the assassin and the Jedi bodyguard, but in that moment he was too damn exhausted to argue. He slid his saber onto the ground, the hilt falling from slack fingers as he fell back, breathing heavily as the poisoned, rotting presence slipped further and further away.

“Padme,” he gasped towards the approaching officers. “Make sure Padme’s alright,” he demanded.

(X)(X)(X)

SO- would anyone like to take a guess on what exactly Anakin fought? (And yes this is a real thing in Star Wars.

Even so; I feel like beyond the fight I enjoyed writing most about Anakin's extended family- the fact that George thought it was somehow believable for a young man to spend ten years in the Jedi order and have absolutely no human connections beyond Obi-Wan is just *baffling* to me.

Still- I don't have that limitation and exploring it here a bit was quite fun :D

And yet brick by brick, piece by piece everything is steadily lining up :)

...

Soon!

(Also, trust me this isn't the same roundabout chain of hired assassins from canon where Palpatine told Dooku to do it, Dooku told Jango to do it, Jango told shapeshifter girl to do it and Shapeshifter girl told her droids to do it; Palpy's plan will make sense I promise :) )