I May Be Lactose Intolerant

Arwen and Denal snapped to attention straight away, both attempting to make contact with Captain Rex through their comms. Nothing.

She contemplated trying to use the computers in the factory, but that would mean leaking their private comms to CIS intelligence, and even if the entire factory was about to be destroyed, that wasn’t something she could risk.

“Quick, back up the vent! I’ll boost you up with the Force,” they both scrambled for the vent—Denal part way shimmed up the cable, and she nudged him upwards with the Force. Between the boosts she gave him, she kept herself steady with the cable. She would have liked to have given him one big boost, but as there was a desk directly over the vent, she didn’t want to risk ramming his head into it and knocking him out.

It took longer getting back up than it did  going down, but when she finally saw Denal climb out of the top of the vent she began a hastier ascent. By the time she climbed out, the room was a mess of metal, but no fallen clones, and Denal had already filled everyone in on what was happening.

“We need to leave, and fast. We don’t know how much time we have,” Denal said.

“Keep trying to get through to command, we might be able to get out a message to delay the bomb squad,” Captain Rex said. His helmet turned to Arwen, “Commander, take up the rear, make sure no one falls behind. I’ll take point—everyone move out, and stick together!”

Torrent Company went into action immediately, and even as she took up the rear of the group, she kept her senses extended as far outward as she could manage—admittedly not as far as she would have liked.

She never sensed anyone, and she suspected that the droids and Geonosians that had survived their attack had been informed of the impending bombing. It was a small mercy, but she was grateful for it nonetheless. Any enemy they came across, every second they spent trying to defend themselves, was time they could be spending putting more distance between them and that factory.

Arwen disengaged her lightsabers after the first few uninterrupted minutes, confident that she would sense an incoming blaster bolt with enough time to take action. By the time they finally left the bounds of the droid factory, marked by the sudden end of durasteel walls and replaced by the rock walls of the catacombs, a deep sense of foreboding had settled deep within her gut.

How long would it take a bomb squad to get to their location? How far away were they when they had received the distress signal? Just how much control did the CIS have over airspace?

There were too many unknown factors. They could be flying directly overhead, and she wouldn’t even know it, not with how deep underground they were. She supposed the fact that the rock wasn’t crumbling into boulders atop her head was a good enough sign that there had been some considerable distance between them. She could only hope there was just a little bit more, enough for Torrent Company to get somewhere safe when the factory exploded.

The pace was fast, but slower than they could realistically afford—yet, with the confined space of the catacombs, the sudden crossroads that frequently appeared, and the tunnels leading downward carved into the ground, they couldn’t go any faster.

The weight in her stomach deepened, and she could feel the hairs on her neck standing on end, but nothing was happening. Her stomach twisted, and she couldn’t tell if it was the Force trying to tell her something, or her own anxiety and anticipation.

She longed to sit and meditate—the traditional way, the way she never liked to do it, the way she never quite learned to do properly—to sort through the feelings, decipher whether or not it was a feeling she should trust, or one she needed to let go of. But there was no time for that, and she no longer had a master to help her meditate.

A deep rumble sounded behind her, and she stumbled slightly as the ground shook beneath her feet. The clones ahead stumbled too, and the sound of their plasteel armour smacking together as they crashed into each other could barely be heard as the rumbling grew louder, followed by a few dulled bangs.

Arwen held her breath, practically frozen in place, and several of the clones lay on the ground, half-ready to get up again, as they waited for the aftermath.

After several long seconds, the rumbling slowly died down, and a cloud of dust overtook them. Arwen squeezed her eyes shut, and once again lamented that she didn’t have protective head gear like her men. She huffed out a breath of air, making sure her airways were clear of dust, and wiped the reddish dust from her face.

“So we planted all those explosives for nothing?” Arwen squinted through the settling dust to look at Denal as he spoke, “I didn’t even get to hit the detonator!”

“At least we got clear of the explosion. With any luck, we’ll find an exit soon,” Arwen said.

“I’d settle for getting some signal on comms,” Captain Rex said, fiddling with his comm device, “Still nothing. We’re still too far underground.”

“We need to start going up somehow—should we go back the same way we came? Even though the entrance is caved in?”

Captain Rex nodded, “We should be able to get a signal if we can get through a bit of the rubble.”

The unspoken alternative was to move on if they couldn’t.

With a few quiet groans, everyone was on their feet again, and filed along behind Captain Rex as he set a hard pace onward—just because the factory had been bombed, didn’t mean they were in the clear. Arwen kept to the back once more, and though she hoped the pit in her stomach might lessen as they continued, it only deepened.

By the time they made it back to the place they came in, the knot in her stomach had twisted so much that she felt like she was about to vomit. Appo found his way to her, and by the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his helmet, she could tell he was a little worried.

“Something feels off—something’s felt off since we left the factory,” she said before he could ask.

“Don’t need the Force to know something’s off,” Appo said joked, though it did nothing to relieve the tension in the air, “Just feels like we got out too easy, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, eyes flicking over to Captain Rex. He was getting a weak signal, and relaying a message to the Command Centre. She and Appo watched in silence as he received new orders.

“Command says to sit tight here,” Captain Rex called, “Airspace is being contested again, and we won’t have any cover if we go above ground. Rest while you can, but be ready to move at a moment's notice. They’ll give us a new rendezvous point soon.”

The resounding affirmatives echoed in the catacombs, and while Torrent Company hunkered down, Arwen stayed on her feet, watching the tunnels they had come from.

Her fingers twitched, and she pondered how her body’s reaction to stress and warnings from the Force could be so similar. Beside her, Appo shifted, his visor following her line of direction.

“Go rest, Appo. I’m sure it’s just… anxiety.”

Appo chuckled quietly, “Didn’t think Jetii felt things like that.”

She looked away from the endless dark of the catacombs for a few seconds, head tilting at the unfamiliar word, “Jetii?” She asked, completely butchering the pronunciation based on the way Appo wheezed beneath his helmet, “What’s that?”

“It’s Mando’a for Jedi.”

She hummed, looking back to the catacombs, “Well, Jedi do feel things like that, some more than others,” she thought about the number of times she had sat in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, desperately trying to get a handle on her emotions, and swallowed thickly, “We’re just meant to be better at controlling those feelings. At letting them go.”

Appo was quiet, and she supposed he understood what she had just said, or not said—that she wasn’t particularly good at managing these feelings, not right now.

“Why are you Jedi so set on controlling your emotions? Aren’t they just, y’know, normal?”

“They’re natural, yes,” she said, thinking of all the times the masters in the Temple had passed on this lesson, “But letting emotions get the better of you, allowing them to control your actions, is dangerous when you have the power of the Force. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering—and these are the root of the Dark side.”

“Dar’jetii,” at her inquisitive hum, he continued, “It means no longer a Jedi, or Sith in the right context.”

“Jedi and Mandalorians have a rough history, don’t they? I wish I had chosen to learn about it in the Temple—I went with Echani and Kaleesh cultures instead. Both warlike, which is why I chose them.”

“Big fan of war?” He joked, and she smiled despite herself.

“It was the best way to honour and learn about my people, about my home and traditions, in the Temple. I don’t remember anything about Eshan really. I barely remember the matron at my orphanage, just her name really.”

“You weren’t taken from your parents?”

“Didn’t have any. They didn’t want me,” she said softly. It wasn’t an old wound or scar—she had known it for as long as she could remember, and it had never really stung her like it should. The Jedi were her family, the only family she had ever really known. And the Jedi wanted her, they came for her.

“You don’t know that,” Appo said, sounding a little confused, “Do you? Do you remember them?”

“I never met them, but I don’t need to know them to know they didn’t want me,” she could feel the knot loosening in her stomach slowly, “On Eshan, we’re born into a caste system—your prospects are limited to your birth status, and unless you’re exceptional, there’s not much chance of ever advancing. It’s worse for orphans, especially ones whose parents never declared their birth status before leaving them. You can be a higher ranking soldier, but not much else is worth pursuing, because you’ll never be able to climb any higher. Children whose parents didn’t declare their caste are given surnames that place them in the lowest rank of society; Telatoli, Joona, Ordil, Oren—like my matron—Breveni, Fortuli, Yorden, Vilal, and Luthal.”

Appo was watching her now, silent as he took in what she was saying.

“Not giving your child your surname, or not declaring their caste, guarantees that they will be lowest in the caste system. It shows that your parents found something about your existence wrong, or dishonourable.”

“What if both the parents die and no one knew what caste they were? Or their names?”

“They get names to show they are above my caste—Authal, Garen, Iveni, Cevolen, Lutori, Urval, Namoona, Alial, Qoren. Their prospects aren’t that much better, but enough to make a difference.”

A name came to mind then, one she hadn’t thought of in a while. It was faint, fainter than Madam Oren’s memory.

“There was a girl named Lulien Garen at my orphanage—she was a few months older than me. We were so alike, even Echani had difficulty telling us apart. We used to pretend to be each other. You’d be amazed how differently people treat you, based on a name.”

She couldn’t remember much else—it was a wonder anything came to mind at all—but she remembered Lulien fondly, even if she hadn’t thought of her in years.

“Sounds harsh,” Appo said, leaning against the wall.

She just hummed, “It is what it is. Efforts are being made to change the caste system, but it’s slow goings—Echani are a people of tradition, even when it’s harmful, unfortunately.”

They fell into silence again, and though her anxiety hadn’t completely dissipated, she felt far more at ease than she had before. When Captain Rex relayed their new rendezvous point, Arwen and Appo remained at the back to make sure no one fell behind while Rex led the group.

They ran uninterrupted for a while—too long, her anxious kept telling her—before the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The ground was shaking before she could get a word out, rumbling in her ears and knocking her off her feet, along with everyone else. The stone cracked above them, bearing down, before settling. The dust cleared, and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief—and then it happened again, and again—

“Move it! Everyone go!” Captain Rex ordered, and like a spell had been broken everyone got to their feet, sprinting ahead to get away from the slowly collapsing tunnel. Rocks began crumbling from above, small and sharp from the cracks made in the stone, then larger pieces, the size of a grenade, then bigger than theirs heads—Arwen looked forward, and could see the entire roof collapsing, crumbling with the weight of the what must have been a barrage of bombs above ground causing a cave in.

“Roof’s coming down!” She called out, but they couldn’t move any faster—they were already pushing as hard as they could go, and at this rate, none of them would be making it out alive.

It was easy to make the decision to stay behind, when it meant everyone else had a higher chance of making it out. It was less easy to actually do the work. She halted, reaching out her hands, trying to find the place in the roof that needed the most support, the part that would keep everything else up. After a few desperate seconds where she found nothing, she closed her eyes. Sometimes, the eyes don’t see what the Force can.

She reached out with her senses, projecting upward, forward, scanning the upper part of the tunnel. She could feel the cracks forming, the crumbling of the stone, the way some of the stone slotted against the other pieces, just barely kept from collapsing with the support—there.

She could feel Captain Rex’s presence in the Force near to it, and pressed against the caving section with all her strength. Her knees buckled immediately, and for a second it felt like she had the entire tunnel braced on top of her back. She opened her eyes, watched Torrent Company press forward, closer and closer to clearing the collapsing area.

All but Appo, who was only a few paces away from her, calling her name. She hadn’t heard it, hadn’t wanted to.

“Go! I won’t be able to hold it much longer!” Even letting the air out of her lungs felt like losing strength, like she might be crushed beneath the weight if she exhaled just a little too much.

Appo ignored her, rushing towards her, and if it wouldn’t risk collapsing the entire tunnel on half of Torrent Company, she’d Force push him all the way over to the other side.

“Go!” She yelled, and her hands shook, “I’ll find another way out eventually.”

Appo arrived at her side, “Not without backup, you won’t.”

She looked at his visor, wondering if she could muster the strength to Force push him at least halfway there, but her strength was already giving out—Torrent Company was in the safe zone, far enough away that she could barely hear Captain Rex yelled for them. Her hands fell, and the collapse continued. Appo grabbed her by the shirt, yanking her back. Her legs felt weak, and she was unsteady as she tried to run alongside him—if he wasn’t dragging her, she’d have fallen victim to the boulders falling behind them, she was sure.

He got them both clear of the collapse, and Arwen just barely stopped herself from collapsing onto the ground in relief. She settled for resting against the wall instead, breathing heavily while Appo fruitlessly tried to comm Captain Rex.

They left a message in the static, hoping Captain Rex might be able to hear them, but was just unable to respond. Appo folded his arms across his chest, and she looked away.

“We might be able to make it out from the factory bomb site? Unless you have any ideas?”

“I don’t,” he said, and they were silent for a few seconds, “Don’t do that again, Commander.”

“No promises, Sergeant.”

The pair of them began a steady run back the way they came—faster, now that it was only the two of them. Appo checked his comms every few minutes, hoping for a message, but one never came, and by the time they reached the factory bomb site, they were both certain that Torrent Company must have gotten clear of the catacombs.

“I’ve never been so glad to see desert in my life,” Arwen said as they neared the near blinding light at the end of the tunnel.

“This is the first planet I’ve been to outside of Kamino,” Appo said, “And I don’t think I’ll ever be this happy to be cooked alive in my armour ever again.”

The bomb site was huge—a crater of stone, sand, and metal, with large fires and plums of smoke wafting into the air. It made her cough, but the smoke made for decent cover, and should hopefully make them a little less visible to any stray aircraft overhead.

They couldn’t get a message through to Captain Rex until they reached the surface, and he was already being engaged by droid forces. He gave them the coordinates, and they were, unfortunately, back to running again. They could see the battle in the distance, taking place within a small area of craggy rocks in front of a small cliff face. They would make it there in good time, without all the twists and turns and holes in the ground they faced in the catacombs.

Bombers flew overhead—their own this time, and Appo whooped and cheered as they laid down a barrage of explosives straight on top of several tanks and walkers.

The most dangerous enemies were taken out, thankfully, and as the bombs continued to rain down, the ground beneath the droids grew more and more unsteady. With a groan, Arwen watched the sandy ground collapse, exposing another network of catacombs. It continued to eat at the ground, falling deeper and expanding outward, and Arwen and Appo both slowed to a stop. There was now a giant chasm between them and the rest of Torrent Company, but the collapse had destroyed all but a dozen or so droids, which were already being picked off by the men.

Appo commed Captain Rex again, and to their relief, no one from Torrent Company had fallen since they parted. They had orders to return back to the Command Centre, and it was very likely they wouldn’t be deployed again—Geonosis appeared to be won.

Prospects or the rest of the galaxy were not so great, but—

Appo’s comm device blinked, “Droid fighters inbound, they’re some of the last in atmosphere and they’re heading your way!”

The look she and Appo exchanged was less panicked and more annoyed—and the pair of them began racing forward towards the chasm. It was the closest thing they had to cover, provided they could reach it in time and find a tunnel entrance to hide in. Arwen looked over her shoulder, and saw the fighters far closer than she’d like. They were low to the ground, likely to avoid ground based missiles that didn’t register aircraft close to the ground, and they were gaining on them fast.

She commed Rex, “That chasm stable enough to hide in?”

“Not likely, sir. It's still collapsing in some places,” an explosion sounded, and a plume of smoke went up from inside, “And exploding, sir.”

“Good eye, Captain,” she replied, “Find cover, I don’t know if our guys will catch them on time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the call ended, she checked over her shoulder again, just in time to see a red bolt zap past them and hit the sand. She could see republic troops behind trying to take them out from a distance. Panic began to set in, and she looked back at the chasm as they neared its edge.

“What do we do?” Appo yelled, now slowing down. Two more bolts hit the sand, both flying in between them, “Do we risk going in?”

Arwen’s heart raced, and she squinted, trying to see beyond the smoke. It was clearing, enough that she could just barely make out the other side. Another bolt landed between them, and Appo was nearly knocked off his feet. She made up her mind, “Sorry about this, but I promise you’ll hate it less than the cliff!”

“What—” Right as they neared the edge she halted, but lifted Appo slightly from the ground as she shoved him forward with the Force—he gave a quiet scream this time, and she still felt that rush of panic, of fear, from him. She brushed it aside as best she could. There was no time for guilt. Her feet skidded to a halt at the edge, and she didn’t move until she saw Appo land safely, if a little unsteady. Three bolts landed around her, and she heard an explosion in the far distance. She turned around, running back to get some distance between her and the chasm. She counted three CIS ships.

She turned back to the chasm, and in the clearing smoke she could see Appo waiting for her. Another explosion behind her. Two ships left.

Arwen surged forward, narrowly avoiding two bolts as she moved to the side. She picked up speed quickly, used the Force to buffer her movement—she’d never had to use it so much in her life, never. She neared the edge, and the ships were close enough that she could hear the engines rattling in her eyes, feel the vibrations in her feet every time they hit the sand.

A slew of bolts landed around her, and then another explosion. One left.

It was close, too close, any closer and she would be nothing more than a bug on the windshield. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end again, and as she reached the edge of the chasm, she pushed up and forward. Her hands gripped her lightsabers, unclipping them from her belt as her body slowly spun in the air. Her legs lifted higher, her head swung lower, until she could just see the small CIS ship in the very edges of her vision. Another bolt slid past her, and she ignited her sabers, angling them downwards she just cleared to top of the ship.

One of her blue blades sliced through the wing of the small fighter, and as it continued forward in its momentum, the wing exploded. Arwen landed on her feet, unsteady and stumbling onto her knees several feet away from Appo, and the ship spun out of control, crashing into the cliff face.

Thoroughly exhausted, she barely moved when Appo all but yanked her to her feet and shakes her, “Nice work, Commander—now let’s get to cover, before a rogue assassin droid shows up.”

She snorted, and let him drag her towards Torrent Company, “Sorry about throwing you over the chasm.”

She could see the difference in fighting for your life, and sparing against her agemates more clearly than ever now.

On the mats, there was no real consequence to losing, save for a few bruises, and maybe a tender ego. In real life, it was worse; there was another blaster wound, this time on her outer right thigh, her body ached and begged for a reprieve she couldn’t give, lest she wished to die, and perhaps worst of all, her face and clothes were splattered in yellow blood.

Denal’s armour looked much the same.

The pair of them lead half of the 501st through the catacombs. Resistance was much sparser once they defeated the initial group of Geonosians, and for that Arwen was grateful. It was mostly just droids now, and she much preferred to hear the clatter of metal falling to the ground rather than the screeching of the natives as they drew their last breath.

Deactivating droids—albeit aggressively—she could cope with. Killing the Geonosians… would it have felt this bad if her master hadn’t just perished? Would it feel less like someone was peeling back the festering skin of a fresh wound, if Master Du was beside her?

“Left or right, Commander?”

“Right, Sergeant Denal, otherwise we’ll end up joining back up with Captain Rex’s forces.”

She kept her eyes ahead, only glancing away to check tunnel entrances as they appeared—she wouldn’t rely solely on the Force to warn her of an incoming Geonosian. She had already lost three men since entering the catacombs, she wouldn't risk any more.

Sergeant Denal was a constant presence at her left, his blaster rifle raised as they led half of Torrent Company forward. They had only run into a few small droid squadrons, and they had been easy enough to dispatch, but as they neared the droid factory she was sure they would run into more.

It had been her decision to split the company into two groups—they had a lot of ground to cover, several entry points, and already sparse resistance. Keeping the company together when they had so much to do, and so little time, wasn’t going to get the job done any faster.

Captain Rex agreed, and the two teams split to plant bombs in the factory, collect intel, and capture—or kill—the remaining generals.  The faster, the better. They had no idea if airspace was still being contested, and the signal in the catacombs was so bad that they wouldn’t be able to get an update until they neared the surface again.

As they rounded the corner, the blue light of her sabers reflected sharply back—metal. She came to a halt, and heard Denal take in a deep breath.

“There’s no signal on the comms, but I sent a message to Captain Rex with a timestamp of our arrival.”

“Maybe we’ll get some signal as we go through the factory. Keep an eye on it—we might be able to make contact with the command centre.”

“Yes, sir.”

The metal wasn’t entirely reflective, only in patches where the dust and sand had been disturbed, but it bounced the light of her sabers around far more effectively, and lit the way forward. Arwen squinted as she continued forward, sure that they would face resistance from droids soon. They could be anywhere, in abundance, waiting for them to fall into a trap.

But as Arwen exchanged looks with Denal—or his visor—she realised they couldn’t afford to remain cautious now that they had found the factory. Time was of the essence, and the longer they took, the less likely it was that they would get out. They picked up the pace, Arwen doing her best to extend her senses outwards, hopeful to catch any adversaries before they closed in on them.

She doesn’t flinch when a droideka rolls out into the path in front of them, doesn’t hesitate to throw one of her lightsabers 50 feet in front of her as it comes to a stop. She slices it clean in half, calls her saber back to her hand, and calls out to the group, “They’ll know we’re here. Eyes peeled, and check your fire in case we run into Captain Rex and his group.”

There was a chorus of affirmatives, and Arwen led them into a hallway that split further to the right. If she remembered her glimpses of the schematics correctly, they should be heading in the direction of one of the many control rooms, which would also be near one of the power plants.

“Droids on our tail!”

She whipped around, whispering a curse under her breath. How hadn’t she picked them up with her senses? Why couldn’t she extend them even just a tiny bit beyond her immediate area? Why wasn’t she good enough—

Blaster fire rang out, bolts ricocheting off the durasteel walls and leaving behind harsh scorches. She couldn’t get easily to the front of the group to help, there was no cover, and she scrambled for a solution.

“Keep going the way we were headed,” Sergeant Denal called, “We’re almost at a cross section—we can use the corners for cover!”

Arwen pressed closely to the walls to let the men pass as best she could, feeling her hands shake with unused adrenaline. She was desperate to move, her legs twitching, but she reigned herself in. She could help, but barrelling through the men would only lead to more deaths than if she waited.

As soon as the men were clear, she began deflecting bolts back to the droids, covering the mens back as they retreated. With no fire coming from the clones, she could focus entirely on the droids ahead as she backstepped, not having to worry about accidentally blocking the clones' shots.

When their thundering footsteps came to a halt, she retreated back faster, eventually getting to a point where the men felt comfortable firing. She ducked behind one of the corners, surveying the men on each side.

Some injuries, a few burns from blaster fire, but from what she could tell nothing serious, and no deaths.

They were extremely fortunate.

She looked beyond, down the hall further to the right, and her eyes lit up. She could see a set of doors, and an access terminal in front of it.

“I think I can see a door to a control room,” Arwen called out. Denal’s helmet swivelled towards her as he stepped back for cover, letting someone else take his place.

“A power plant shouldn't be too far off then. We’ll finish off these droids, then get to work.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in his voice, “Anything from Captain Rex yet?”

“Nothing yet.”

They made relatively quick work of the droids, and soon made their way down the hall, stopping at the access terminal. Sergeant Denal huffed as he fiddled with the keypad, smacking the side of the terminal when it flashed red, ‘DENIED’ popping up on the screen.

“We need a keycode,” he stepped back, “Maybe those droids back there have it stored in their data banks—”

Arwen slashed through the terminal with one of her sabers, and the door slid open.

Denal was quiet for a few seconds, “Why didn’t you just do that in the beginning?”

Arwen gave a sheepish smile, “I wasn’t really sure if it would work.”

She pressed forwards before he could respond, finding the room empty. Nevertheless, a few men were stationed at the door, just in case, and the remaining people swept the room quickly. It took only a few seconds; the room was relatively small, and the only places to hide were beneath the computer terminals, which had all been left on.

Arwen wasn’t a slicer, and didn’t have much talent in regards to computers and programming, but like most padawans her age, she knew enough to get by. The fact that the computers didn’t require a password to access should have been clue enough that they wouldn’t find anything noteworthy here.

She sighed after ten minutes of scouring for information, deleted files, contact records, financial details, blueprints, anything, and looked at Denal, “Nothing here. Computers have been scrubbed clean.”

“Think we’ll have any luck in the other control rooms?”

“Hopefully, otherwise this will be a total bust.”

“Well, not a total bust, if you ask me,” she could hear the mischief in his voice as he reached into someone’s pack, pulling out a handful of explosives. Arwen whistled—explosives weren’t exactly her area of expertise, but she knew enough about them to know that these ones packed a punch, and were detonated remotely.

“Who's the lucky man who gets to click the detonator?”

“Me,” he said smugly. He threw one to her, which she caught easily with the Force, “Stick it under that desk, would you?” She did as she was told, and in minutes they were heading towards the power plant, which ended up being several hallways and another droid squad away.

The room was massive, but essentially empty, which made Arwen think they were holing up somewhere, probably with a general, if there was still one present. The company split into pairs to cover more ground, laying out explosives intermittently in the places they would do the most damage—beneath a power coil, along a gas line, atop a case with flammable liquid.

They departed the room in quick time, all clones accounted for, and continued their way through the factory. They bypassed any droid processing areas—too many droids, too few safe areas to traverse, too much risk—and encountered few enemies on the way.

They found three more control rooms, two more power plants, and the longer they travelled uncontested, the more on edge Arwen got. The hair on her neck stood on end, and her grip on her sabers was white-knuckled. She couldn’t even tell if it was the Force telling her to be on guard, or her own paranoid mind.

Regardless, her paranoia came in handy when, after slashing  through a terminal to a main control room, several blaster bolts came right for her. She deflected them with some difficulty, but they just kept on coming.

The clones were already clear of the doorway, unable to be closed, so Arwen backed off too, “Anything from the Captain yet? We might need some backup here.”

“I’ve tried a few more times, still nothing. We’re on our own.”

“Don’t suppose we have any droid poppers left?”

“Just three, sir, and it won’t be enough.”

Arwen peeked her head around the door, trying to take a quick headcount of their adversaries—dozens of B1’s and B2’s, two droideka’s, a general—and ducked back just as a blaster came zipping past. She could feel the heat of it as it zapped by her forehead, “Definitely not enough,” she hadn’t even gotten through half the room, “But I think I saw a door on the other side.”

“A second entry point? Was it guarded?”

“About the same as this one, but it could give us the advantage. And we need to cut off their exit anyway—I saw their general.”

“Not a droid general, I take it?” At his words, Arwen shook her head. Denal sighed, and she watched his helmet tip back, “Why do we never get the easy ones? I heard Captain Keeli say their last two droid forces were led by another droid, and they were easy pickings.”

She didn’t humour him with a response, but couldn’t stop the small smile on her face. They split their already divided force into two, Arwen and Denal remaining where they were. Once the others got to the terminal, they would blast it to gain access, which would hopefully distract them long enough for Arwen and Denal’s men to toss the droid poppers in with at least a little bit of accuracy. From there, they would take out as many droids as they could, press forward when they had the room, and hopefully take the general captive so they could gather some intel.

The clones took plenty of shots when they could, never allowing the droids or the general to get comfortable or strengthen their defences, and Arwen was surprised to see just how many they had managed to pick off as they waited for their team to get into position. Not enough to push forward, of course, but enough to litter the floors and cause issues for droids trying to reposition, especially the much less manoeuvrable B2’s.

Arwen kept a close eye on where the general was hiding—she had seen him duck beneath one of the desks, and could just see the mustard colour of some of his clothes peaking out. He was Kerkoiden—not a species she could say she had seen man of throughout her travels as a padawan—and she could hear him barking out orders to the droids, though was unable to actually make out any words over the blaster fire.

She got no warning from the Force when the doors on the other side of the room shot open, but it didn’t mean she jumped into action any slower. As soon as the majority of the droid forces turned to begin covering the backs, Arwen signalled for her men to throw the droid poppers.

She aided with the Force where she could, but got distracted part way through when a bolt from a droideka nearly clipped her ear. Luckily, her men had good aim, and the sudden electrical charges took at three of the four droidekas, and a good number of B2’s

They would make quick work of the rest. Her eyes flickered over towards the doors, and she saw Captain Rex and his men file in—they’d finally caught each other.

As the numbers thinned, Arwen finally went into the room, taking cover behind the thick metal of the desks where possible, and the clones followed her lead. The general, whatever his name was, was suspiciously quiet now that backup had arrived. He’d likely realised there was no getting out of this, and hoped to remain hidden and safe underneath his desk.

The last droideka was still firing, but it was on the opposite end of the room to the general, and so were most of the remaining droids. If she could get to the general, she could get him to call the remaining droids off—it wouldn’t exactly be a moral victory, as their enemy wasn’t sentient and being spared from death, but if it stopped the fight early it could potentially save a few clones some injuries, maybe even their lives.

She didn’t call out her plan, lest they hear it and begin trying to regroup, and began cutting through the droids in her way. More than a few blaster bolts came her way, but in the thinning numbers, they were easy to deflect. She could sense Denal directly behind her, offering her cover fire, where she offered deflection.

Finally, she passed the last isle of desks, leaning down, sabers aimed towards the place beneath—

“The general’s gone!” She yelled, gritting her teeth, “There's a vent here—he must have escaped through it.”

“Where does it lead?” Captain Rex asked from across the room.

Arwen eyed the open vent space with trepidation, and stuck one of her sabers down slightly. The metal reflected well, but not well enough to see, “Down,” she replied, and eyed the hook and cable wedged into the floor. She lifted it slightly with the Force, trying to see if there was any weight attached to it, if the general was still hanging on the other end. It had plenty of slack, and she sighed, “There’s a cable attached. I’m going down too!”

“Wait, sir—”

She disengaged her sabers, leaning down and sitting on the edge, her feet disappearing into the darkness, “I won’t be long—I’ll meet you back up here shortly.”

“Commander—”

She slid into the vent, and began a quick descent, not bothering to grip the cable, and instead extended her senses outward. She’d have to catch herself.

She took a peek upwards as she fell, and saw a shape cloud the little light that came from the top of the vent—Denal, if she had to guess. The cable moved slightly, and she hoped he had a good grip.

Her senses flared as the bottom neared, and she slowed her descent with little difficulty. She landed steadily on her feet, and quickly climbed out of the vent directly in front of her—

She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt to the head. It made contact with the wall instead, leaving a burn behind. She peeked out from behind her cover—another desk—and caught the general making a run for the door. She stood and reached out a hand towards a metal cabinet next to the exit, using the Force to nudge it out of place until it tipped on its side and blocked the door and terminal.

Finally, the general turned to her, blaster raised shakily towards her. She ignited her sabers. His red eyes glinted, a stark contrast to the blue skin, and she thought she saw his mouth trembling in fear. Guilt wracked her, and she lowered her sabers slightly.

A Jedi’s first instinct should not be violence.

“Surrender now general,” she heard Denal’s feet make contact with the vent floor, and watched the Kerkoiden twitch as his red eyes snapped to find the sound, “A peaceful surrender will get you much more sympathy when it comes to trial.”

His upper lip curled in disgust, and he shook his oddly shaped head—cone-like, until it tapered down to his nose and jaw. He bared his lower tusks at her, “I won’t surrender, padawan. I’d rather die.”

He fired his blaster, and Arwen leapt to the side, her saber just managing to catch the bolt before it made contact with Denal as he exited the vent. Her eyes narrowed at the Kerkoiden as he scrambled to hide behind another desk.

At least she could tell he wasn’t going for another vent, as he periodically raised his blaster above the desk to shoot randomly towards them. She began deflecting shots—and it almost felt easy. One person was nothing to defend against, and his rate of fire was nowhere near as rapid as the droids she used to practise against.

Denal came up beside her, and when his helmet tipped in her direction, she looked at him. He gestured for her to go right, and he would go left. She nodded, but began speaking.

“Final warning, surrender and submit yourself to justice under the Republic.”

He started cackling, and the shots stopped. She froze, the sudden silence eerie, and watched Denal stop walking. On either side of the desk, Denal nodded to her—

The Kerkoiden general leapt out from his hiding space, firing off several shots at Arwen that she easily deflected, then turned to Denal. Her heart raced, she reached a hand out—to do what, she didn’t know—but Denal fired at the same time he did.

The generals shot missed by a hair as Denal ducked, but Denal’s landed square on his chest.

She took a deep breath, tried to ignore to echoing scream in the Force as something else was gouged out, and Denal lowered his blaster. When he spoke, his voice was stiff, “What’s that?” His foot nudged a small device with a flashing red light. It was plugged into the computer. Arwen knelt down, pointedly avoiding even looking at the body before her, and read the aubresh letters across the small screen aloud.

It was still day two of the Battle of Geonosis, and Torrent Company had been deployed in two more skirmishes as backup to struggling clone companies. They weren’t easy battles by any means, but they were all victories. Master Windu led the first group they were reinforcing, and when they were finished both companies had left to assist Master Plo.

The battles passed in a blur. Strategy talks were brief and to the point, but Arwen had been able to take part freely, and felt no small amount of pride when her suggestions were met with agreement. Her years of study were difficult to apply to real-life situations, but incredibly useful, and Captain Rex didn’t hold back when he thought her ideas may not work.

Though Master Windu didn’t give praise often, she felt it was praise enough that when a battle was over, he didn’t pull her aside to chide her, or tell her what she could have done better.

Denal and Appo were never far from her side during battle, unless plans called for it, and she stuck close by the two clones whenever they boarded the LAAT/i’s.

The end of the second day had come well after sunset, and Torrent Company had shuffled to their new tent in relative silence. Once more, she dropped onto a cot beside Appo and Denal with little fanfare, and promptly sank into a deep sleep.

Dreamless again, thank the Force.

She was still tired when she woke for the third day, although this time it was because the rest of the company was already awake and getting back into their armour. She felt a pinch of guilt—she wasn’t tired enough to justify not heading to the medical tents to help in any way she could, but there was no time now.

Dumping excess sand from her boots, she slipped them on, clipped on her belt and her lightsabers, and followed the clones out of the tent. They met with Master Yoda, who gave them a brief overview on how well the campaign was going.

“Located the last of the droid armies, we have. Within the catacombs, most can be found, and in hidden droid factories. Gather information from the data banks, the main priority is. Secondary, capturing the remaining generals is.”

“They’re getting desperate,” Master Mundi said, “and unpredictable. Take them alive if you can, but do not take any unnecessary risks.”

While the clones sounded off their affirmatives, Arwen bowed her head.

Arwen and Torrent Company were deployed to the sand flats—there was no cover there, save for the broken hulls and metal carcasses of both Separatist and Republic ships and walkers alike. It wouldn’t matter if they were quick—they needed to take out the droid forces that were blocking the entrance to the catacombs. Once inside, they would be safe from any artillery fire or ships. 

It was scorching hot by the time they reached their new battlefield, despite the sun only being in the sky for less than two hours. Arwen was certain that her clothes would be entirely unsaveable after this—the stench of sweat, the stains from sand, grime and smoke were utterly embedded in the fabric now.

No droids had been visible when the LAAT/i’s dropped them off, but they knew they were there, waiting for Republic ships to leave before beginning their attack, or waiting for them to approach the entrance to the catacombs, ready to spring an attack. The droids had been spotted less than thirty minutes earlier, and being so far into the sand flats meant that it would have taken them more than an hour to march anywhere else.

They were in there.

She and Torrent Company approached slowly, taking cover behind the hulking metal carcasses the entire way. It seemed the droids were unwilling to make the first move, likely hoping to bottleneck them in the entrance, goading them forward by not initiating battle.

They made it all the way to the crevice in the ground—it lowered down at a low incline, and visibility looked poor—and there was no sign of the droids.

“They’re waiting for us to enter,” Captain Rex said, “We’ll be much easier to pick off in there. We’ll barely be able to fit three people side by side.”

“We might need to wait for a bomb squad to blow open the entrance if they won’t come out,” Arwen said quietly, “But that could take a while. Master Mundi said the airstrike team is too busy contesting airspace to offer any aid that isn’t nearby.”

“And they're halfway around the planet, aren’t they?” Sergeant Appo asked, “The longer we wait, the less chance we have at getting in.”

“We could always send some droid poppers down,” Sergeant Denal said, “Clear out a few—if they reach.”

Arwen hummed in thought, “We don’t know how far down the droids will be. We might not hit any of them, then we’re down however many droid poppers that could be really useful in close combat.”

They continued their discussion, trying to weigh the pros and cons, looking for a way to engage the droids without getting half their company killed.

Captain Rex’s comm crackled to life, “You’ve got droid bombers closing in on your location—find cover!”

Arwen’s eyes scanned the horizon frantically in all directions, but she couldn’t see anything yet.

“We’re in the flats! There’s no cover out here! Can you get some fighters out here to take care of them?”

“We’ve got a squad on their tail, but the droids have a good lead on them. Don’t think they’ll get them on time. Find cover. Out.”

Arwen’s eyes zeroed in on six dots in the distance—six ships, fast approaching, “Spotted, we need to move.”

Everyone’s gaze went to the crevice in the ground.

“This was their plan all along,” Sergeant Appo said uncomfortably.

“We shouldn’t go down there,” Sergeant Denal said.

“We don’t have a choice,” Arwen said, looking back at the incoming ships, “I’ll take point. If we stay up here any longer, it won’t matter how fast we run down—the bombs will cave in the walls before we get far enough away.”

She exchanged a look with Captain Rex, and although it was impossible to discern his expression through the helmet, his body language told her enough—he agreed with her, even though he didn’t like it. He knew they didn’t have another choice.

He nodded at Arwen, “I’ll stick close by. Torrent Company, pair up as we enter. Keep your eye out, and don’t waste any time.”

Blue sabers lighting the way, Arwen rushed inside, the loud footsteps of Torrent Company sounding behind her. The light faded quickly, and Captain Rex switched on his helmet torch after a few seconds—she hadn’t known they had them.

They rushed further down, and the distant screech of engines drew closer and closer. There was cannon fire too, but they had been right to go into the catacombs—only seconds later, a deep boom sounded, followed by four more, and the ground shook. She maintained her balance, but when she turned her head to look back at the way they came in, she could see stone crumbling, and the faint light of the Geonosian sun disappeared.

Falling stone rattled around for a few seconds after that, until the catacombs went silent.

“Move out,” she called, though not very loudly, and began leading them forwards, “Be wary, call out any movement you see.”

The catacombs were much cooler than above ground, but they smelled odd. Some stone was carved smooth, but a lot of it was jagged and rough, and there were more offshooting caverns than she was comfortable with. Still, no droids had shown themselves. Her entire body felt tense, and her insides were twisting unpleasantly.

Quietly, she spoke to Captain Rex, “We’re still on the right path to the droid factory, aren’t we?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw his helmet tip forward, “We are, Commander. Hard to say if they’re just waiting for the opportune moment to strike, or if they’ve fully retreated to the factory to secure it.”

Her fingers tightened around her lightsabers, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, “I don’t like this. Something feels… off.”

“Off, sir?”

She hummed quietly, eyes darting around, searching, “Yes, off. Something isn’t right,” her voice lowered even further, and her muscles twitched, “We’re being watched. I can sense it.”

Captain Rex said nothing, and halted when she did, blaster pointing into the darkness. Torrent Company’s shuffle came to an end, “I can’t see them—where?” Captain Rex asked, his entire body tense.

“I can’t see them. Everyone hold still—I’m going to try something,” she lowered her sabers, but kept them ignited, her eyes slowly closing.

“Commander,” Captain Rex said sharply, “What are you doing—?”

“I might be able to sense them nearby if I concentrate, so stop talking—please,” she said quietly. She heard Captain Rex huff, but he said nothing more.

Inhaling slowly, she tried to sink into a meditative state—not easy for her, especially when she was waiting to be ambushed—on the surface, things felt fine. She could feel Torrent Company around her, their Force signatures much easier to pick out than they should have been. She could spar with other padawans for months, and not be able to feel them so keenly around her.

She tried not to linger on the why, and pushed her mind further out.

Despite being a desert planet, she knew Geonosis wasn’t devoid of life. On planet like these it may be sparse, but that didn’t mean it didn’ exist. Hardy root plants, spiked shrubbery, dry grasses, and cunning animals could be found if you knew where to look. It took a lot to survive in such a harsh environment, but the Geonosians in particular had mastered life in such conditions.

It really shouldn’t have surprised Arwen when she felt multiple Force signatures close in around them. Her eyes snapped open, a warning on her tongue—

Her shoto blade pushed out, the plasma cutting through a native Geonosian.

She froze, eyes wide, as its body split in half, yellow blood spilling onto the stone.

Bile rose up her throat, and she desperately swallowed it back down. Dozens of Geonosians and droids flooded into the catacomb chamber they were in, but she was frozen. She had never killed someone before—hell, she had barely fought someone outside of the context of sparring. Everyone had been over quickly, people disarmed, and she had faced no threat from real, living people. Cutting down droids may have been dangerous for her, but they weren’t alive. They didn’t breathe and bleed. They didn’t scream in pain. They didn’t get that look of terror in their eyes when they realised what was happening. Droids didn’t leave a painful wound in the Force when they were destroyed, a reminder of what had been gouged out.

Someone screamed, and she immediately realised it was one of Torrent Company—she steeled herself, jaw setting. 

In chaos, I find serenity.

Where others may panic, I will be at peace.

In peace, I am restless, but in battle, I am one with the Force.

She cut through a B1, then pushed another one back with the Force, knocking a Geonosian down in the process. Behind her, Torrent Company was calling out that they were surrounded, that droids and Geonosians were piling out of offshooting caverns behind them.

Someone screamed, and she whipped around, seeing a clone getting carried off by two Geonosians, dragged by his arms through a cavern. She reached out, finding his presence in the Force, and promptly yanked him towards her, disengaging one of her lightsabers as she did so.

One of the Geonosians smashed into the wall, due to the awkward angle, but the other kept a firm hold on the clone, making an ear splitting screeching noise as it came hurtling towards her. Her saber cut through its arms as she caught the clone, and several bolts of blaster fire took care of the rest. She made sure the clone was okay before hurtling herself over a pile of droids, and rushing towards Captain Rex and a small group of men. They had moved ahead, pursuing the Geonosians as they grabbed a pair of clones and attempted to make off with them.

She met up with them just as they ducked through another entrance, but the clones all stopped, their helmets tipped up.

“They’re taking him up there!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!”

Arwen looked up, finding a perfectly vertical shaft, and grimaced. Whoever had been grabbed was dangling just low enough to block a good shot on the Geonosians, but before she could reach out and yank them all back down with the Force, they disappeared into another entrance off to the side.

“Kriff—they got Coric.”

“Denal’s gonna be so upset—”

Arwen pushed off from the ground, the Force carrying her several feet in the air, and she used the narrow walls to bounce up further. She could hear the clones below, Captain Rex in particular, calling out, but she simply disappeared into the hole she had seen the clone, Coric, be taken into.

She landed stably, and as soon as Coric was within her sights, white armour mercifully easy to spot in the darkness, she pulled him towards her. The Geonosians, evidently not expecting further pursuit, lost their grip on him almost instantly. Coric came launching towards her, and she steadied him without pause, igniting her other saber.

The Geonosians fired upon them, but she easily deflected them. After fighting on an open battlefield, against so many targets at once, deflecting two people at a time felt almost too easy. One of the bolts ricocheted off her shoto and hit one of the Geonosians squarely in the head. He dropped to the ground, and Arwen tried not to grimace. She couldn’t look weak, not in front of an enemy who would use it against her.

She didn’t want to die in the catacombs. She didn’t want Coric to die in the catacombs. She didn’t want anyone to die in this wretched place.

Master Du was still lying dead in another set of catacombs, far away. She deserved better than that. They all did.

Disengaging a saber and clipping it at her belt, she used her free hand to force the Geonosian closer, pulling it to her as she had with Coric—only this time, she held her saber out, driving directly through its chitinous skin. Her hand braced on its shoulder to stop it from impacting her, and after a shaky exhale, she met its eyes.

It was full of hatred and anger, but she could see it fading quickly and, even knowing it would have gladly killed her given the chance, she couldn’t stop the swell of guilt.

She pushed it back, its body sliding off the end of her saber and onto the ground.

Unwilling to think about what she had done any longer, she turned, gently pulling a puffing Coric by the wrist back to where they came from, “Are you alright, Coric?”

“Yes, sir. Just winded,” he wheezed, “How are we getting back down?” He asked, looking down towards where the clones waited. They cheered when they saw them.

“Same way I got Appo and I down that cliff.”

“What—”

She lifted him with the Force and he gasped, and she lowered him relatively steadily down. His feet thunked against the floor, and he quickly made way for her. She stepped off the edge and after a few seconds of freefalling she landed nimbly on her feet.

Even through the helmet, she could feel Captain Rex looking at her. She could see in the way he stood that he wasn’t sure what to feel—disapproval, gratefulness, exasperation—but she was fine with that. Even if he decided she was being too reckless, she would still keep doing things like that.

When they won the planet, maybe he wouldn’t ever have to see her again. Then he wouldn’t need to worry about it.

Arwen tried not to linger on how uncomfortable she was with the thought of not seeing the clones again.

They began heading back towards the rest of the company, finding them doing a decent job at fending off the enemy. Coric ran right back into the fray, as did most of the others, but Arwen immediately grew distracted when she saw another tunnel flood with Geonosians. Wanting to take them out quickly, Arwen rushes towards the tunnel.

She drags her sabers across the stone, carving jagged lines deep within the rock, then takes several steps back. As the Geonosians grew nearer, she disengaged her sabers again, reaching her hands out towards the stone.

It takes her four tries to get the stone to begin to crumble, another two to get it to rumble, and one more to get it to cave in—she was all too aware of the sudden gash that appeared in the Force nearby, but she pushed it aside. She couldn’t think about it, not if she wanted to survive.

Feeling satisfied with her efforts, she turned back, making sure all the clones had made it safely back to the group—only to see Captain Rex surrounded on all sides by himself, not far behind her.

Had he been following her? Making sure she didn’t get herself killed, instead of following after his men?

She was flooded with guilt again.

Captain Rex reeled back, slamming the butt of his rifle into the face of a Geonosian, firing at another, and kicking at the one that grabbed at his arms. More Geonosians formed around him, pouring out of tunnel entrances, and soon they were upon her too. A quick glance at the rest of Torrent Company showed her they were busy with their own issues, a mix of Geonosians and droids, but they were slowly making their way closer to them.

The insectoids were closing in on her quickly, and she could see Captain Rex being pushed further and further away. She didn’t know how he was managing against so many of them, but it was a testament to his skill.

Arwen began pressing forward, trying not to look at the Geonosians she was forced to cut down on the way.

When the battle was over, when she had rid herself of any lingering exhaustion, she knew this day in particular would stay with her, and she dreaded it.

Captain Rex was losing his footing fast, being grabbed and pulled, wrenching free and fighting back, then getting grabbed all over again. She couldn’t get to him fast enough, and he was dragged through another tunnel.

“Captain!” She yelled, Force pushing a Geonosian back into the rock so hard that, with a sickening crack, it slumped to the ground, completely still.

She rushed into the tunnel, narrowly avoiding a blaster shot that came from the Geonosians. She sent it flying back, taking one of them out, and when she stepped into an open chamber she finally got a chance to help Captain Rex.

She cut through the Geonosians blocking her way, and found the captain on his knees, barely holding off the enemy. Her sabers slashed wildly around him, forcing the Geonosians back in a bid to give Captain Rex a chance to get up. Finally, he rose, blasters firing rapidly. 

She could feel panic slowly creeping up on her as the enemy closed in on them once more. Only a few of them had blasters, but most had pikes or static pikes, and it was getting harder and harder to keep up with them. She and Captain Rex twisted around one another, trading places as they spun and stepped around, trying to give the Geonosians a harder to hit target—when Captain Rex shot off several rounds in one direction, she would pivot and send back any blaster fire coming his way, and while he shot in the other direction, she would parry any pike strikes, then pivot all over again to cover Captain Rex.

She wasn’t sure how much longer they could keep it up—there were only two of them, and they were completely surrounded, and the rest of Torrent Company would be occupied for who knows how long.

They needed to end this, and quickly.

She knew of a move she could do, it was one she had been practising for a good few months now—but she had never successfully pulled it off.

Then again, she had done things these past few days she never once dreamed herself capable of.

“Captain, duck down!”

He did as she said without question, and in half a second Arwen threw both of her sabers—one high, one low.

Hands outstretched, she latched onto their Force signatures—so familiar to her that they may as well be part of her—and began to guide them through the air.

It was difficult—as difficult as redirecting those missiles had been, despite the incredible difference in size, weight, velocity and resistance—but she managed to hold them steady as she spun a full 1080 degrees, letting them slash through the air and whatever got in their path.

Her throat tightened, and the crushing urge to sob was something she could barely beat down, but she had to. She didn’t want to die here. She didn’t want Rex to die here. She was dimly aware that her emotional state was just making it more difficult, but she didn’t know how to stop it.

Weren’t her people supposed to be good at battle? At handling war, and death, and all that came with it? 

The pressure to drop them grew every time they cut through something—someone—and the screeches and cries were enough to make her crumble to her knees, her sabers falling to the stone floor, useless.

Her eyes stung with tears, and her chest heaved. 

The Force was screaming with pain, and falling abruptly silent—she did that. She was leaving those gaping holes. It was her fault—

Several rounds of blaster fire rang out, and on instinct her sabers were back in her hands, eyes frantic.

But it was only Captain Rex, finishing off the last of the Geonosians.

He was standing now, and his helmet tipped down towards her.

She felt pathetic, on her knees, surrounded by beings she had killed,almost crying… she didn’t deserve to feel sorry for herself. Not when she had willingly chosen to do this. Master Yoda had told her she could go, if she wished. She didn’t doubt she still could. But she wouldn’t.

Arwen briefly considered whether she was actually staying for the right reasons—was it simply to fulfil her duty, as Master Du would want her to? Was she living out her sick, repressed fantasy of fighting in a war when all she had ever been told growing up was that her people's ways did not have a place among those of the Jedi Order? Was she trying to enact some kind of twisted revenged, killing Geonosians indiscriminately because her master had died in the catacombs, on their planet?

She felt sick to her stomach, unsure of what to think—what was she thinking, what was she even doing here—

Captain Rex’s hand on her shoulder snapped her back to reality. Vision blurred, she looked up at him, trying to pull herself together. His hand tightened for a second, and she was surprised by how easily she sank into the comfort of a simple gesture.

She hadn’t received much physical comfort in her life. She thought she hadn’t needed it for years now. Master Du had been sparse in offering physical contact, but Arwen had always been okay with what they had. Master Du had always given Arwen exactly what she needed, when she needed it. Before becoming a padawan, she had memories of Master Plo offering a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Master Kenobi too, whenever she would lose control of her emotions.

Most of the time, when she was vulnerable enough to need physical comfort, she had been young, and almost always on the verge of tears in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. As she grew older and matured, she lost that need and, eventually, she viewed it as something entirely unnecessary for her.

She thought it was simply something she could outgrow.

Arwen saw its value now. Knew she needed it, probably more than she should.

“C’mon, Commander. Let’s get back to the boys, make sure everyone’s okay.”

Arwen drew in a deep breath, blinking the wetness from her eyes. Why did a gentle voice make her feel even worse?

“Yes, Captain,” she drew herself up, her knees still slightly weak, and took the lead. She waited for the captain’s hand to slide off and back to his blaster.

The Force is merciful afterall, Arwen thought, stirring from a dreamless sleep, even if that sleep felt like barely an hour-long nap.

Although, when she sat up and stretched, immediately followed by a powerful throbbing across her back and shoulder, she thought it could have been a tiny bit more merciful.

The barest hints of light were slipping through the flaps of the tent, and although it was quite temperate for the time being, she knew it wouldn’t be long before she began sweating through her clothes. She sat on the edge of her cot, doing her best not to disturb the still sleeping clones.

She looked at the hole in her robes, then gently peeled back the bacta patch to take a peek. It had scarred over already, fleshy and pink, but it would take another day or so for that to go away, provided the patch stayed on. She smoothed it back down, then lowered her head into her hands.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if the blaster bolt struck a few inches over. She would have joined Master Du in the Force, and been spared the suffering.

Her heart lurched, and guilt promptly settled in the pit of her stomach. Master Du would never want her to think that. But how could she stop those intrusive thoughts? How could she settle her mind when she had nothing to do, nothing to distract her?

Master Du would tell her to meditate—the traditional way, for something so important—but Arwen wasn’t sure she could. She was scared to reach too deeply into the Force, only to feel an absence.

Instead, Arwen slid on her boots—still filled with grains of sand, despite trying to empty them the night before—then clipped on her belt and lightsabers, and padded out of the tent. The camp was relatively quiet on their end, but on the opposite side, quite a distance away, she could see a company of soldiers geared up and marching towards their makeshift shipyard.

Arwen headed straight for the medical tents, desperate for something to occupy her mind.

She spent a good few hours flitting between the tent, under the reluctant orders of clone medics who seemed much less desperate for extra hands. They thought she should be resting, but Arwen knew it would be useless to attempt.

She managed to catch Captain Keeli before he was discharged from the medical tent, Mixer as well, and between assigned work like administering stims, bringing water and rations, and taking vitals, Arwen busied herself with talking to the clones and learning the names of those who already had them. They weren’t… traditional names, but she liked them nonetheless, and they suited the clones better than if they had been given names at birth. They were unique to them, and represented something far deeper than, say, her own name did.

Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure what her name meant on Eshan at all, or if it even had meaning. She was an orphan, left to one of the poorest orphanages on the planet, and the chances of her being born to parents who died fighting in one of the many civil wars or simply being given up were equally likely. Her name was likely hastily given, and, as it was with many orphans on Eshan, likely not one that told of any relations to her biological family. Luthal was more likely to be a randomly selected surname, so that she would never be able to make any connections to her biological family without jumping through some considerable hoops.

She didn’t really have a desire to find them anyway—the Jedi, the Order, were her family.

Master Du had been her family.

Captain Rex appeared in the medical tent, helmet tucked under his arm, looking frantic for half a second—when his eyes landed on her, it turned to thinly veiled frustration, “Sir, I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, a little sheepish. She hadn’t even thought to tell anyone where she was going. They were all sleeping. He still looked disgruntled, but nevertheless straightened up to relay orders.

“We’re shipping out soon. Carriers are in short supply, so we’ll be going over in groups.”

Arwen kept pace with the captain, wondering if she should ask about getting a few pieces of armour to protect herself, but one look at the scant other Jedi that they crossed paths with nixed that idea.

Everyone was still in their usual robes, even though they were fighting a war. Maybe it was simply because there wasn’t enough for the Jedi to wear? Or maybe they needed to be fitted first?

No, she thought. It isn’t the Jedi way to wear armour.

Even during the bombings and skirmishes that occurred during the Separatist Crisis hadn’t driven the Jedi to wear armour. Their training covered deflecting blaster bolts, even if the Jedi in question had never had an interest in fighting, so she supposed she could see why armour wasn’t their main concern, but… wouldn’t it be better, just in case?

Jedi were peacekeepers, they had a duty to protect people, but didn’t they have a duty to themselves as well? Surely wearing armour wouldn’t be taken the wrong way, when it could possibly save their lives?

Could armour have saved Master Du’s life?

She pushed the thought out of her mind as soon as it appeared.

She finally exchanged comm frequencies with Captain Rex—it took longer than it should, as both comms were encrypted and not meant to be shared outside of their own groups.

Rejoining Torrent Company, they went over the terrain of their next battle location, as well as the predicted resistance, and their ultimate goal of capturing one of the few remaining non-droid generals on Geonosis, the Neimoidian Lar Nuuk, believed to have a good deal of information because of his close ties with the Trade Federation. His capture was a high priority, so they would have to check their fire when they closed in on his location. Their drop point was behind a section of tall, craggy sandstones that would offer them plenty of cover while they attempted to back General Nuuk up against the back of a steep cliff.

While the LAAT/i’s refuelled, Arwen and the men exchanged comm frequencies. It was a pain doing it manually, but the technicians hadn’t been given the chance to set up communications more effectively—there were more pressing matters at hand for them. Arwen hoped she wouldn’t need to make use of all the new frequencies for any dire reasons, but it would be incredibly stupid to go into another battle without them.

At the end of the strategy overview, it was decided that Captain Rex would take point in the first trip over—the available ships could only carry about a third of the company’s numbers—and Arwen would travel with the last group, accompanied by Sergeant Appo.

She kept a firm grip on the handhold, even while the ship was still stationary—hers carried the smallest group, only ten of Torrent Company, plus the two pilots, the front gunner, and the two turret operators. Aside from the crew, the other two LAAT/i’s space was mostly taken up by their supplies—extra tibanna gas for their blasters, basic medical supplies, and rations and water in case they got stuck out there for a bit. The first two transport routes had taken not only most of Torrent Company, but also much more heavy weaponry, in case they met extreme resistance.

When the pilots called out they were taking off, Arwen finally allowed herself to feel some kind of relief—they were almost there. She wouldn’t have to wait and twiddle her thumbs for much longer. She would have something to completely occupy her mind soon.

The take off was smooth, and the three ships flew in close formation, relatively low to the ground to avoid being detected. The doors were left open for quick deployment, and in the distance she could see the battles still raging across the sand and in the sky. Everything was too far to make out, too small for her to be able to tell if the clones were winning or losing, but she was hopeful. Most of the droid forces were only digging their heels in enough to destroy information and defend a position long enough for important figureheads—like General Nuuk—to escape.

They would win. It was just a matter of when.

The ship carried them beyond some deep canyons, then across some flats, until they finally reached an endless sea of sand dunes. There were no battles being fought here, where the terrain was incredibly unstable and difficult to traverse, and where both clones and droids would have too much difficulty setting up any point of significance. It was just beyond the dunes where they were headed, and if Arwen squinted and leaned slightly outside the open door of the LAAT/i, she could see where the sloping sands ended.

The stone, a deep burnt orange colour, marked the top of the cliff face General Nuuk would be backed into, and it was a point they needed to give a wide berth, as their troops were far on the other side. The position took a while to get to, but the tactical advantage it gave them was worth it. Approaching from behind, from the dunes and top of the cliff, just meant they gave General Nuuk time to retreat into a much more defensible position. If he made it into the crags, then beyond into another set of canyons, they’d likely never catch him.

Her head snapped up, a warning scream on her lips—

The ship shuddered and groaned, and Arwen lost her footing, managing to stay inside the ship only because of her sure grip on the handhold, even as her legs flew into the air. With her free hand, she caught one of the clones as he nearly went flying out, fingers yanking him by the armour behind her.

Smoke quickly filled the air, thick and black.

“We’re hit!” One of the pilots yelled, “We’ve got six nantex starfighters on our tail!”

The ship began lowering slowly, still maintaining speed as they moved towards their objective, but then it jerked abruptly, and she heard one of the engines stall for a few seconds before starting back up.

“We’ve lost control of the ship—”

“—incoming missiles—”

The ship jerked again, and a thick cloud of smoke erupted again—Arwen’s handhold snapped, and she tumbled forward, straight out the door of the ship.

“Commander—” Sergeant Appo reached for her, but it was too late. Form the corner of her eye, she could see another set of missiles, and without thinking she reached both her hands out and pulled—

Sergeant Appo came tumbling out from the ship, along with two other clones, but they were farther behind. Her back slammed into the sand and she groaned at the impact, but she was able to soften Sergeant Appo’s landing much more, although he would have survived the relatively low fall. The other two clones—her throat tightened. She felt their lives wink out when the ship exploded. They hadn’t been far enough away. She hadn’t pulled them out fast enough.

The six nantext starfighters continued to pursue the two remaining LAAT/i’s, chasing them into the distance as they desperately tried to dodge the incoming fire. They didn’t have much chance of being picked up anytime soon.

Sergeant Appo groaned, but quickly regained his footing, and Arwen followed his example, ignoring the dull ache in her back. She’d be lucky if she made it off this planet with her spine intact at this rate, “Are you alright, Sergeant?”

“Fine, sir. You?”

“I’m alright,” she said, looking over at the two dead clones with a heavy heart. They had landed on their fronts in the sand, and the once white plastoid of their armour was scorched black, burned and warped. The remaining clones on the ship hadn’t made it either, and the scattered pieces of armour and metal from the LAAT/i were half buried in the sand now, smoking.

She looked away, squinting the cliff in the distance.

“The cliff’s a fair way off,” she said, “but by the time we get there, Captain Rex should have already engaged them.”

Sergeant Appo nodded, activating his comm device, “Captain, our ship was shot down. The Commander and I were the only survivors. Medical supplies are destroyed too. The other two are being pursued by six nantex starfighters, coming your way.”

“We’ll call for what air support we can—might be a while before anyone can come and get you two.”

“We’ll approach from the cliff, Captain. We might be able to spot a weakness in their line, or find a way around,” Sergeant Appo’s helmet tilted over to her for approval, and she nodded, “We’ll make our approach now, but it’ll take a while. Don’t hold off the attack on our account.”

“Copy that. Captain Rex out.”

She and Appo took off in a run across the sand, and Arwen wished she had a helmet like his, or a mask at least, to keep the hot sand from getting in her eyes and scratching at her skin. Their run was relatively quiet, save for their pants, and Arwen kept a sharp eye out for any approaching ships, ally or enemy. She and Appo had nothing out here to defend themselves against a ship, and there was no cover, so their best bet would be catching the threat early—even if there was little else they could do.

The distant sound of baster fire suddenly rang out across the sand dunes, and Arwen and Appo spared a glance at each other before picking up the pace. Sweat was pouring down her back, and her face was uncomfortably sticky, but she couldn’t afford to stop. They were only a few klicks out from the cliff—

The blue light of an energy shield popped into view, just the very top of it visible from over the cliff.

“Kark,” Appo said, “guess General Nuuk is better prepared than we thought. How are they going to get rid of that?”

“They’d have to walk right through the shield—easier said than done. Droids probably have it pretty well guarded, even if they can’t shoot through their own shield. We’ll take a closer look once we get to the cliff, see what’s happening.”

“Yes, sir.”

They made it to the edge of the sand dunes in good time, and it felt good to have solid stone beneath her feet. She and Sergeant Appo crouched low as they approached, wary of any lookouts. When they neared the edge, they went prone, and Arwen hissed as the heat of the clifftop moved through her clothes. She pushed on, dragging herself forward, until she and Appo made it to the very edge. The shield was decently large, encompassing a moderate sized droid force. There were more droids than clones, that much she could tell just from a cursory glance, but certainly not enough to turn the battle in their favour, they didn’t have any functional walkers or tanks, and it looked like only one of their heavy artillery cannons was operational. The only thing that was keeping them from being overwhelmed by the clones seemed to be the shield.

Ahead, she could see the awkward position Torrent Company was in; passing through the shield made them too vulnerable to being picked off, as the shield ended where the crags did, the clones only cover. She found the shield generator, relatively unguarded too, and grinned.

She activated her comm, and Captain Rex answered swiftly, “Commander?”

“We’ve made it to the clifftop—we can see your position from here.”

“Any intel for us? A weak point?”

“Their front line looks pretty secure, and their only working artillery cannon is aimed at the crags, so I wouldn’t approach unless that gets taken out.”

“We got the other three, but the four walkers we had are rubble now. General Nuuk is holed up in one of their destroyed dwarf spider droids. Anything else?”

“Shield generator’s pretty unguarded,” she smiled, “so’s their back line. Being up against the cliff and the dunes, I don’t think they’re expecting anyone to turn up here, at least not without tripping some sensors.”

Captain Rex was silent for a moment, “You’re actually considering—”

“Yes,” she cut him off, “It’ll only take a moment. I can jump off the cliff before anyone can spot me, take out the shield generator, then duck back behind some rocks for cover while you guys take out the front line.”

Captain Rex sighed.

“The longer we wait, the better chance he has for escape,” she reminded him, “and air space out here clearly isn’t as secure as we thought.”

“At least take Sergeant Appo with you.”

Arwen looked at Appo and, though his face was covered, she could tell he was nervous. That was okay—she wouldn’t make him do it.

“Commander Luthal out.”

Sergeant Appo looked very stiff, “Sir?” To his credit, his voice was quite steady, and had she not been Echani, she might not have noticed.

“You don’t have to jump with me. You can wait up here, scout for incoming ships. The generator will be easy to take out—it’s just cleaning up the droids and capturing Nuuk that’ll take a moment. The rest of Torrent Company have it handled.”

“No, sir—I…” he huffed, and his helmet looked out over the cliff, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a Jedi—I can’t just jump off a cliff and survive.”

Arwen blinked, “I’ll catch you.”

He snorted, helmet tipping back towards her. Her eyes narrowed, “Bridal style?”

She snorted too, despite herself, “With the Force, you moron,” she elbowed him. Appo looked down again, and she could hear him swallow thickly, “Are you scared of heights?” She asked, her voice soft. She didn’t want him to feel ashamed—really, the cliff was incredibly tall, and it was asking a lot for anyone to jump down. Even climbing down would be a terrifying task.

“No,” he said quickly, “just don’t really want to die this way. Can’t we climb down?”

“Not enough time, and the droids would spot us easily, even if they aren’t really looking this way. Look at us—your armour’s white, my clothes are—well, they were white,” she grimaced at her clothes, covered in sand and grime. They were more brown and orange than anything else, “We’d get shot down before we even made it a third of the way.”

Sergeant Appo said nothing, looking down at the droids below.

“You don’t have to come down with me,” she repeated, “Keep lookout up here, comm us if you see anything,” she rose to a crouch, patting his shoulder as she did, and braced to leap off.

“Wait—” he said, rising too, “I’m coming too, just… are you sure you can catch me?”

“I caught the hull of that ship yesterday, so unless you weigh more than that, I think I can handle it.”

Appo sighed, muttering something in a language she didn’t understand, and too quiet for her to try to discern, “Fine, fine… just… can you push me?”

“... push you?”

“I don’t think I can make myself jump.”

Arwen nodded, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, “Brace yourself, and don’t scream. We don’t want to prematurely alert the droids,” he nodded nervously, gripping his blaster like a lifeline, “I’ll throw you up into the air a fair bit, to give me time to land and catch you.”

He exhale shakily, and began rocking back on his feet, “Okay, alright—yes, sir.”

She smiled one final time, before reaching out, finding his signature in the Force—determined, nervous, terrified, loyal—and lifted him high into the air and over the cliff. She heard his panicked gasp but, to his credit, he contained any other noises, and Arwen leapt off the edge.

The wind whistled past her rapidly, and she kept her limbs straight and close to her body for maximum aerodynamics. She slowed briefly to pass through the shield without issue, then let herself pick up some speed. As the sand rapidly approached below, she looked up, slowing Appo’s descent so he could pass through as well, before finally slowing her descent completely, landing quietly on her feet behind some jagged outcroppings at the base of the cliff.

She reached upwards for Sergeant Appo next, half tempted to try and catch him bridal style just to annoy him, but she resisted the urge. He had placed his trust in her, so readily for someone he didn’t know the first thing about, and she wouldn’t betray that trust.

She slowed his descent, and the sheer terror he radiated through the Force was enough to make her own heart start racing, but she kept her focus. She lowered him gently next to her, pretending she couldn’t hear his ragged, panicked breaths. She opted for another pat on the shoulder.

“Ready to move forward?” She peeked around the rocks, finding only a scant few droids near the shield generator. They would be easily taken out, the rocks nearby would provide excellent cover for them.

“Yes, Commander Luthal,” his voice was far less level now, but he straightened, blaster at the ready.

The pair moved forward quickly and quietly, and Arwen readied her lightsabers. The second she ignited them, or the second Appo fired his blaster, they would be discovered. Destroying the shield generator came first, everything else second.

As they drew closer, they lowered their crouch, and they watched for any movement the droids made.

“I’ll take out the generator and fall back to you. As soon as it's out, they’re all going to turn back on us. Watch my back, okay? Captain Rex’ll take their attention again soon enough.”

“Yes, sir.”

She pressed forward, feeling pleased with her decision to keep Appo back. He’d be safer there, and have a better chance at taking out droids from his position.

She was only a few feet away from the shield generator when she finally ignited her sabers—she sliced them both directly through the metal horizontally, and watched the blue light immediately flicker out. As predicted, the droids turned back, and the heavy artillery cannon began repositioning. She darted back, slicing a B2 for good measure.

“Fall back, Appo!”

Cannon fire landed just a foot or so behind her, and she was knocked off her feet and to the ground. She quickly got back up, deflected a blaster bolt and ducking behind another rock. Ahead of her, she could see Appo changing cover, turning back to fire when he was safe to, and then changing positions again. Behind her, the battle began once more.

It went quick from there, and Arwen and Appo circled around to rejoin with the rest of Torrent Company. The droids went down easily—the shield generator really had been their trump card—and General Nuuk was dragged out of the carcass of the dwarf spider droid, kicking and screaming.

“With any luck, he’ll give up some useful information before the day’s out.”

Appo snorted, “Before the day’s out? Look at him, he won’t last an hour.”

Arwen chuckled lightly, and the pair joined up with Captain Rex to debrief the Forward Command Centre’s commanders of the success, and request evac. It wouldn’t arrive for another few hours now, as airspace was being heavily contested again, so their orders were to fall back to the canyons and find cover.

The march there took only an hour, and General Nuuk was gagged to stop his loud complaining, and although the heat of the sun was near unbearable, she felt relatively at peace while she walked Captain Rex, Denal and Appo. The captain didn’t say much, but she contented herself with listening to Denal and Appo chatter away about inane things—it was calming, and gave her something to focus on.

It wasn’t until they reached the canyons and hunkered down under the cover of some alcoves with their supplies that Captain Rex spoke to her again.

“That was dangerous, sir.”

She felt oddly sheepish. Though technically his superior, she certainly didn’t feel like it. He had the experience, and maturity, that she lacked, “Sorry, Captain.”

He took off his helmet, giving her a sidelong glance, “But good work today.”

Arwen smiled again, “Thank you, Captain.”

They were quiet again after that, but Arwen didn’t mind. Torrent Company chattered quietly amongst themselves, and there was a gentle hum in the Force—it felt strangely warm, and soothing. The absence was still there, stark and foreign, but the hum was like a balm, soothing the sting and easing the ache.

She leaned back against the cool, shaded stone, and finally exhaled. She had never been especially good at discerning feelings through the Force, not amongst the Jedi and padawans and younglings in the temple. But maybe because these men had no such training against shielding oneself, she could sense them a little better.

Arwen wasn’t sure she had ever felt this, not directed at her anyway, because when she looked at Denal and Appo, and the pair looked back, helmets placed next to them, she was certain that she felt acceptance and loyalty.

Friendship.

Arwen didn’t speak as she boarded a LAAT/i with several of her men. She knew she would break if she did. The flight over to their new battlefield, along with several other ships carrying the rest of the company, was a welcome opportunity to gather herself. The unsteady flight path of the ship hid her shaking hands, the dim inside made it easier to hide her face, cheeks still red and eyes still puffy, and the rattling  and din of the engines meant no one could hear her unsteady breaths.

Don’t cry, she told herself. Master Du wouldn’t want me to lose control, especially not in the middle of a mission.

She tried to meditate, but it was useless. Her mind wouldn’t—couldn’t—settle in the Force, not when something was so clearly missing from it. She had never been good at that kind of meditation anyway. Master Du usually sat and guided her when she meditated in the traditional way.

Her stomach twisted and churned with the knowledge that Master Du would never sit across from her in the Room of a Thousand Fountains again.

Arwen squeezed the handhold tightly, drawing in a deep breath. Captain Rex was directly behind her, and she was forever grateful that he hadn’t said a word about what happened earlier. She felt fragile, on edge, like one wrong word spoken would send her careening off a cliff and into a full blown breakdown. She managed to contain herself once. She wasn’t sure she could do it again, not so soon.

She didn’t even have her robe anymore, and there was no hood she could pull up to shield her face.

She exhaled shakily, trying desperately to use the Force to calm her mind, trying to cast her feelings and grief into it—but there was something so fundamentally wrong in the Force now. There was a quietness she had never noticed before, and it was so foreign in feeling that it made her own Force signature instinctively recoil back.

The closest thing she could liken it to was ambient noise. Master Du had been a constant in her life for years now, and a master was the closest thing a padawan had to a parent in the Jedi Temple. Arwen had never noticed it before, never felt it, but the master-padawan bond between them had existed very obviously in the Force. It had just been subtle enough and so natural that Arwen, unskilled in most areas of the living Force, hadn’t been able to pick it out; the soft noise and gentle hum, the ebb and flow of something calm and sturdy.

It was like walking into a forest, alive and lush, where birds fluttered between branches and sang gentle songs, where animals walked between trees and stepped over crackling foliage, where small creatures darted through the underbrush, where insects crawled beneath the soil. Gentle winds blowing between leaves and carrying the scent of flowers. A babbling brooke, spilling over stones and pebbles, winding just out of view…

Now it was gone. If she stepped into that forest, it was silent and empty. Dead. There was no noise, there was no air. There was no life.

She had never realised how much was there, until it suddenly no longer was.

The pilot called out that they were landing, and to be ready to receive heavy fire.

Arwen steeled herself, and when the ship made a shuddering landing, she gripped her lightsabers tight enough that her knuckles went white. 

Where others may be frantic, you will remain calm, Master Du had said.

Where they will fumble, you will be steady. Arwen’s muscles twitched.

In peace and stillness, perhaps your mind cannot reach for the Force as easily, she had said. Arwen forced her body into stillness. But in chaos you will be serene.

The Force is with you, and in times where others may struggle to find it, you will find it, ready and waiting.

Arwen was the first one to disembark the ship, igniting her twin blue sabers, and carving a path forward. There was a company already here, losing ground and men dangerously fast. They must have less than a third of their original numbers.

The Jedi that had led them lay dead in the sand, blaster burns covering most of his body.

Her stomach twisted with the thought that Master Du had probably died this way too.

She pushed it away, already feeling her resolve breaking. She couldn’t give up. She had a duty to the Jedi Order, and she planned to fulfil it, just as Master Du would have.

The galaxy doesn’t stop moving just because you’ve lost someone.

In quick succession she and Torrent Company had pushed their way into a favourable position, reinforcing the company already present and pushing steadily forward as they carved through the droids.

“This isn’t all of them,” the Captain, who said his name was Keeli, called over the blaster fire, “They’re just here to thin us out—there’s another group dug in behind that barricade.”

Arwen looked beyond the droids they were fighting, seeing a metal barricade spanning around 100 metres wide far ahead. It had patchy covers on top, the same colour as the sand, but they had been partially blown off. 

“Any walkers or tanks?” Captain Rex asked, and Arwen paid close attention.

“No, and their heavy artillery were taken out by the last round of bombers, but with the battle going on in airspace, there’s been no one available to clear out the rest of the droids.”

“Shame the droid factory is so far underground. Could have just blew it up,” Captain Rex said.

“It’ll probably be blowing up anyway,” Arwen interjected, slicing clean through a B2, “They won’t take out the command centre and just leave a fully operational droid factory.”

“Point taken,” Captain Rex conceded, “Commando team doesn’t have an easy job, but at least we can keep the droid army distracted enough to give them a chance to get in through the catacombs.”

Arwen shuddered. Master Du’s body was somewhere in those endless catacombs.

“There’s no breaks in the barricade either,” Arwen said, “We’ll have to go around, unless anyone’s got a rocket launched hidden under their armour.”

“Afraid not, sir,” Captain Keeli said. His dual DC-17’s fired in quick succession, and she was more than a little impressed. The coordination needed to fire both blasters at separate targets, and still hit them both right in the head—how in depth had his training been?

“Around it is,” Arwen said, slicing a B2 vertically, before twisted to cut off the arm of a B1 that had gotten a little too close with its blaster. Its head followed soon after, “Do we know how many of them are back there?”

“Enough to be a challenge. Not enough to win,” Captain Keeli said, “Whoever is giving the orders from their command centre, droid or not, is pretty short sighted. They would have had better luck if they just sent them all out at once.”

“Wouldn’t make much difference. They could be stalling,” Captain Rex suggested, narrowly dodging a blaster bolt directly in the shoulder, “Waiting for reinforcements, or for their ships to win airspace above us.”

Arwen’s eyes flickered up for half a second. It wasn’t enough time to properly gauge how they were doing, but it didn’t look good. Even a bomber had even a spare second to slip by while the clones were distracted with the other enemy ships, that would be it—a bomb wouldn’t take out all of them, but the loss would be enough to turn the tide in favour of the droids.

“Let’s speed it up then,” Arwen said, a little louder this time, “If whoever’s ordering them is so focussed on stopping us from reaching the barricade, they probably don’t have a good strategy to defend it.”

“We storm it, then,” Captain Rex said.

“In two groups, one for each end of the barricade. If we go from both ends, we can maximise effective fire from our troops, and minimise grouping in case a bomber manages to make it through the defences.”

Captain Rex nodded, “You heard the commander! Let’s turnt these clankers into scrap!”

There was a roar amongst the men, and she had to admire Captain Rex’s ability to rally his troops. Any order he gave was met with incredible enthusiasm. Torrent Company and the remainder of Captain Keeli’s men pushed forward with renewed vigour, the two captains and Arwen at the head.

Her rhythm was steady, and the longer she fought, the more steady she grew. There was no room for error here, unless she wanted to die or get her troops killed, and so she made no mistakes. She couldn’t slip up. She didn’t want anyone else to die. Not on her watch.

They were just picking off the last of the droids on the battlefield when Captain Keeli grunted and fell back.

Her head snapped to the side, eyes wide—without a second thought, she launched one of her lightsabers towards him, her hand guiding it long after she let go. It bisected the body of the B2 several feet ahead of the fallen captain, and Arwen called it back to her hand as she ran towards him.

She leapt in front of Captain Keeli, who managed to raise one of his blasters to defend himself from the incoming droids. Arwen’s sabers batted away the bolts that came towards them, but she struggled—it seemed the droids were focussing their attention on the vulnerable captain. The rapid fire grew so intense that not a single bolt she deflected hit any of the droids, just flew uselessly through the air away from any targets.

But the droid's focus was just the chance they needed to get this fight over with. The clones fired on the distracted droids, meeting no resistance, until they lay uselessly in the sand in a heap.

Arwen turned back to the Captain. He groaned as his head tipped back, falling into the sand. There were three smoking holes in the gut of his armour. Her throat tightened, and she froze—what could she do? It wasn’t a piece of debris that she could remove, or blood flow that she could stop. They were blaster wounds, and in a very dangerous place.

She wished she knew how to Force heal. She wished she hadn’t spent so much time perfecting her form with her lightsabers. She wished she knew something to save people—

“Medics are here, Keeli,” Captain Rex said, “They’ll get you and the others patched up.”

Arwen looked at Captain Keeli’s helmet, imagining a pained face, unable to feel anything except guilt. She could have stopped this—

“Don’t worry about us, we’ll live,” he replied, but Arwen couldn’t help but not believe him.

“Commander,” Captain Rex said, and Arwen slowly tore her eyes away from Captain Keeli, “I’ll lead one half of the men, and you the other. Take Sergeant Denal with you. He can relay any communications to me if you have them.”

A clone, Sergeant Denal she supposed, stepped forward. He held a DC-15A rifle in his hands, and his helmet had distinct blue markings under each eye. Pulling herself together, she raised her chin slightly and nodded to him.

Captain Rex delegated groups by platoon, and soon the two groups were set, sprinting towards either side of the barricade. She and Sergeant Denal were taking the right side, and Captain Rex took the left. Stray laser cannon fire from above was raining down around them, but nothing hit. If anyone was aiming for them, they didn’t have enough time to line up the shot before being set upon by Republic forces.

The ground shook as one struck the ground in front of her, but a brief glance upward saw the starfighter—a nantex-class if she wasn’t mistaken—shot out of the air, the hull crashing into the sand and exploding several hundred feet to their right.

“Rex gave us the all clear, sir!” Sergeant Denal yelled beside her.

“Then let’s get back there and clear out these droids!”

“Yes, sir!”

She glanced over to Captain Rex and his men in the distance, watching as the first of them just rounded the edge of the barricade, disappearing from view.

Arwen slid across the sand as she rounded the corner, slicing three droids in one stroke. Sergeant Denal was next, firing on the droids that turned their attention to Arwen. The rest of the troops followed behind, and Arwen led them further out, so they had a line of fire on the rows upon rows of droids that stuck close to the metal of the barricade.

As Captain Keeli had said, there were quite a few of them, but not enough to win. Still, they persisted, and after a good ten minutes of cutting through droids and deflecting blaster bolts, they were finally changing tactics.

The droids moved, rushing away from the limited space they were creating against the barricade.

“Close the gap!” Arwen yelled across the battlefield. Captain Rex and his men weren’t far, but there was no time—the droids were slipping through the large gap in their manoeuvre—no matter, they could catch them out while they repositioned—

The hairs on the back of her neck raised, and her body snapped back on instinct at the feeling. Cannon fire struck the ground only two feet in front of her, and the force of the blast sent her sprawling back into the sand, sabers clattering from her hands.

Arwen was back on her feet in a second, hands calling her lightsabers and cutting down the droids that approached her with great vigour. She refused to lose ground, refused to let a near-death experience rattle her in the middle of battle.

But more cannon fire began raining down, forcing Arwen and her troops back away to avoid getting hit. Jaw clenching, Arwen realised they were being forced into the barricade, with no retreat unless they wanted to run sideways, closer to the droids that were now moving to encircle them. Captain Rex and his men were engaged with half of the droid force, stopping them from reinforcing them.

She twirled her sabers, jaw setting stubbornly. This couldn’t be the end, she’d cut down every droid in her path if she had to—but if she died… well, joining the Force didn’t sound so bad. Not anymore.

“Keep tight—we’re pushing towards Captain Rex to rejoin forces!”

It was the best hope they had.

They started out strong, Arwen taking point and deflecting what shots she could, cutting through the droids in her path and Force pushing those that got too close, but she knew she couldn’t keep it up forever. 

Captain Rex never seemed to get any closer, despite the distance they were covering, and she became all too aware of the droids tightening around them.

Cannon fire rained down again, halting their slow progress and taking out several of her men. Her gut twisted, but she pressed on. She couldn’t stop to check on them, she couldn’t afford to. It hit only a few of the droids, but she took advantage of the gap in their numbers, cutting through the slowly forming hole. Behind her, she could still hear cannon fire landing.

“Denal, you still there?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tell the men to spread out a bit more, minimise the damage from cannons!”

He called out the affirmative, using his comm to relay the message—the battlefield was too loud for the message to carry to those all the way behind them.

Arwen swallowed as the hairs on her neck raised again, and she looked up, spotting a nantex starfighter flying head on towards them—it exploded into a cloud of black smoke, and a pair of V-19’s pulled away.

There was no relief, as the hull of the destroyed ship was now speeding down towards them.

“—find cover—”

“—get down—”

“—commander—”

Her sabers fell onto the sand and her hands pressed outward, searching for the hulls presence in the Force—

Her knees almost buckled when she found it, and her arms shook at the feeling. It was too big, too heavy, too fast—

She pushed on it anyway, and felt her feet sliding back a few inches into the sand—she ignored it, pushing harder, and in only a few seconds all the ground she had gained meant nothing.

Her back slammed against the metal barricade, which had been more than a hundred metres away by then, and the pain across her back was immediate—her skin would be mottled black and purple in a few hours—but she anchored herself against it. The pain was familiar, reminding her of when she had fallen from the ice bridge on Ilum.

She had suffered there. Ilum had felt like an impossible task, one she was doomed to fail.

But Arwen had persisted. She had not only survived, but succeeded. There had been pain, yes, and suffering, but she had come out stronger in the end. She had pushed through it.

Back braced against the metal, her whole body tense with effort, she forced her left foot to move forward, planting it in the sand. Then, her right foot.

The starfighter was slowing, but it was still coming their way, nearly to the back of the droids the clones were desperately fighting off while she stood there.

Sergeant Denal wasn’t far in front of her, stepping backwards to offer her cover.

Sweat poured down her brow, but it wasn’t caused by the blistering heat. Her arms shook, her legs strained, and she was on the brink of collapsing into the sand, as useless as the droids the clones were shooting down.

It slowed further, passing over the droid forces. Sergeant Denal was calling to her, but she tuned him out.

She took another step forward, and another, and the starfighter hull came to a slow, but sure halt, past the droids and almost directly on top of her, just a few feet ahead. The weight felt a hundred times worse this way, and she almost fell to her knees, teeth clenching.

With a cry, she threw her entire body forward, launching the hull into the droids—

She screamed, her shoulder burning, and she was knocked back into the sand by something solid.

“Stay down, commander!”

Sergeant Denal got back up, standing in front of her body.

She reached out her hand, calling one of her sabers, and tried to get up. She could fight with one arm, easy—

Sergeant Denal came tumbling down on top of her, cursing in a language she didn’t know, and she cried out as he landed on her shoulder, solid armour pressing it awkwardly into the ground.

“Sorry, sir,” he rolled to the side, and she winced at the smoking hole she could see in his armour. He’d gotten hurt covering her, shot on the right side of his chest because she was stupid enough not to pay attention. She could have dodged out of the way—if she was skilled enough, she could be using the Force while using her lightsabers, and she could have deflected it.

“You better not die, Sergeant,” she blurted out, igniting her saber as she stood, grunting in pain as she deflected a blaster bolt. The droids were reasonably thinned out now, and with hope in her heart, she realised Captain Rex and his forces were breaking through to them on the other side.

Sergeant Denal laughed, but he winced right after. Still, he stood up, raising his blaster rifle, “Don’t plan on it, sir. Armour took most of the hit anyway.”

Most, she repeated in her head. But not all of it.

She eyed the still smoking hole in the plastoid, and kept close to Denal’s side for the duration of the battle. She winced at every breath, grunted whenever the muscles in her shoulder tensed or when she moved her arm, damn near cried when Sergeant Denal accidentally bumped her, but she held herself together.

She could still fight, so she would.

Nevertheless, Arwen had never felt more relieved in her life than she did when she sliced through the last droid, injured arm hanging at her side. It felt off to use only one lightsaber, and after walking through the droid bodies for a minute, she cursed herself for not keeping a closer eye on her lightsaber. She hadn’t called the other one back to her, hadn’t had the time to, nor the extra arm to wield it, but she should have. At least then it would be safely on her belt.

“Commander Luthal.”

“Battle’s over. It’s Ar—”

She stopped as she turned. The durasteel of her shoto blade sat in the gloved hand of Captain Rex, and she released a shaky breath, her arm twinging in pain. It would be worse in a few minutes, once the adrenaline wore off. With her good hand, she reached out, the Force pulling it from his hand. Only when she felt the metal against her palm did she look up at the captain, trying to meet his eyes through his visor.

“Thank you, Captain,” she gave a short bow of her head to show her gratitude, then clipped it onto her belt.

“You’re injured.”

Arwen nodded, peeling back her tabard to look at her shoulder. She grimaced.

“Mines a bit worse than a graze,” she looked away from the burnt flesh, feeling bile rise in her throat. Would they have to cut it away? Or would it heal? Was the adrenaline wearing off already, because she could swear her arm felt numb—were they going to have to cut it off—

“Let’s get you to a medic, commander, before you pass out. Sergeant Denal—you too. Stop trying to hide that hole in your chest.”

It was only as she, Sergeant Denal and a large group of injured clones were being loaded onto a carrier ship that they got word the commando units infiltration had been a success; bombs were rigged and ready to blow once they vacated the area.

Captain Rex and the rest of the men would be marching to a safe distance while they waited for a carrier to get them, but because Arwen and Sergeant Denal were already being evacuated, they would unfortunately not be able to witness the explosion—if it was even going to be visible above ground.

“We both got shot and we don’t even get to see the fruits of our labour,” the sergeant whined. He was laying down on the stretcher beside her, though both had tried to protest. The look the medic had given her reminded her far too much of Master Che, who terrified the oldest masters in the temple when it came to their health. She was probably the most intimidating person in the Jedi Temple.

“Sorry you got hit covering me. I should have been paying more attention.”

Sergeant Denal snorted, “Sir, you knocked a whole ship out of the air that was gunning straight for us. I’d take a blaster burn over getting squashed any day of the week.”

She hummed, “Still, I’m sorry, sergeant.”

“Denal’s fine.”

She twisted her head over to him and smiled, “Arwen. At least you’re not going to be difficult about using my name.”

“Hey, I’m just happy you’re not calling me by my number.”

Her smile faded, and the air transport shook. Her eyes nearly rolled back into her head as it made her wound throb, but she tried to ignore it, “Why numbers? Captain Rex gave me a number instead of his name when we met earlier today.”

Denal shrugged, then immediately winced, “Kaminoans made a lot of clones. Numbers were just easier, I guess. Long necks didn’t even want us to give ourselves names. Told us we shouldn’t use them at all, especially in front of Jedi.”

“Why?”

“You’re our superiors. You’re why we’re here. We’re not meant to be…”

Her stomach twisted, “Individuals?” She asked meekly.

“Yeah, that,” he said, smiling like he thought it was funny. How many years had he been told this, to be able to brush it off so easily? “But you seem fine. You don’t mind, do you? Using names if we have them?”

She smiled, trying not to look so upset, “I don’t mind. None of the Jedi will mind,” her voice was quieter than she intended it to be, so she cleared her throat, “Does everyone have a name?”

“Nah, names are pretty recent, so most clones will probably just have a number. Don’t worry though, they’ll choose a name soon enough, or their brothers will.”

She didn’t get a chance to comment any further, as the ship finally touched down, and the doors opened to a frantic scene of medics rushing clones to tents, less injured ones lining up, and several people calling out designations.

It made Arwen’s head spin, and she was painfully aware of just how tired she now was. The adrenaline was gone, and so was all her energy. The pain was the only thing keeping her awake.

The medical tent she and Denal were steered into was empty for all of five seconds, before a stream of clones was being ushered in, frantic clone medics going over everyone's injuries quickly to determine who needed help the most urgently.

She and Denal were solidly in the middle of the pack, waiting a full thirty minutes for treatment, but Arwen was more than fine with it. Her wound was cauterised by the heat of the blaster fire, so she wasn’t bleeding out, just in pain. Something she was more than willing to live with when another clone's entire rib cage seemed to be fractured.

They did end up having to cut away some of the flesh, and Arwen wanted to gag at the thought of her flesh being cooked like a damn steak and still being attached to her body. They cleaned it, numbed it, cut away the dead flesh, made sure there was no lingering debris or sand on it, slapped a bacta patch on top, and after making sure she had eaten some rations and had plenty of water, sent her on her way, Denal beside her.

She took a few minutes to ask for Captain Keeli, and after seeing him sleeping soundly, alive, in one of the medical beds, she was finally ready to sleep.

The sun was getting low, and Master Yoda had already sent another clone company into the field to take over for Torrent Company. For the night, they were free to sleep.

Assigned four tents to themselves, as well as a flimsy cot with a thin mat for a mattress and a thin blanket, Arwen had never thought sleep looked so good. Denal led her over to another clone in the corner, whose helmet had an arrow painted on it.

“Sergeant Appo, sir,” he saluted stiffly.

“Uh, at ease, I guess. Just Arwen’s fine,” she rolled her shoulder stiffly, trying to decide whether she’d rather it continue to be as numb as it was, or if she’d prefer some pain. At least that didn’t feel so strange.

“... yes, sir.”

She huffed, closing her eyes and tipping her head back. Denal laughed, “Give her a break, Appo. Call the woman by her name.”

She imagined an awkward expression beneath the helmet, “Arwen, sir—I saved you and Denal a cot each. We should be far enough away to avoid the worst of the snoring.”

“I don’t think even an earthquake could wake me up tonight,” Arwen said, plopping down on the edge of her military issue cot.

Denal agreed, and they all went about getting ready for bed. It was still early, the sun hadn’t even set yet, but Arwen couldn’t recall ever feeling this tired in her life. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t dream.

Denal made a sound of disgust, and she looked over to see him pouring sand out of his boots. She snickered, but did the same, grimacing at the feeling of sand between her toes. Unfortunately, on a planet like Geonosis, there was no avoiding sand. It was likely in the cot long before she’d even sat on it.

“Commander Luthal.”

She blearily looked up, eyes heavy. She bit back a yawn, “Captain—what can I do for you?”

He took off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. He gave Denal and Appo the side eye, and she watched them hastily try to busy themselves, acting like they couldn’t hear them.

“Are you alright sleeping here?” He asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure, sir? I know it must be… uncomfortable for you…”

“Jedi don’t live in luxury, Captain. We have beds in the Jedi Temple, but I’ve been out on relief missions these past few years. If I’m not sleeping on rocks, I’m happy.”

“No, sir, I mean the… the men,” he lowered his voice further, glaring at Appo and Denal, who were standing far too still with their backs turned to be doing anything other than eavesdropping.

“The snoring? Captain, I don’t think there’s a single noise that could wake me up once I go to sleep tonight.”

“Commander,” he snapped, but she yawned again, and this time couldn’t stop it. His face softened a little, “I mean because you’re a woman. And we’re… men. Lot’s of men.”

“Oh,” she said, just barely cognizant enough to realise that he was trying to make sure she wasn’t going to be uncomfortable, “That’s fine. Boys and girls in the Temple share a dorm before we become padawans. I’m used to sharing.”

“Are you sure, sir? We can find another tent for you. Might take a bit, but you’ll be able to have one to yourself—”

She waved her hand in the air, yawning again, “It’s fine. I just spent the whole day on the battlefield with you guys. I trusted you with my life, be pretty dumb if I didn’t trust you enough to sleep in the same tent.”

She unclipped her belt, setting it down beside her bed.

“Alright, sir. If you’re sure.”

“I am, Captain. Thank you, though.”

He nodded, securing his helmet under his arm before leaving.

The droids had begun retreating as soon as the first wave of bombers flew overhead, and with it morale boosted.

“Got those clankers on the run,” one of the clones said, “get ‘em while they’re close!” His blaster was firing in rapid succession, hitting the droids in the back and knocking them into the sand. Everyone else joined in, voicing up cheers that she likened to war cries.

Arwen felt herself getting caught up in their looming victory too, grinning as she sprinted after the droids with everyone else.

The second and third waves of bombers had loud cheers ringing out all across the battlefield, and she swore she could almost hear the Force singing, hopeful echoes thrumming deeply as everyone on the battlefield realised they were a step closer to winning.

“Commander Ponds says to keep pressing forward,” the Captain said, “They’ll likely try to reinforce the command centre, at least for a little while.”

“Wiping intel?” She asked, bisecting a droid.

“Possibly,” he said, “But it’s more likely they’re trying to stall for reinforcements.”

“Then let’s get a move on,” she tried to keep the near giddy tone from her voice, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded, “Before they dig their feet in.”

“You heard Commander Luthal! Pick up the pace!”

Arwen kept to the front of the group, eyes darting across the battlefield when she could spare the time—much easier now that the droids backs were turned and she was less likely to get shot—to seek out Master Windu’s position. They still had orders to keep close with them, although Master Windu had commed to tell her they had a little more leeway now, and if they saw an opportunity to take out something a little more substantial that a B1 or B2 by moving ahead, then to take it.

He was in the thick of it, jumping and slicing at a sluggish spider droid that had been left behind while dodging and deflecting the blaster fire of two droidekas.

Master Windu made it look easy, and fluid. She hoped to be as skilled as him one day.

Turning her eyes back to the front, she clocked their target, “Command centre looks less than two klicks away. When we’re a klick out, we’ll slow down to let the others catch up.”

Attacking the fortifying command centre with anything less than every single person they had to spare could mean certain death, and she wasn’t willing to risk Torrent Company’s lives just because she wanted to get in the first hit.

Debris littered the sand, droids, tanks, walkers and ships alike—the bombing campaign had been incredibly successful, turning the tides of what had seemed to be a barely even fight—and Arwen and her men were forced to weave in between chunks of metal and transparisteel to continue onward. Soon, they slowed, and the Captain received a message from Commander Ponds, telling them to wait until he and Master Windu arrived to take point—they would lead the charge for the entire army, it seemed.

Forced to stand still, they ducked behind debris in case the droids decided to turn and start taking pot shots at them. Adrenaline still coursing through her veins, her hands began to shake, eager to get back to fighting again, and she forced them behind her back, folded and trying to appear calm.

The Captain joined her, posture calm but ready, and she supposed his face was likely resolute and focussed under his helmet. Every so often he would check around their cover and spend a few seconds taking stock of the slowly forming barricade of droids.

“Do you have a name too, Captain?”

His head snapped back to her, “Sir?”

“I heard Denal’s name, and I met Mixer. I just wondered if you had a name that I could call you by—other than the Captain.”

There was a brief moment of hesitation, a moment she didn’t really understand, before he answered, “Rex, sir.”

She gave a small smile, “Rex,” she repeated to herself. There wasn’t time to speak further, no time for her to ask questions about why he had given her a number instead of his name to begin with, because Master Windu commed them. Everyone was in position, waiting for the go ahead.

They weren’t privy to the finer details of what the ships, LAAT/i’s she learned they were called, were going to be doing, but they were given as much of an overview as they could manage, brief as it was with their time constraints. A wave of bombers would mark their approach, and in the chaos of the first wave they would get close enough to begin firing effectively. A second wave would follow, focussing fire on whatever heavy tanks and walkers remained.

There were of course CIS ships fighting for airspace as well, but the details of what would be happening with the air team weren’t necessary to their own objective, so they only needed the bare essentials.

“The command centre is open-topped, but with durasteel walls around twelve feet high, with one large opening at each side—four entry points. An energy field protects the command centres walls and top, so all the air team can do is help us get rid of the droid forces around it,” Commander Ponds said, “That in mind, the air team can’t take out all of the droids. About a third have managed to squeeze into the energy shield. Their fire won’t be effective through the shield, but that means we still have a lot of clankers to get through, and once we do we’re in close quarters combat with the droids.

“Heavy artillery may also still be in effect, even when in close proximity with droids. Several strike teams are currently working on taking those out—until we get the all clear, do not disable the shield in the command centre. Unfortunately, the longer we wait, the more the droids dig their heels in, so as soon as the bombers are ready, we move forward. Clear?”

The affirmations from clone commanders, captains, and Jedi echoed through the comm, and from then on they waited. The clones checked their blasters while they had the time, made sure their armour hadn’t come loose, and did a count on their additional supplies—the sight of a few EMP grenades had her eagerly waiting for a chance to see them in action. She had vague memories from Eshan of one of her caretakers teaching them about EMP grenades, among other things, but Arwen had never seen them in action.

If any of the clones had used them while fighting alongside her, she hadn’t noticed or, more likely, they were being saved for more dire situations because there were so few of them.

Arwen drew in a slow, deep breath, and desperately wished she had thought to bring water with her. All the rations she and Master Du had brought were still on their ship. Every breath served only to dry her throat, her tongue felt like sandpaper, and she was sure her lungs were half filled with sand by now.

Her skin was feverish, the sand buffeting against her skin left tiny scratches and abrasions, and whatever sweat her body produced dried up almost instantly. She hadn’t noticed how bad it was, how oppressive the heat was until she stopped moving. Her clothes were sleeveless, and relatively thin too, as she had dressed lightly for their last mission to Rodia, but she was uncomfortably hot. She didn’t know how the clones could stand it, covered head to toe in armour under the harsh sun of Geonosis.

Her robe had offered some protection, keeping the sun and sand off her arms, but she didn’t regret tearing it up to use as a makeshift bandage.

“V-19’s incoming,” Captain Rex called to Torrent Company. Arwen looked over her shoulder, seeing the telltale s-foil wings. They flew overhead, and Arwen gripped the hilts of her sabers tightly.

They fired into the droid forces as they passed the Republic forces, drawing fire from five heavy artillery cannons that were still operational, and giving the bombers a chance to approach. When they flew overhead, the Republic charged forward.

The bombs hit the droids, and clouds of fire and smoke exploded, sending ripples across the energy shield they were based in front of. Shrapnel went flying, but they were far enough away that it didn’t pose a threat to them.

In the smoke, Arwen couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but she could see the smoke sweep and swirl, as though frantic movement was happening just out of her view.

Red blaster fire came spitting through, and Arwen settled into a Soresu stance, walking forward only a few feet ahead of her men. The command centre wasn’t especially large, and its relatively small area was well protected, especially at the front. The blaster fire was concentrated, and most of it was directed directly ahead of the command centre, towards a few other companies of soldiers. Arwen and Torrent Company, as well as a few others, were relatively far from most of the fire, so they were able to advance quicker than the rest, and begin curling around the droids.

The second wave of bombs hit before the smoke even cleared, but there was no artillery fire from cannons based further away, which meant the strike teams had successfully located and eliminated them. One less problem, one step closer to success.

She vaguely registered the sound of another lightsaber nearby, and every strike grew louder in her ears. When she spared half a second to look, she saw Master Windu and his company approaching.

“Padawan Luthal, you and your men follow us to the left flank of the command centre—intelligence says the spider droids there are heavily damaged, and it should give us an opening to shut down the shield.”

“We’ve got the all clear already?” She asked, hope swelling in her chest.

“Just a few minutes ago,” Commander Ponds said, “The bomb squads have taken out enough droids that we’ll be able to approach relatively uncontested. Another company will cover our approach and distract as many droids as possible. Any droids that come out through the shield can be taken out quickly—the opening in the walls are only wide enough to fit two B1’s side by side.”

Arwen nodded, “We’ll follow your lead then, Commander, Master.”

“On me,” Master Windu called, and the two companies followed. He set a fast pace, and Arwen stayed close on his right side, deflecting stray bolts and cutting through the occasional B1 that approached. Captain Rex stayed close behind her, and she vaguely registered him calling for Sergeants Denal and Appo to stay close behind.

The intelligence had been right, Arwen realised when they neared the side of the command centre. The two DSD1 dwarf spider droids had scorch marks all over their chassis’ and several leg joints were sparking. The OG-9 was missing an entire back leg, and was tipping precariously around as it attempted to right itself, and the top mounted cannon looked as though it had overloaded and exploded, with strips of metal spiking out haphazardly.

Additionally, there was a large group of B1’s and only three B2’s guarding the entry point, and the shimmering plasma of the shield only covered a few feet away from the walls of the command centre, leaving spider droids outside and vulnerable to attack.

But, being in a barren desert, the Jedi and clones had no cover, and they were spotted instantly. The droids to the right were almost entirely occupied, so their companies only had to deal with minimal fire from them, and the relatively small force that guarded the left flank in comparison didn’t pose much of a threat.

“Padawan, take the right side dwarf spider!”

“Yes, Master,” she rushed forward, aware that Master Windu was racing to the other. The cannon on his fired only one shot before it seemed to malfunction, sparking and jittering. Arwen’s droid didn’t stop, and she was forced to dodge and sweep her sabers as it quick-fired red lasers towards her.

She grunted when she was forced to block three shots in succession, felt the pressure and tension build in her arms.

She dreaded to think of just how sore she would feel in the days after.

Master Windu was already upon his own spider droid, and if she wanted to help him take out the OG-9, she would need to be quick—it was still tipping around as it tried to balance on three legs in the sand, and the bottom cannon was flailing about wildly, firing shots into the air, far above where any of the clones were, and miles away from any ships flying overhead.

The clones engaged the few droids that were outside of the shield, picking them off with ease. The droids within the shield slowly began moving out of its protection to engage.

Arwen sped up, feet kicking up the sand, then bent her knees before pushing up, the Force aiding her and lifting her several feet in the air—she landed on top of the dwarf spider droid, driving both of her sabers down into its head. The droid shuddered, and the red light of its eyes flickered and went out. It collapsed onto the ground, Arwen still standing on top of it. She was forced to turn and defend herself as droids began firing on her, slowly marching out of the small entry point and beyond the shield.

Master Windu’s dwarf spider droid was already a pile of useless scrap in the sand, and he had engaged the OG-9 already. He jumped and darted around the erratically firing droid, and in a way it was so much worse than a functioning aim system. At least then you knew it would be aiming for you. When it flailed wildly it was unpredictable, and it’s cannon could be aiming for Master Windu one second, and an approaching clone another, even if the clones were much further away. It meant distractions wouldn’t work, and it meant that trying to surprise it was difficult.

Sabers covering her movements, Arwen leapt off the chassis, launching high into the air. Below, Master Windu darted to avoid cannon fire, then swung his purple lightsaber and cut through a B2. The top cannon wasn’t functional, so she assumed it’s targeting system on top was as well, and just as she began falling, coming lower down to the top of the OG-9, it scrambled around on its three legs, clambering across the sand and bowling over several droids and crushing them.

Arwen landed uselessly in the sand, softening her fall with the aid of the Force. Huffing in annoyance, she followed Master Windu, easily catching up to the OG-9, even as it fired haphazard shots back at them and the clones.

“Commander!” Master Windu yelled over his shoulder, “EMP grenades, quick!”

“Yes, sir!” Commander Ponds and a few other clones tossed the grenades, and when the droid continued clumsily ending away, she and Master Windu reached out, redirecting the metal spheres with the Force. They went off directly below the droid, and the OG-9 sparked, metal leg joints stiffening momentarily before giving way. The droid crumbled to the ground.

There was no time to cheer—droids were still piling out of the entry point, although the clones were doing an excellent job of keeping those numbers down.

“Can we send in more EMP grenades and disable most of the droids near the entry point?”

“We can, but we’ll still be severely outnumbered once in the walls, and without any cover.”

Arwen’s brow furrowed, “EMPs work on shield generators, right? We only need to take a quick peek, find where it is, and then launch the grenades—”

“And then retreat back and let the air strike team take care of the rest,” Master Windu thought it over for a few seconds, looking at the steady two-by-two stream of B1’s piling out from the entry point, “It’s not a bad idea, Padawan.”

Arwen felt a swell of pride—Master Windu never gave compliments easily, and this was easily the closest thing to a compliment he’d ever given her—then quickly pushed it down again, unwilling to let it go to her head.

“I’ll comm the others, then we’ll see how effective it is.”

Arwen continued assisting in defending the clones from droid fire while she waited, and the only additional point Master Windu added to the others on the call was that as soon as the shields went down, all clones and Jedi had to make sure they were clear of the area, as the air strike team would be coming in immediately after, because they couldn’t risk the droids having time to fix it or to turn on a backup. Someone had suggested they simply jump to the top of the wall, instead of risking getting bottlenecked, but the air team said the droids were already on lookout for Jedi looking to enter from the vulnerable top. The entry point would be less likely to get them killed.

Within the bounds of the shield, Arwen stood behind Master Windu on the left side of the entry point, and Commander Ponds and Captain Rex on the other. She, Captain Rex and Commander Ponds each held two droid poppers, and Arwen felt exposed without her sabers in her hands, but it was necessary. She had to trust the clones to keep the droids from leaving the entry point, and to keep them safe. Master Windu would take point with his lightsaber and deflect any blaster bolts coming towards them in the narrow walkway.

It was a tense minute that they stood there for while they waited for the signal to enter, and the metal of the walls at her back felt hot enough to brand her skin, even through her clothes.

“Clear, sir,” one of the clones called, and Master Windu dipped around the corner and into the entry point, Arwen directly behind him. They only needed a few seconds, a moment to look in, scan the room, avoid getting shot, toss the EMPs, and get out.

The room was crowded with droids still, even after all the ones the clones had taken out, and they were crowding around the centre of the room, where short barricades had been placed. She could see the top of the shield generator peeking out over the top, and assumed everyone else must have too because as soon as the droids started firing on them, Master Windu ordered them to throw the EMPs.

She steadied them with the Force, lifting them high over the blaster fire so they weren’t destroyed or activated away from the target, and when they were safely behind the barricades, they retreated and Arwen got out her sabers to defend from the now advancing droids.

In seconds they were away from the entry point, and the shield blinked out over the command centre. There was a cheer from the clones, even as Master Windu ordered them all to retreat further back. She and Master Windu guarded them as they retreated, turning to deflect blaster bolts from B1’s.

The sight of bomber ships overhead caused another loud cheer to ring out, this time across the entire battlefield.

The command centre exploded into a cloud of thick black smoke and fire, and there was a great swell of happiness, victory, sweeping through the Force so suddenly and so potent that it made Arwen’s head spin.

Grinning, she helped finish off the last of the droids in the area, sticking close by Captain Rex as Master Windu and his men slowly drifted towards another area when Arwen and Torrent Company assured them they had things handled.

When the battlefield was clear, Captain Rex received a message on his comms, and turned to Arwen to explain, “The primary command centre is the one we took out, but it looks like there are a few smaller ones still operational, as well as a few droid factories. Air teams are taking out the ones on ships, the rest of us down here will be waiting to receive orders.”

Arwen nodded, “Better find something to do then—are there any supplies to triage?”

He nodded, “They should be setting up now. You injured?”

“No, but I’ll make myself useful over if you don’t need me.”

“We’ll come help set up tents and move supplies. Men, move out!”

Arwen didn’t expect to feel any sort of calm after the battle, but the environment of a triage tent was familiar, and something she was comfortable doing. She and Master Du had spent months on end in refugee camps, staying sometimes in tents and sometimes out in the open, and when they weren’t walking through camps handing out water and rations, or making arrangements for work and accommodation, they could often be found in medical tents.

Cleaning and bandaging wounds, administering stims and pain relief, assisting the skilled healers and medics in any way she could—it was almost routine, and even though there was little she could do for the clones who were seriously injured, she did everything she could to make sure they were as comfortable and in as little pain as possible until a medic arrived.

By the time she’d helped set up the last of the tents in the area, they were inundated with clones, and there was a line of them waiting outside—those with less serious injuries that could wait for treatment. She found Mixer on one of the beds, tired but still in good spirits, and spent a few minutes by his side, making sure he had something to drink and that he wasn’t in too much pain, before she was off seeing to someone else.

She had been surprisingly calm during her first battle, considering how hectic everything was, but she was calmer inside the medical tents, even if it was a little unsettling to see hundreds of identical faces now bare to her.

She knew they were clones, yet she was still caught off guard every time she looked at them and saw the same bronze skin, the same brown eyes, and the same dark hair, with only the occasional difference. The same faces, but they were all so different somehow.

One of them smiled with his mouth closed, the other bared his teeth when he grinned, another scrunched his nose up when laughed, and the other tipped his head back. If she was more in tune with the living Force, wasn’t so unskilled in sensing others, maybe she would have noticed these things earlier, and felt the difference in the Force as soon as she met each new clone.

It wasn’t until the worst of the injuries had been dealt with that Captain Rex finally came walking in, one of the last men to be seen to. She recalled he said he’d been grazed earlier in the battle, but he hadn’t shown any signs of ongoing pain.

When he sat on the edge of one of the examination chairs, she wondered just how he managed to keep from hissing in pain every time he raised his arm. The blaster burn that had been beneath the armour of his left arm looked awful, skin blackened with the scorching bolt, and red and inflamed. It wasn’t just a graze as he said. It had fully penetrated the skin, and a small chunk on his upper left arm was missing.

“Can you take him, Commander?” One of the medics asked, busy tending to a dislocated shoulder.

Arwen nodded, sanitising her hands before she grabbed supplies.

“Nasty graze,” she said, a touch of reprimand in her tone.

His helmet tipped towards her, “I could still move my arm.”

She hummed softly, a habit she picked up from Master Du, “You at least could have come in a little earlier.”

Captain Rex sighed, managing to take off his helmet with his free hand. His hair was bleach blonde, and buzzed close to his head, and she paused for a second to look at him before getting to work. She cleaned the wound after warning him of the sting of the disinfectant, and she shouldn’t have been surprised when he didn’t flinch, only tensing his jaw briefly.

There wasn’t much to be done for a blaster wound like this, as they didn’t have the technology or means to create synthskin, so all she could do was clean it, check for any debris, administer the necessary pain relief, and apply a bacta patch.

Captain Rex was still and quiet while she worked, and after pulling out a few pieces of splintered plastoid-alloy from his wound she finished up with no other issues.

“You’re all patched up, Captain.”

Captain Rex nodded, standing and tucking helmet under his arm, “Thank you, sir.”

“Arwen’s fine.”

“Sir?”

“You can just call me Arwen,” she watched the hesitation cross his face—surprisingly expressive—and he stayed silent, “When we’re not in the middle of a battle, if that’s more comfortable.”

“… alright.”

She washed her hands and checked her comm. Still no messages.

“It just feels a little odd—no disrespect, Captain. I just haven’t earned the title. Jedi aren’t meant to lead wars.”

“All due respect to you, sir, but you are now.”

Arwen huffed, “Please? It’ll make me feel less guilty.”

Rex raised a brow, “Sir?”

She gave him a halfhearted glare, but there was no real fire behind it, “Jedi are meant to be peacekeepers, and diffusing tensions between factions and fighting comes with the job, but… Jedi haven’t led a war in over a millenia. It goes against everything I was ever taught as a youngling in the Temple.”

How many times had masters made a point to her that her heritage as an Echani would need to be carefully balanced with her duty to the Jedi Order? That fighting was a last resort? That Jedi were peacekeepers, nothing more?

Now that the battle was over, there was a small pool of guilt settling in the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she had been too comfortable in battle, despite everything she had ever been taught.

“Not long ago, my master and I talked about the possibility of war breaking out, and she was firm in her beliefs of what would happen—I think all the Knights and Masters were. If war broke out, the Jedi would offer aid and relief to civilians, and organise peace summits and treaties. We wouldn’t fight.”

Rex looked slightly surprised, “You weren’t going to fight?”

“No,” Arwen shook her head, “If Master Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker and Senator Amidala hadn’t been captured, there would be no reason for us to come here. It’s very… unfortunate and unlucky that they did.”

“But… the Jedi ordered us from the Kaminoans.”

She was deeply uncomfortable with that sentence, and she couldn’t stop herself from shaking her head, “No one knew—” she cut herself off. She didn’t know all the details, but she knew the Jedi Council hadn’t authorised the creation of a clone army, they never would, but she couldn’t tell him that. If that got out, and back to the Kaminoans and the Senate, then what happened?

Rex looked at her suspiciously, and Arwen forced a peaceful smile that she was sure was entirely unconvincing.

“Call me Arwen outside of battles.”

“Sir—”

Her comm went off, and she breathed a sigh of relief, hastily answering it. She blinked in surprise, “Master Yoda?”

“See you, I must, Padawan Luthal. Assigned to a mission, you and Torrent Company have been. At the forward command centre, I will see you.”

“Yes, Master. We’ll be there soon,” she inclined her head, and Master Yoda disconnected the comm. Captain Rex eyed her suspiciously, and she studiously looked away, “Let’s get the men and head over.”

He put his helmet back on, and she was glad to be spared having to look him in the eye. She said a brief goodbye to the medics, and to Mixer when she saw he was still awake, and she and the men made their way to Master Yoda’s position.

She was glad to see he looked unharmed, and she bowed deeply to him when she and Captain Rex approached.

“Uninjured, I’m happy to see you are, Padawan.”

“You as well, Master.”

The Jedi Master turned his gaze to Captain Rex next, “Assigned to your company, Padawan Luthal is, for the rest of her time on Geonosis.”

“Yes, General.”

“To another battle, you will go. Defeat the droids guarding a droid factory, you must.”

Master Yoda began a brief overview for them, showing them them open sand field they would once more be fighting in, the droid forces layout, as well as the layout of the droid factory, which they believe is sheltering another small command centre at least partially responsible for maintaining a good portion of the coordination of the battle occurring off ground in the atmosphere.

She paid close attention, trying to memorise the layout as best she could. A separate team would be going inside while they kept the droid battalion occupied outside, but she thought it might be useful to plan for the worst.

Master Yoda concluded his overview, and just as he was about to send them on their way—

Her chest tightened suddenly, her muscles tensed, the breath was stolen from her lungs—

She let out a silent sob, her eyes wetting, and her hand clutching her heart—no, it couldn’t be—

Her knees shook, and her mind screamed in protest, and all she could feel in the Force was pain pain pain, and a voice in her head, not her own, crying out her name. She stumbled, catching herself on the edge of the metal table in front of her, but she still didn’t feel stable. She was tipping, vision blurring, and her mind went from being completely overloaded and overwhelming to suddenly empty.

There was nothing. An endless abyss where once there had been something whole and alive. A gap in a wall. A hole in the floor. A missing step on a staircase.

She reached out with her mind, even though she was awful at it, searching desperately, but—it was like running her tongue over her teeth, and finding a slot where a tooth once was. Empty. Sore. Wrong.

Finally, she drew in a shaky breath, and something wet streaked down her cheeks. She wasn’t hot anymore. She couldn’t feel the harsh Geonosian sun, or the sand scratching at her skin. She was ice cold, and her entire body shook.

“Master?” She whispered. The Force was silent. It was like a string had snapped, a tether she hadn’t realised had been keeping her attached to the ground suddenly gone, and now she was floating aimlessly through space.

Please, she begged silently. Please, no.

“Arwen.”

A small hand on her shoulder brought her back. When she focussed, blinking away tears, she could see Master Yoda. She hadn’t even realised she’d fallen to her knees. The lump in her throat stopped her from talking, from letting out any sound other than a whimper. Master Yoda’s ear lower, and he gave her a soft look.

“Needed, Jedi are, to stop others from suffering this fate,” he said gently, and it felt like a knife in her chest, to have him confirm it, “but, if unable you are, back to the Temple I will send you to mourn.”

Blinking away a fresh wave of tears, she looked back at the floor. Sand marred the durasteel panels, swept by the wind. How bad would it be to simply lay down, and not move? To not go and fight, and to not run away to the Temple? To simply lay on the floor and let the hot metal warm her body again? To wallow in her sorrow, her loss, her Master was gone—

She swallowed thickly, wiping her eyes and cheeks, barely even aware that the clones in the command centre were pointedly looking away to give them some semblance of privacy.

“No,” she said, but her voice was weak even though she tried to sound strong. Master Du wouldn’t want her to wallow. She would want Arwen to do her duty. Even when it was hard. Even when she felt like she couldn’t. She knew Master Du would do what was required of her, and she didn’t want to disappoint her.

She took in a deep breath to steady herself, jaw clenching for a moment before she released it.

“No, Master Yoda. I will do my duty.”

She slowly raised up from her knees, folding her arms behind her back to hide her shaking hands from him. He gave her a long look, eyes soft and searching.

Finally, he tapped his gimmer stick against the ground, eyes closing, “Very well, Arwen. Go, you may.”

She nodded once, thankful and sorrowful and dreading all at once.

“May the Force be with you,” Master Yoda said.

The Captain and his men—her men, she supposed—followed closely behind Arwen as she led them across the battlefield. She could see Master Windu’s purple lightsaber ahead, swinging wildly, and it wasn’t long before Arwen was using hers once more.

It was chaotic, worse than it had been in the arena, but there was mercy in having two forces colliding head-on on open ground, rather than in an enclosed space where it was so easy to get surrounded and trapped.

Her dual blades swung and twisted as she rushed forward, batting back plasma bolts frequently. There wasn’t enough time to be precise, to deflect each bolt back at the droid that fired it, not without compromising her safety and that of the men directly behind her, but she deactivated more than enough droids to clear a path forward.

Torrent Company were skilled, their shots ringing true more often than not, greatly diminishing the seemingly never ending droid forces. She wasn’t familiar with how to command soldiers—for all her studying, all her focus on Eshan and Kalee and their wars and tactics, she wasn’t sure how to integrate it into real life. She never thought she would have to.

Captain CT-7567—surely he had a name—yelled orders, and she took careful note of them. Despite his claims that she was in charge, she would gladly defer to his leadership and skills. Clearly, he was far more knowledgeable than her, and she would be a fool to ignore that.

The clones worked well together, like they had done this a thousand times over—

“Just like the simulations!” One of them yelled after punching a droid. She cringed for a second, and nearly got shot for her carelessness, but she was absolutely bewildered. He wasn’t wearing a metal gauntlet, or any real protection on his knuckles—they must be broken, or splintered, or tearing through the skin!

But the trooper just whooped and began firing once more, and Arwen finally registered his words. Simulations? Another thing to ask about when there was time, when their lives weren’t at stake—

—The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her mind sharpened with a sudden warning from the Force—

“—incoming—”

“—get down—”

She felt it before she saw it, something speeding through the air towards them, and she looked up and ahead. A thick trail of black smoke rushed towards them and her heart lurched—she wasn’t going to die, they weren’t going to die, not here, not like this—

Unthinkingly, she dropped her shoto blade into the sand, lifting her hand up as she called on the Force. There was an immediate strain on both her body and her mind, and she felt the weight and speed of the missile resisting her Force push, its speed barely slowing.

That was okay. She didn’t need to stop it—

She dropped her other lightsaber and with both hands she pushed, her knees almost buckling under the pressure, sending the missile swinging sharply upward just shy of their position. With no time to spare, she grabbed her sabers from the sand and began swinging them once more.

The Captain spared her a glance, a subtle tip of his helmet, “Thank you, sir.”

His gratitude wasn’t necessary, but she appreciated it nonetheless, “Keep vigilant, tell me if you see any more incoming, in case I miss it.”

“Yes, sir.”

An uncomfortable feeling settled in her gut when he called her ‘sir.’ It all felt so… militant. Which, she supposed it was, given they were currently in battle, but it felt undeserved and traitorous. Undeserved because who was she next to the Captain? How long had he trained to earn his rank, when she was handed the higher title of Commander simply by virtue of being a Jedi Padawan? By her very title she was a learner, still working her way up to independence and true competency. Traitorous because Jedi were not soldiers—how many times had she been told that growing up?—and here she was, technically in command of an entire company of soldiers and leading them on the front lines. It went against everything the Jedi Order had ever taught her.

Arwen and Master Du had only just recently been discussing, in the impossibility of war, that Jedi would offer aid and relief only.

She sliced through a B2 battle droid with ease, and with a Force assisted jump she climbed atop a DSD1 dwarf spider droid. She sliced the nose cannon off with ease, then drove her sabers into its mechanical body, dragging them outward until they sliced clean through to the other side.

As its mechanical legs wobbled and shuddered, she leapt off and rejoined Torrent Company, covering a wounded soldier.

She lamented the fact that there was no triage set up yet, and that if there was it would likely be too far away to be of any help. Battle did not stop for wounded soldiers, it only grew more treacherous.

After a few seconds, he grunted and stood back up, swaying slightly.

“Are you alright, trooper?” She called over her shoulder, unwilling to break her line of sight with the droideka rolling towards them.

“Yes, sir.”

He was lying, limping forward and raising his blaster once more, but what more could she do? If she asked him to stay down and recover, he would be killed because they were in an open field. Asking him to retreat, back turned to the enemy, was just as bad, as their position was far from secure from advancement. His only option was to keep going. At least this way, he would die fighting.

It was an unpleasant train of thought.

Arwen didn’t often regret her choices of study. She loved studying combat, and piloting classes had been invaluable, but more than once she wished she had chosen other things to dedicate her time to; like the study of the living Force, or healing… but she remembered how her very brief time in the Halls of Healing had gone. It would have taken years to get her to be capable of healing the most minor of injuries, provided anyone was willing to risk letting her accidentally making their wound ten times as bad as it had been.

But Force healing would have been invaluable here. She could have seen to the men quickly while the others covered them, healed any debilitating injuries and sent them on their way.

Alas, the yellow and red beads in her braid dictated that she would either be cutting down the droids that harmed them, or flying them to safety or to another battle.

If there was another battle.

Federation ships begin lifting off ahead, the incoming cannon fire ineffective against the heavy metal. She worried for a moment that they would all escape uncontested, prolonging the battle, but they weren’t even two klicks off the ground when the nearest one began taking heavy fire; five heavy artillery turbolasers began concentrating fire, and within seconds, the round ship was coming crashing down to the sand.

“Brace yourselves!” She yelled over the din of battle, hoping her men could hear.

They weren’t especially close to the falling ship, but close enough that the force of the crash would knock them off kilter and injure them if they weren’t prepared. It seemed the men had heard, though they weren’t likely to miss the giant ship anyway. To her surprise, the men gathered up closely, bracing against one another as the droids, unsteady on rough terrain and unable to keep upright in the rumbling of the ground, began tipping over.

“—sir!” An arm yanked her over towards the men, but she didn’t get the chance to say anything before a great cloud of sand, dirt and smoke enveloped them. She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head. She couldn’t hear anything over the sweep of grime and smoke as it rushed past her, and only when the men began stirring did she move and open her eyes.

Beside her, the Captain loosened his grip on her arm. She squinted heavily, still blinded by the sand in the air. The cover it provided was dense, she could barely see anything in front of her, but it was no longer so powerful that they couldn’t move against it. While the droids were regaining their footing, clones all around began opening fire on them while they were vulnerable, sending the machinery sprawling out in the sand.

She jumped back into the fray, taking point and slicing through as many vulnerable droids as she could reach without abandoning Torrent Company.

She squinted and blinked to clear the sand from her eyes, but as soon as one layer cleared, another followed, and soon her skin was tinted orange, and the outer layer of her robes were filthy. She wished she had a helmet like the clones, or a visor at the very least.

They continued pushing forward, battling back the droids with great success, even when the last remaining company on their left was blown up, and the company directly to their right was overwhelmed.

Her stomach churned, but she dared not look at the bodies. Not yet.

Her comm beeped, and she hurriedly answered it, never lowering her sabers.

“How far are you from our position?” Master Windu asked. Arwen looked ahead and to the right, seeing the bright purple beam of his lightsaber bisect a droid.

“About half a klick, we’re just behind that tank on your left. Once we finish off this group, we’ll be able to get to your position without compromising our flank.”

“As quick as you can, Padawan. We’ll need everyone we can get to take out the droid command centre.”

“Yes, Master. Luthal out,” she ended the connected, calling out over the din, “You catch that, Captain?”

“No, sir.”

“Push forward as hard as you can!” She yelled, “We need to meet up with Master Windu ASAP and take out their command centre!”

A series of confirmations were called out, and the company pushed forward with more zeal than before. The droid forces looked far less dense than before, and with the destruction of the company on their left, it meant that they were on the very edge of the battlefield. She would use that to their advantage.

“Curve around that OG-9 spider droid! Use the debris as cover!” She yelled. Torrent Company did as she ordered, ducking behind large metal panels and the destroyed carcasses of tanks and ships. She ducked behind the hull of a destroyed ship, narrowly avoiding getting hit by laser fire. Back pressed against the scorching metal, she huffed and looked to the Captain as he joined her with a grunt, “You injured, Captain?”

“Just a graze, sir,” he said, peeking over the top of the metal before quickly ducking down again as another laser shot past them, “I’m not sure we have enough men to take one of those down. Two laser cannons, plus the droids surrounding it… and we don’t have time to wait for backup.”

She took a few seconds to gather her thoughts, trying to scrounge up a half-decent strategy that wouldn’t end with half her company dead.

“If we can divert their attention, I can take out the legs of the spider droid. I just need both its cannons aimed away from me for a few seconds.”

The Captain nodded and activated his comms device, “Sergeant Denal,” her head tilted—did only some of them have names? “Distract the spider droid. Commander Luthal needs and opening to take out its legs.”

“Yes, sir.”

In a few seconds, a squad of clones was ducking from one point of cover to another, shooting off their blasters to gain the attention of the spider droid and the B1’s. It happened again, with a different squad moving across a dangerously open area, narrowly avoiding getting shot. Arwen waited for her shot, repositioning, bending her knees and preparing to leap—

Finally, the spider droid's cannon fire was drawn away from her position, and with the Force assisting her, she leapt over the destroyed hull, her jump taking her over a dozen droids that would only serve as a distraction and ruin her plan. She landed a few feet away, and sprinted forward, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in alarm. The bottom mounted cannon was already turned towards her—

One of her lightsabers sliced through the cannon, just behind the round dish that concentrated its power.

That had almost been it. At point blank range, with no armour to protect her, if she had been only a fraction of a second later, just a little bit slower, or the cannon just a tiny bit faster, she would have been dead.

Luck was indeed what dictated survival, and she was at its mercy.

Pushing the thought away, she spun and cut clean through one of the right side mechanical legs, registering the sounds of the clones joining in the battle to distract the droids. The walker tipped immediately, shuddering as it diverted attention to repositioning its other three legs to stabilise, but Arwen didn’t give it the chance. She darted forward to its back leg on the right, then cut clean through that one as well, rolling out of the way when the rounded body came falling down in her direction. Finally, with one more easy swing, she cut the top cannon in half, rendering the droid completely useless.

“Nice work, Commander,” the Captain said. Arwen looked at the destroyed droids that had surrounded the spider walker.

“You as well, Captain,” she smiled, then looked across the battlefield, “Let’s move to the rendezvous point. The quicker we take out this command centre, the quicker we can sort out everyone's injuries.”

After a chorus of affirmatives, they ran the final short distance to Master Windu and his forces, and joined them in their stand against a much denser force than they had just faced. There were more B2’s and droideka’s here, and in the distance she could see an IG-227 approaching fast to meet up with two more. Those would be far harder to take out then the much slower spider droids.

“Master Windu, where do you want us?”

“Stay on our left, don’t push any further ahead than us, and don’t fall back. We need to remain as steady as possible, and not give the droid army any chance to gain ground.”

“Yes, Master. Catch that, boys?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Keep close, but not too tight—if you see any missiles incoming on our position, call them out as early as possible so I can try to divert them. Captain, stay on me in case I need you to relay orders.”

“Yes, Commander.”

She felt lighter now that she was next to Master Windu, more secure, and she could feel hope blooming in her chest. Maybe this would be it. Maybe once they took out this command centre, the CIS would be crippled enough to warrant a surrender. Maybe the horrible losses they felt today would be the only losses.

Her eyes snapped to the side, looking at the Captain as he fought beside her.

But what would happen to the clones?

Arwen didn’t get time to ponder it before an IG-227 came rushing towards their position. It was so fast, zipping through the droid army on its giant wheels and unleashing a barrage of long range missiles, leaving trails of black smoke in the air. How many missiles was each of these tanks equipped with? Thirty? Plus a twin auto-blaster?

Arwen didn’t like their chances against one of those. Spider droids, both iterations, were quite slow and less agile, though much more heavily armoured. Regardless, she steeled herself, unsure of exactly what she could do.

The droid began firing, and Arwen could barely take her eyes off the droids firing in front of her to check where they were going—far off behind them, so fast and sudden that she missed any chance to catch them and her heart lurched when she heard several impacts behind them. She knew that was where more troops were being dropped off, where their own tanks were being deployed by low altitude carrier ships. It was at least four klicks away from their position.

The IG weaved left and right frequently, sending off missiles overhead and far off to the right of her, taking out as many of their reinforcements as it could.

She tried to lift her hands, to throw any of the missiles off kilter like she had before, but the droids were advancing too fast, and any time she thought she had an opportunity to stop swinging her lightsabers in defence, she was almost shot.

It weaved through the droids easily, its wheels tall but very thin, and she guessed the droids must all have some sort of pathing technology that let the speedy tanks weave through the constantly moving battle droids without knocking down half their own forces. That technology would likely be based at their command centre.

She could see it in the distance, beyond the hoards of droids that lay before her, and wondered just how they were supposed to get there without losing every single clone trooper and Jedi they had.

She slashed through a B2 when she was close enough, hacking off the arm blaster then slicing through the body and, when she heard one of the clones calling out a warning for an approaching droideka, likely trying to roll around them so it could catch off guard, Arwen threw out one of her blue lightsabers.

It slashed through the droid, and the two halves rolled and slid uselessly across the sand. Calling her saber back, she directed her attention back to the rolling tank—it had exhausted its missiles, all thirty of them, and was now heading back where it came from, likely to reload.

Another was coming down in its place.

“Another IG incoming!” She warned.

“We need to take it out, sir, it’s got a clear line of fire to our support!” The Captain yelled back.

“Be nice if we had any tanks over here!” Another clone said.

Arwen looked over to their right, hoping to see an available tank nearby, but all were locked in heavy fighting, and deviating from their course now, exposing a broader side to droid fire, would only end in disaster. She focussed on the droids ahead of her again, slicing at a brave B1 that had run headfirst into their line. It split down the middle and into a heap in the sand.

“Think we’re on our own for this one, boys,” Arwen said, trying to keep the grimness out of her tone.

One of the clones approached, still firing his blaster, “Can’t you do that—you know—the thing.”

“What?”

“The thing,” he wiggled his fingers at her for a moment before returning to steady his blaster.

“The Force?” She tried to keep the amusement from her tone—she shouldn’t laugh, they could die, “I tried to with the last one, but there’s no cover. I’ll get shot before I can do anything to help. Might even accidentally knock it into one of our own ships.”

“We’ll cover you,” the Captain said, and Arwen’s eyes frantically searched the sand for a downed tank or ship she had somehow missed, or a large chunk of metal to duck behind, but there was nothing.

“There’s no cover here, Captain—”

“We’ll cover you, sir,” he said impatiently, “We’ll form a line, get behind us, sir.”

She said the first thing that came to her mind, “I’m not using your bodies as shields. I need to be in front to deflect as many bolts from you all as possible—”

“Sir,” he said firmly, “if one of us dies, it’s worth the lives we would save. They have thirty missiles each—that’s thirty ships, or thirty tanks, or thirty platoons,” her lips pressed together tightly, and she debated the risk of just running directly through the droid forces by herself and throwing her lightsabers at the two missile holders.

It was a dumb idea. She’d die before she even made it a quarter of the way to the advancing droid, if she was lucky.

But her death was an easier pill to swallow than using Torrent Company as human shields.

“Sir—”

“Fine, just—” she didn’t know what to say.

Be careful? Don’t get shot by the blaster bolts meant for me? Don’t die while I hide behind you?

“Form up,” she finally said, “I’ll make it as quick as possible.”

It felt wrong to take a step back from her position, wrong to move behind the clones as they formed four lines of four men. Her stomach twisted as she stepped behind them. Four lines, so that if one clone got shot down, there were more behind him to take the hits.

Hits that she could be blocking.

She forced down the disgust she felt at herself, squaring her shoulders and disabling her lightsabers for the time being. The tank was drawing closer, and the first of its missiles went off. These ones were not nearly as big as the other missile she redirected, but they were so incredibly fast that it didn’t matter.

Arwen reached out with the Force, drawing in a deep breath, and planted her feet. The missile was high, would go right over their heads and towards the troops being deployed—

Her fingertips tingled when she felt it, its presence in the Force, and she swung her arms to the left and down—the muscles in her arms pulled, like the missile was going to tug her along in its new direction—until the missile hit the sand and exploded, safely almost a hundred feet away from them. She heard one of the clones cheer, but she didn’t break concentration, sensing another already coming.

She swung it left again, feeling her arms being tugged, hearing the explosion and seeing it from the corner of her eye, then turned her attention to the two advancing missiles that had just been fired, managing to nudge one of them into the other, and they exploded into a cloud of smoke and fire only twenty feet ahead of them, high in the air. The clones maintained their line, but she saw one of them go down.

She wanted to throw up, she wanted to scream, she wanted to yell—

But four incoming missiles couldn’t be ignored. She couldn’t let his death be for nothing.

She swung her right hand, sending the leftmost missile careening into another, sending another cloud of smoke and fire into the air, this time above the droid army, sent another one careening upward, and she almost through her feet were going to be lifted off the ground before she let go, and by chance it collided with the wing of a droid ship—there is no chance, only the Force, her mind supplied—and the other she slammed down into the sand, blowing up a dense force of droids in the process.

Feeling like her heart was about to break through her ribcage, she watched the IG-227 come barrelling through the black cloud, much closer than the other one had come, and it showed no signs of stopping.

It still had most of its missiles, but at this speed it wouldn’t need them to kill her and Torrent Company, not when those wheels could crush them and that cannon could shoot them down without wasting the more valuable ammunition.

It was so close, nearing the line where the Republic and the Separatists met, close enough that she could feel its presence in the Force quite keenly, could feel it barrelling towards them. If it was alive, she wondered if she might be able to sense lethal intent.

Her spine tingled, and she braced herself.

“Commander Luthal, we need to move—”

A missile was launched, and Arwen pressed both her hands forward. With a sharp tug, she was pulled forward, knocking into one of the clone's backs. Her hands snapped out to steady him, an apology on her lips, but the words got stuck in her mouth.

The IG exploded, smoke and fire engulfing a good portion of the droids in the area, and metal and shrapnel was sent whistling through the air. The explosion was loud, and much bigger than the ones caused by knocking a single missile off course.

The IG would be completely destroyed—anything that fast had to make some serious concessions when it came to effective armour—and she hoped it got a good portion of the droids too. The cloud of smoke was so thick and heavy that it was nearing their line, obscuring them from most of the droids vision.

Arwen’s hands immediately went to her sabers, ready to ignite them and run headfirst in front of the men who had covered her, desperate to make up for the man they lost—

Someone groaned, and Arwen immediately rushed to the side of the downed clone—she thought he was dead, she could see a piece of shrapnel right in his stomach—

Arwen knelt down beside him, guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. He hadn’t even been downed by a droid, it was her fault. It must have been caused by the missiles she collided ahead of them. She swallowed thickly, looking at the bleeding wound. She didn’t know much about healing—she remembered her short, disastrous time in the Halls of Healing well—but she knew there were rules to pulling out foreign objects and, unfortunately, she didn’t have the medical supplies on hand to apply even basic relief. Not even a bacta patch.

“Hey, trooper,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady while the clones continued on firing, now moving to cover her and the downed clone, “I’m sorry I got you hit—but keep still. I can’t heal you, but maybe I can stem some of the bleeding.”

“S’okay, Commander,” he grunted, sounding amused despite laying in the sand, bleeding to death, “Worth it for that fireworks show.”

She smiled weakly, looking at his armour. The chest and torso pieces were broken, half on his body and half scattered around. Despite the long, jagged piece of metal sticking out from his stomach, he was untouched everywhere else. His armour had likely spared him from immediate death, but she wondered if it would have been kinder that it hadn’t. He would have died quickly, without pain, rather than bleeding out slowly in the sand with a girl who had failed her test in the Halls of Healing so badly she was banned from ever attempting Force Healing again.

This was her fault, she knew that, so she would do everything she could to make sure that he survived until he could get help from someone who actually knew what they were doing.

Shrugging off her cloak, she ripped at the thick fabric, tearing it into strips and shaking off as much sand as she could.

“I’m going to move you slightly, and tie your wound. We need to apply pressure to stop the bleeding.”

“Can’t you just take out the metal?” He winced, and if she could see his face, she could imagine it would be twisted in pain. She gave him the most sympathetic look she could and apologised.

“No, sorry. Taking out a piece this big will just make the bleeding worse, and I really don’t want you dying out here.”

“Neither. I hate this karking planet,” he huffed, and she had to commend him for his attitude. That he was even willing to talk and joke was a good sign.

She worked as quickly as she could, aware that the clones were slowly advancing, and that she had a job to do, but she was unwilling to leave the trooper to die. Not when it was her fault. He grunted and groaned a little, but his wound was wrapped in short time, makeshift bandages clean side down, hopefully stemming most of the blood flow until he could be seen by a medic. She hoped triage would be set up soon.

“What’s your name?” She asked as she tied the bandage.

“Sir?”

“Your name,” she repeated, softening her voice, “It doesn’t seem right to call you by a number. Do you have a name?”

He hesitated for a second, and she worried she had overstepped some boundary she was not supposed to. Was it disrespectful for her to ask? Was he—

“Mixer, sir.”

“Mixer,” she repeated, then began to ask what she should do—

“Commander Luthal,” the Captain called. Her head snapped back, seeing him using a droids body as cover as he held it up, “We’ve got a squad coming up behind us. They’ve got an available medic who will see to him. We need you up here.”

She hesitated for a second, but when she looked back towards where she and Torrent Company had come from, she could see a group of clones approaching at a fast pace. With one last look at Mixer, she sighed. She’d done what she could. Let the professionals do their job.

“Stay alive, Mixer.”

“That an order, sir?”

“Yes.”

She stood, igniting her sabers and rushing forward to join the Captain.

The onslaught of droids felt more manageable by the minute as their forces slowly thinned them out and, with Torrent Company working directly beside Master Windu and his own men, the two forces eventually combined under the command of Commander Ponds, with the Captain relaying his orders so that they were able to perform more wide scale attacks.

The rest of the battle almost felt like a blur, and Arwen settled into mediation without even realising it, her sabers constantly swinging, her mind calm yet determined, and her body following the will of the Force. She didn’t want to lose another soldier, and certainly not due to her own carelessness, and so she never let her mind drift even for a second from anything outside of the battle.

The Captain was steady beside her, focussed and determined, and although she was vaguely surprised she could sense him so clearly in the Force already, she allowed his own mindset to reinforce hers.

They would win this. The finish line was so close. Take out the command centre. Gather what intel they could. Bring Count Dooku to justice. Diplomatically resolve issues with the CIS.

Arwen had never been to Geonosis before, and the arid, sandy canyons didn’t particularly appeal to her either. She could admire its beauty from orbit, and even from the interior of the ship, but the second she and Master Du disembarked, Arwen felt sweat forming on every inch of her skin.

The heat on Rodia was vastly different—it was extremely hot, but it was also humid. The air there felt thick to breathe, and sweat never dried on her skin, but soaked into her clothes. On Geonosis, each inhale stripped her mouth and throat of moisture, and any breeze blew hot sand into her skin and her eyes. Blinking seemed to do nothing but further push grains of sand in.

But she didn’t complain, not when Master Kenobi was being held captive by the CIS, who had created droid armies with the sole intention of starting a vicious war.

The salt in the wound was knowing that Master Dooku was behind it all. Master Du had been right—Master Dooku had good reason for allowing the megacorporations such power. He needed their droid armies, their funding, their power. Even knowing that those corporations were funding the CIS, Arwen was almost certain they wouldn’t be kicked out of the Senate. It was too corrupt, and they had become like parasites; a pest that had embedded itself deep inside, yet couldn’t be removed without killing the host. The Republic had grown too reliant on them.

The shade of the canyons obstructed their ship from view while they waited for Master Windu and the rest of the strike team to arrive. She was itching to make herself useful, but they had been given strict orders; land on the planet in secret to test whether or not the Geonosians are paying attention, stay hidden, do not reveal themselves, and wait for the arrival of the strike team.

They couldn’t even do reconnaissance.

Beside her, Master Du shivered in the heat.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“A feeling,” Master Du whispered, “this battle will not be without great loss.”

Arwen fought back a whimper. For all her fantasising about war, it terrified her more than she cared to admit, “Every battle has losses. Do you think we’ll lose?”

“Subjectively, that’s impossible to say.”

Arwen paused, considering her words before she spoke, “And objectively?”

Master Du’s eyes shut, and when she spoke her voice was thick with emotion, “Doesn’t any death mean we’ve lost? We will fight, and some will die. One of ours, or one of theirs. In either case, we have failed to keep the peace, as is our duty,” Master Du looked at Arwen, her gaze stern, “Keep a level head today, Arwen. Any misstep could mean your life.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Be ready for anything. Droids, Geonosians, Count Dooku—I don’t care how ridiculous, just do as you do in your spars.”

“Remain calm amongst the chaos.”

“Precisely. With any luck, losses on both sides will be minimal, and we can stop a war before it truly begins.”

Arwen inhaled shakily, “I can’t believe the Senate gave the Chancellor emergency powers—I can’t believe he approved an army,” Master Yoda had filled them in on the situation not long after Master Windu had initially called them. Even more alarming was the fact that the Republic already had an army waiting in the wings, “It all seems so…”

“Perfect,” Master Du said, sounding slightly bitter, “That the Republic should be on the brink of war for the past two years, the Senate failing to make a decision on the formation of an army, and that right when we need one we have one. Fully trained and armed, and apparently ordered specifically for the Republic by a Jedi.”

Yes, everything had aligned perfectly indeed, but they couldn’t afford to scrutinise the situation much just yet. The army of clones—and wasn’t that odd—would be deployed into action as soon as possible. Hopefully their first battle was their last. Then, the Jedi would further investigate how this had all happened.

Master Windu arrived en masse with over two hundred more Jedi shortly after, and Arwen and Master Du closely monitored communications between Geonosian channels while the many ships made their planetary descent. Thankfully, almost unbelievably, the Geonosians were not alerted.

In the cover of the canyons, Master Windu explained their plan of attack. Arwen paid rapt attention to the Jedi Master, eager to show they were right to allow her to come. She was one of only a handful of padawans there, another being Bariss Offee who she had never really spoken to, despite being the same age and sharing many classes with, and sharing a relief mission. She would learn Master Windu’s plan inside and out, follow it to a T, and hopefully be a part of the Jedi strike team that ended a war before it had a chance to take place.

And, of course, save Master Kenobi.

“Master Unduli and I will covertly take out any assault vehicles blocking the way to Petranaki Arena, while Masters Tiin and Gon block communications to ensure we aren’t discovered. Masters Fisto, Ti and Leem will pick off any stragglers that might try to send word manually. Master Gallia will take the air strike team and keep any fighters in and out of the atmosphere busy and away from the arena. Once their defences are down, we’ll take the rest of you through to the arena in a convoy of transport ships that shouldn’t show up on their scanners. The transport ships are just a precaution. In case we’re discovered, the armoured ships will offer us protection. Bear in mind, the transports won’t be taken directly inside the arena, where we’ve learned Obi-Wan, Anakin Skywalker and Senator Amidala are being kept—”

Arwen’s jaw dropped, and a flash of panic rushed through her—when had that happened? What were Anakin and the senator doing here?

“—so once we reach the gates, we’ll need to infiltrate the crowd on foot. Having our numbers evenly dispersed will give us the advantage we need in overcoming them. Get to Obi-Wan, Skywalker and the senator as quickly as possible. With any luck we’ll be able to time this with Master Yoda’s arrival, hopefully with an army, but it’s likely that as soon as we launch our attack, the Geonosians will block communications leaving the planet.”

Kamino was, thankfully, not far from Geonosis, but that was about the only positive Arwen could think of in this situation. 

“Masters Du, Heleen and Friil will lead a small team underground into the catacombs to search for any rumoured droid factories for intelligence we might need, but only go in once the battle in the arena has commenced—this will distract and likely draw out any remaining Geonosians in the catacombs and clear the way for you.”

Master Windu looked out amongst the crowd of Jedi, his face grave.

“May the Force be with you.”

The response echoed back to him, solemn and loud.

Arwen took a step towards her master—

“Not you, Padawan Luthal,” Master Windu hadn’t directly addressed her in a long time. He never had reason to. He had acknowledged her, and spoken to her by proxy when she was with Master Du, but she couldn’t recall him saying her name for years. She was certain the last time he’d done that, she’d still been an initiate, and he’d been looking at her suspiciously, questioning her about her old master.

She wondered where he was now.

“Master Windu?” Her master said, “Despite her age, I believe Arwen is just as skilled as some of these younger Jedi, if not more. Her presence will be of great use.”

“I agree,” it wasn’t praise, but any positive-adjacent feedback from Master Windu was not to be taken lightly, “However, I don’t think she’ll be as useful in the catacombs. She’s more talented with her lightsabers than scouring through computers and technology. I’d like her to join us in the arena.”

Arwen brightened slightly—he thought she was good enough to be a part of the central battle?

“Several other padawans will be present as well. They’ll be well protected.”

“Safety in the midst of battle is not something you can guarantee,” Master Du said, standing straighter. Arwen looked nervously between the two. Her master wasn’t usually so… hesitant to agree with recommendations from a Council member.

“No, but she’ll be amongst a greater number of Jedi. We’ll need all the help we can get,” he turned his gaze to Arwen, and she straightened her back slightly, “Can you be trusted not to act rashly?”

Her disposition dulled slightly—she wasn’t known for being hot headed or rash, “Yes, Master. This isn’t a time to act foolishly,” Master Windu looked back at her master, and Arwen crossed her fingers as she looked at Master Du, “If Master Windu believes I can do more in the arena than in the catacombs, then I want to help.”

Her master, several inches taller than her, looked down at her with surprisingly hard eyes, “I’m not so sure you’re ready.”

Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t hide the sudden downturn of her mouth, “You said you thought I was ready to go on a solo mission.”

“This is very different,” Master Du huffed.

“I’ll be safe, Master. I know how to defend myself—you taught me that,” she took a step towards her master, trying to ignore the stare of Master Windu, “I’ll stick close to other Jedi, I won’t go off on my own, and I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

Master Du stared at her for several long seconds, her lips pressing together tightly. Finally, her gaze flickered to Master Windu.

“Keep my padawan safe, Master Windu,” he inclined his head slightly, then looked back at Arwen, “And you stay close with a master when at all possible. Remember your training.”

Arwen nodded, then bowed deeply, “May the Force be with you, Master.”

“May the Force be with you, Padawan,” her master bowed back just as low.

With one last look, they parted ways, Master Du to meet up with the team heading into the catacombs, and Arwen with the bulk of the Jedi that would be going to the arena. She shuffled inside one of the transports, folding her hands in her lap when she saw that they were shaking. The shaking of the ship hid it well for her, but she was sure the Jedi on either side of her could hear her unsteady breaths.

What was it? Fear, or anticipation? Was she terrified at the thought of taking part in a battle, or was her body just flooding with adrenaline because she’d secretly been fantasising about it for months now? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. She forced herself to pay close attention to the comms, listening to Mace Windu’s updates as they moved closer to their target destination.

She would be calm in the chaos. She would not get in anyone's way. She would do whatever Master Windu and everyone else told her to do. She would do it perfectly.

There were lives at stake, and she wouldn’t let her shaky hands and racing heart mess anything up.

She couldn’t hear anything outside the loud humming of the transport, but Master Windu updated them frequently, and never called for backup. He and Master Unduli were making quick work of anything that got in their way, and she lamented not being able to see exactly what they were doing.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the transport with the other Jedi, only that by the time they stopped, she could sense more than her own nerves spiking. Exiting the ship, she found herself in somewhere dark but hot—a series of tall hallways carved into sandstone. Her wrist comm beeped.

“Keep chatter down to a minimum,” Master Windu said, “we’re all connected, so only use comms when absolutely necessary. We’ll spread out across the arena in groups, and all enter from different points at the same time. Keep your hoods drawn up, and if you don’t have one, stay just out of sight but as close to the arena stands as possible. I’ll head towards Count Dooku. When you see my lightsaber, initiate the attack. Remember, get to Skywalker, Kenobi and Amidala as fast as possible.”

Arwen’s robes had a hood, but she wore the shorter style, and the pale grey would stick out like a sore thumb here, so she would be waiting back until Master Windu gave the signal. When the group was divided and given designated areas to wait in ambush, Arwen followed after Master Plo closely, hands braced against the hilts of her lightsabers.

The sound of the Geonosian crowd was dulled inside the caverns, but loud enough to cover any brief interactions on the comms. The nearer she and Master Plo got to the exit, the louder it got, and the strange language, made up entirely of clicking noises, made it nearly impossible to ascertain what was happening in the arena below. Were they dying? Had someone been hurt? Was the execution already over?

She drew in a long, slow breath. She couldn’t panic.

Finally, she and Master Plo came to one of the exits. With her comm, she relayed their position, then listened to others as they reported in.

Arwen peered around the sandstone, keeping the rest of her body pressed as far from the light as possible, and took a quick peek down in the pit. Her chest tightened, and she felt every muscle in her body tense—Anakin, Master Kenobi and Senator Amidala were seated on the back of a great black and red reek, surrounded by droideka’s. Her hands tightened around her sabers, and her eyes scanned across the arena, looking for Master Windu’s purple lightsaber, desperate to run out—

“Stay close by me, Arwen,” Master Plo reminded her quietly. She sagged a bit, “We move together.”

“Yes, Master Plo.”

She relaxed her fingers, though kept them braced at her sabers, refusing to put her guard down. She watched with trepidation—neither Anakin nor Master Kenobi had their lightsabers, so they had nothing to defend themselves if the droideka’s opened fire. And what about the senator? She had no armour, no cover, and she was far too valuable to lose—

Her eyes snapped up and over to the vibrant stripe of purple, and she rushed out into the light with Master Plo—Masters Secura and Mundi nearby—and ignited her lightsabers. Across the arena stands she could see the glow of over 200 more as they lit up in streams of green and blue, sending the native Geonosians flying high into the air in a panic.

Blaster fire started going off, and she readied to defend herself, but caught the tail end of Master Windu doing a flip off a high balcony to avoid being shot. An impossible distance to survive for anyone but a Jedi—Master Windu landed on the sand steadily, throwing off his cloak which had caught fire, and immediately began deflecting blaster shots. In the arena, she could see B1-series battle droids beginning to march out from the caverns.

Master Plo was already taking the lead, Aayla Secura and Ki-Adi Mundi close behind, Arwen hot on their heels.

She had never been so glad to finally master those Force techniques she’d struggled with as a child. If she hadn’t, she’d be taking the stairs down to the arena pit, instead of leaping off at a great height and landing safely on the sand without missing a beat.

They met with Master Fisto—the only Jedi she recognised within the first few seconds of scanning the group—and they formed up, sabers raised and sprinting towards the hundreds of droids spilling into the arena. Arwen followed through near the front of the group, forcing herself to stay close to Master Plo. 

They made for the battle droids, and off to the side Arwen saw Anakin steer the reek away from the droideka’s, which were now scrambling to reposition themselves.

Anakin, Master Kenobi and Senator Amidala passed by them on their giant mount just as Arwen’s lightsaber bisected a droid, and her shoto deflected a blaster shot.

The raucous sound of blaster fire, marching droids, lightsaber buzzing, and the Geonosians suddenly felt ten times as loud, and for a scant few seconds she felt entirely overwhelmed—she spun and ducked as someones errant Force push sent a droid careening in her direction, bisected it as it flew overhead, and then scrambled to block a flurry of blaster fire. Geonosians flew overhead, someone next to her took a blaster shot to the arm, a droideka shot down a Jedi—

Sweat was dripping down her back, blood pumping with adrenaline, and her heart was pounding so powerfully that it sounded like someone was beating a drum right next to her ear.

In chaos, I find serenity.

Beside her, Master Plo deflected blaster fire back into the droids.

Where others may panic, I will be at peace.

Another Jedi was shot down, falling limply into the sand.

In peace, I am restless—

A padawan scrambled across the sand, searching for their lightsaber.

—but in battle, I am one with the Force.

The sound dulled.

Arwen’s shoto blade shot out to catch an errant blaster bolt, deflecting it back at the B1 droid’s head. With her other lightsaber she cut off the arm of a droid as it aimed its blaster towards Master Plo, then cut off its head.

She repositioned herself, deflecting fire as she moved forward with Master Plo. He called out occasional warnings to her when she started drifting too far from the other Jedi, and after watching three Jedi die after getting hit with a sonic blast from an LR1K cannon, she decided to heed his advice.

“Where’s Master Kenobi?” She called over the din.

“With Master Windu!” Master Plo replied, cutting down three droids in a single move, “Stay focussed on surviving the battle, don’t worry about them!”

She did as she was told—her eyes turned to the seemingly never ending supply of battle droids still piling into the arena pit, and then looked at the fallen Jedi nearby.

The droids seemed endless, but the Jedi were finite, and they were falling fast.

The bulkier and more powerful B2-series battle droids were coming into the fray now in greater numbers, and Arwen worked quickly to destroy as many as she could as fast as she could. Their blasters were more powerful, and their thicker armoured bodies meant they were more durable that the B1’s, and every second they stood, more Jedi fell.

Her dual blades were effective using Soresu, allowing for excellent coverage in not only protecting herself, but other Jedi as well. A padawan went down next to her, grunting and clutching their shoulder, and she leapt in front of them, shoto and lightsaber deflecting the flurry of fire that came their way while they got back up. A sonic burst from one of the cannons went off, knocking several Jedi into the oncoming droids.

She and Master Plo, without needing to speak, both leapt forwards, cutting through the stumbling lines of droids while they had the chance. Her sabers sliced through the metal with little trouble, sending pieces clanging to the floor in ever growing piles. She took care when turning and running to avoid getting caught on any debris.

A single mistake could cost Arwen her life, and she would be just another body in the sand.

Another sonic blast went off, this time a little close for comfort, as Arwen caught the very tail end of its power and it sent her stumbling back. She managed to catch herself before she lost all her balance, but her mind was made up—either the blast would kill them directly, deafen them, or knock them so off-kilter that it cost them their lives. Droids were expendable. Jedi were not.

“We need to take out those cannons!” She yelled.

“Take the right side—I’ll take the left! If they fire, jump to avoid it.”

She called out her affirmative, diving to the side as a droideka rolled through the battlefield. Without much thought, she threw her shoto blade out behind her as she continued towards the cannon, sending it between weaving Jedi and through two B1 droids. Finally, her blue blade sliced through the droideka as its roll came to a slow, sending the droid up in sparks as it split.

She called her shoto back to her hand, gripping it tightly as she ran. The canon, less than 100 feet away, began powering up—

“Jump, Arwen!”

She did as she was told, using the Force to assist her, springing high into the air and just narrowly missing the circle of green-ish light. Landing, she tried to move further to the right, only to find the droids moving the cannon in her direction once more, readying to fire again.

Her eyes darted towards Master Plo—as long as she could avoid getting hit, keeping the cannon blast focussed on her could be beneficial. While the droids were distracted with her, Master Plo could take them unawares from behind.

It fired again, and she called out a warning to the Jedi nearby. She jumped, along with several others, and continued moving across the battlefield, jumping once more before she saw Master Plo edging up behind them.

Master Plo sliced through the droids with ease and she quickly met up with him, slicing through a B2 droid on the way.

“Can we use it?” She asked, sliding into a Soresu stance as she and Master Plo held their ground.

“Not if we want to avoid hitting our own. We should destroy it,” Master Plo said, Force pushing a droid back into several others and knocking them down. Several hundred more droids were still piling out from the caverns.

Eyes lighting up, she glanced back at the cannon, “Can we Force push it?” She pointed over to where most of the droids were piling out. Other Jedi were dangerously close, so firing it wasn’t an option, “We could cave in the cavern entrance.”

“Good thinking, Arwen—” He sent another bolt firing back at a droid getting too close for comfort, “Move back, and we’ll do it together!”

They dipped around behind the cannon, and Arwen braced her feet in the sand. She kept her sabers out and ignited, but freed up some of her fingers—using the Force was always easier with gestures, even if they weren’t strictly necessary. She’d never had any luck with using the Force without moving.

“Call out a warning to the Jedi, then we’ll push.”

She looked to the cavern where droids were still filing out. The Jedi were stepping closer and closer in their efforts to contain them—Master Plo had been correct in his decision not to fire the cannon—but caving in the entrance would cut off the rest of them at least temporarily, and give the Jedi time to gain more ground and regroup.

“CLEAR THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE!”

When the Jedi all darted back, using Force pushes to keep some of the droids from advancing, Arwen pushed out her hands in tandem with Master Plo—the strain was immense, and her feet slid back in the sand a few inches. Her mind ached almost instantaneously, but the Force heeded their call, and the sonic cannon launched forward, sweeping up a wave of droids, twisting slightly and catching the sides and top of the cavern entrance. The sandstone cracked and crumbled, tumbling down in chunks and crushing a droideka that had managed to avoid being hit.

The stone piled higher atop the cannon until, in mere seconds, the cavern was sealed.

“Good thinking, Arwen,” Master Plo called, swinging back into action.

She called out her thanks and followed after him as they began running off, the Jedi nearby hot on their trail once the remaining few droids in that area were dispatched. Nearer to the centre of the arena, droids still piled out, though in smaller numbers, as they had cut off where most seemed to be coming from. There were still hundreds across the arena and—Arwen’s stomach churned—she could see only a few dozen Jedi still standing.

Their bodies littered the floor in droves, and she had to swallow the vomit that threatened to come out. She could see padawans she knew—Elnie, Vok, Chialli, Gola—covered in blaster burns and lying dead-eyed in the sand.

She pushed the thoughts away. There would be time to mourn later. She could pay her respects when the battle was won, and everyone else was safe.

If they didn’t all die, which was looking more and more likely with each minute that passed.

The droids were closing ranks, and the dwindling Jedi began moving closer to each other on instinct, forming a circle. It was effective, keeping everyone’s back covered as each person deflected blaster bolts. But it almost felt pointless, Arwen thought, when she realised that they numbered less than thirty.

Beside Master Plo, she continued deflecting blaster bolts, hitting them back into the droids as often as she could, but it felt useless. There were so many of them, and with their small circle, they stood a very slim chance of surviving. If they had been able to do this from the get go, perhaps they would have made it… what if, what if, what if—

The droids ceased fire, snapping Arwen out of her battle meditation. Warily, she scanned the droids—mostly B1’s, with plenty of B2’s, and a few droideka’s scattered about—and exchanged a heavy look with Master Plo.

According to most, his mask made it difficult to tell what he was feeling, but her inclination towards reading body language meant she never had that issue. Even if she hadn’t been able to, his Force signature was easy to read. He exuded calm and confidence and, even during their grave situation, he was sending out waves of comfort through the Force. She grasped onto the feeling like a lifeline, and tried not to look at the bodies. Averting her eyes, she could see Master Kenobi kneeling down to check the body of a fallen Jedi. She could sense his sorrow as he stood once more beside Master Windu.

Master Kenobi looked uninjured, and so did Anakin, but Senator Amidala, looking run down and covered in grime, had three long, bloody gashes across her back. They must have been excruciating, and the sand must have made it worse, but she stood fiercely with nothing but a blaster and her wits to defend herself. Arwen felt a swell of surprise, but was unable to deny that she was incredibly impressed. Senator Amidala was indeed one of the good ones.

Above, she could see Master Dooku—Count Dooku, she corrected mentally. He was no longer a Jedi. He did not deserve her respect, nor the revered title. The dead Jedi, the slaughtered padawans… their blood was on Count Dooku’s hands.

“Master Windu,” Count Dooku’s voice carried loudly across the arena and she shivered in the scorching sun, “You have fought gallantly. Worthy of recognition in the Archives of the Jedi Order! Now, it is finished,” he said, sounding grave, as though he would have rathered that this never happened. She bristled, grip tightening around her sabers, “Surrender, and your lives will be spared.”

Master Windu, confident, calm, obstinate, didn’t hesitate, “We will not be hostages to be bartered, Dooku.”

“Then,” he said in a low voice, “I’m sorry old friend.”

Arwen barely had time to clench her jaw before the droids were aiming for them once more. Master Shaak Ti tensed beside her, taking a protective step closer, and Arwen readied to fight once more, this time to the death—

“Look!” Senator Amidala called. Arwen’s head jerked up, her ears just now picking up the faint whizzing of engines. Her heart soared—in the sky were dozens of ships; a handful of large ones hovering high in the atmosphere, several others streaking across the sky, and many more smaller ones flying lower to the ground.

They zipped across the arena, so close that if Arwen jumped her hand could brush against the hull of one, dishing out green laser fire. They were impressively accurate, even with the quick manoeuvres the pilot was pulling off, concentrating fire on larger groups of droids and causing them to explode. 

Her hands shook, but not with fear—no, adrenaline coursed through her veins, hot and in excess. Her blades swung without her even needing to think about it, sending back blaster fire as her courage and hope was renewed. She wouldn’t die here today. They wouldn’t die here today.

The ships lowered quickly, creating a perimeter around them. Men wearing white armour and helmets—the army of clones that had so conveniently popped into existence only a few hours ago—covered them as the surviving Jedi were beckoned aboard.

She could see Master Yoda on board one of the ships that landed by them. He looked especially small and frail next to these men—which she knew was a ridiculous thought. He was the Grandmaster of the Order, exceptionally powerful, and deceptively old. Still, a large part of her worried for Master Yoda. She didn’t want him to die here, like so many others had.

Being in battle had corroborated something she often read about in her studies of Eshan and Kalee; it did not matter how strong you were, how skilled you were, because sometimes your survival was simply luck. There were dozens upon dozens of Jedi far more accomplished and skilled than she was who laid dead in the sand, but she had survived because she was lucky.

The clone soldiers disembarked Yoda’s ship, firing blaster rounds off at the droids with exceptional skill. They made it look easy.

Arwen kept her blades swinging, never more grateful for her knowledge of Soresu than she was today, and made sure Anakin, Master Kenobi, and Senator Amidala boarded a ship before she did. It was not her responsibility, but she covered their backs as they did, and caught Anakin’s nod before she followed back after Master Plo.

“Come, Arwen!” Master Plo beckoned her aboard one of the ships. He stood beside one of the soldiers, firing off his blasters in succession, and she darted forward, boarding the ship before turning and assisting the trooper in defending their ship. Master Secura boarded with them shortly after.

Their ship took off after the others had all boarded their own, and she used the Force to stabilise herself in the sudden lift off and disengaged her sabers, not wanting to get in any troopers' way. She kept a close eye on them, worried when one of them simply sat down on the open edge of the ship—she took a few seconds to admire the DC-15A he was holding—and kept her hands at the ready to Force pull someone back onto the ship if they were knocked loose.

“Master Windu has been in contact with your master,” Master Plo told her, “She and her team are alive and well in the catacombs. Clone reinforcements have been sent to aid them, in case of any mishaps.”

Arwen nodded, relieved, “With any luck, this will all be over soon. What about Mas—Count Dooku?”

“Nothing yet. Master Yoda and Master Windu will update us if they need to.”

The ship suddenly swerved and, although the clone trooper in front of her didn’t need it, she reached out with the Force to steady him. It was a long drop. Ahead, she could see explosions just going off, knocking down some large metal structures, though she wasn’t able to tell what they were.

She could see a clear divide. Far ahead were the CIS battle droids, an army of them aided by their own ships and walkers and cannons, and closer to them were the clone forces, with several large ships hovering overhead, and the smaller ones ferrying clone troops to the ground before leaving to begin their assault from the sky.

One of the ships ahead of them got shot down, and she felt several nearby lives blink out—her heart lurched. It was worse when she wasn’t fighting, harder to ignore, to put aside until there was time to mourn. She let out a shuddering exhale, forcing herself to remain composed. Her panic would do her no good, and would likely get her killed.

Master Plo’s comm went off, though she couldn’t hear what was being said, and Master Plo relayed the message across the ship, “Pilot, take us down to the assembly area with the ship ahead of us!”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot replied.

“Master?”

“Master Windu wants us on the frontlines—can you handle that, padawan?”

“It can’t be worse than the arena,” she said without thinking, then grimaced, “and if it is, I can handle it.”

She wasn’t entirely sure she could, but she refused to back down. Master Plo would send her off somewhere safe, or let her join her master in the catacombs if she wished, but she couldn’t stand the thought of slinking off somewhere less dangerous when the remaining Jedi were still leaping into the fray.

If they were fighting, then so was she.

The ship lowered down in the sand alongside Master Windu’s, and she, Master Plo, and Master Secura disembarked with the clone troopers. The trio jogged to meet Masters Windu, Mundi, and Fisto, coming to a stop before several clones, one among them wearing yellow painted armour.

Master Windu gave her a cursory glance—likely to make sure she was still alive, as Master Du had made him promise, and that she was fit to keep fightin—before turning to the clone.

“Sir, I have five special commando units awaiting your orders, sir,” the accent wasn’t especially familiar to her, certainly not one common on Coruscant, but she rather liked the sound of it. Master Windu nodded, gesturing ahead to the approaching droid forces.

“We’ll need to join up with more troopers if we want to hold the line. We have five additional Jedi that can be of help. Where would you like them?”

The clone opened a comms channel, “I need five additional units available for command under a Jedi in my sector now. Comm your availability and ETA.”

She couldn’t hear the responses, but the clone's nods told her he was receiving information through his yellow-accented helmet. She wondered, for a brief moment, why he seemed to be the only clone with any colour on his armour, but assumed it was due to a leadership role or distinguished position in the army. She could recall several cultures using similar ways to denote rank in the military.

Soon, several clones approached their group in a coordinated jog. Master Windu departed first with his men, after informing them to rendezvous at his position as soon as possible, igniting his purple lightsaber and leading his men across the battlefield. Masters Mundi and Fisto left next, and Master Secura after that. She felt a twinge of worry—her midriff was bare and open to attack, but she forced it down. Jedi didn’t wear armour anyway, and their robes wouldn’t do anything to save them from a blaster bolt. They may as well be naked.

Besides, Master Secura was a Jedi Knight, not a Jedi Padawan like Arwen. She had years more experience and skill, and it was a disservice to the knight to even think she wasn’t capable of defending herself.

Missiles streaked out from behind their forces, leaving trails of white smoke. They crashed into a Federation starship—round, and likely terribly uneconomic in terms of flight—and exploded on impact, setting off a chain reaction in the engines and exploding it before it even had the chance to lift fully off the ground.

“Are you sure you are ready for this, Arwen?” Master Plo asked, snapping her out of her thoughts. She straightened her back, nodding firmly.

“Yes, master.”

He looked at her for a few long moments, and she resisted the urge to tap her foot. While they wasted time, clones and Jedi could be dying. Finally, he spoke, “Very well. Comm me should you need, and don’t—”

“—take any unnecessary risks, I know. I won’t.”

“May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you.”

Master Plo left with his men immediately after, and Arwen waited for her assigned troopers to arrive. She looked out over the battlefield in the meantime, trying to make herself useful, but the real battle was happening too far away to make out anything significant. 

Several IG-227 Hailfire-class droid tanks were wreaking havoc on their troops, firing missile after missile, destroying their own tanks and taking out adjacent clones in the explosions. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, but she forced herself to remain still. Running off into battle was stupid, and it would get her killed, no matter how noble her intentions to help may be.

Within minutes, several clones had arrived, one wearing blue paint on his armour. His helmet had a notable pattern, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what it was or what it meant. He stood at attention before her, saluting. Hesitating for half a second, she straightened her back and folded her arms behind her, nodding firmly.

“Captain CT-7567 of Torrent Company, sir. Reporting for duty.”

She stiffened—did he not have a name?—but tried to push past it. Talking could wait, there were lives at stake, “Padawan Arwen Luthal,” she gave a short bow in respect, “I’m at your command.”

“We’re at yours, sir,” he said hesitatingly, “You’re a Commander.”

She blinked, filing that away for later, no matter how much she wanted to ask questions, “Right—we have orders to rendezvous with Master Windu. Two klicks that way by now,” she steadied her hands and gripped her lightsabers, igniting the dual blue blades, “Stay close.”

Arwen’s time in the Halls of Healing was nothing short of disastrous, and she had only lasted an hour.

Master Nu’lok had examined her and found her use of the Force to be more than adept, and her mind well attuned to it. She could work under pressure and stay calm, she could focus near single mindedly when she had a mind for it (Master Nu’lok was certain that her dedication towards combat could be redirected), and she could feel out other peoples Force signatures decently quickly. Her Echani born gift for reading body language was also a great help, and Master Nu’lok said it would be especially useful for identifying injuries faster when used with the Force, with no small amount of practise.

Her first and only practice patient had a three inch long slice on his forearm. It wasn’t bleeding much, nor was it deep or messy when she had first approached him on the medical bed with Master Nu’lok, but it was when she left.

The only time she was ever allowed to administer assistance in healing was with bandages and stims, never with the Force, lest she rip someone’s body apart in an attempt to heal a damn splinter puncture.

Whyever it was, Arwen did not have an aptitude for Force healing—she had the opposite of that, where her mind for some reason couldn’t comprehend the difference between putting back together and taking apart.

Within the next three days, Master Du had taken her off-world for her first mission, and Arwen was grateful for something to take her mind off what had happened. It was a basic, safe mission that had gone completely according to plan, and even though Arwen was secretly hoping for things to go just a little off the rails, she enjoyed her first time leaving Coruscant since she’d joined the Jedi Order.

Missions became more frequent after that, and Master Du quickly showed her the ropes—from interacting with high-profile public figures, to slinking through a planet's deadly underbelly. Master Du was thorough but cautious, quick to tell Arwen when she needed to reign herself in and giving her the necessary criticisms to keep Arwen in check and always improving and learning. Thus far, she’d not really had a chance to exercise her lightsaber skills, though there had been a few close calls over the next few months—all ending after only a few seconds, their opponents blasters never even firing, and Arwen’s lightsabers not even swinging.

The long stretches spent in hyperspace were usually spent studying, the ships they flew being too small to practise with her sabers, or piloting the ship herself. It made her grateful for the red bead in her braid.

The first few missions threw Arwen’s body clock and schedule completely off, and she felt a much stronger wave of sympathy for Anakin, who was almost always off-planet with Master Kenobi and still managed to keep up with his studies. It took seven missions before she adjusted to the changes, and after that she found she enjoyed the lack of rigidity. The long stretches of time in hyperspace and on different planets with different sun rotations made keeping any kind of set schedule near impossible anyway.

She saw Anakin less and less now that she and Master Du left the temple, and though she missed having someone relatively close to her skill level to spar with, she was managing just fine. Learning Soresu, Ataru, and applying Jar’Kai techniques that weren’t even taught was a lot of work to manage, and it kept her mind sharp. Her skills grew more and more each day, though she had yet to exercise them outside of spars and training.

She and Master Du had more recently been sent on relief missions, primarily for natural disasters and disease outbreaks, and Arwen became a capable coordinator for triage and medical, though her own skills in healing were of course limited to minor injuries—at most, if impromptu medical centres were pressed for staff and time, she was permitted to administer vaccinations and check vitals, and rudimentary wound cleaning. Still, she took great care and pride in what she could do, even if it was only bandaging small wounds, administering vaccinations or medical stims, or getting patients water.

The Force was a useful tool to have when looking for survivors as well; after a particularly nasty earthquake, a great deal of rudimentary technology on colony planets often didn’t work, or the heavy rubble was too thick for the scanners to penetrate; being able to sense life, though somewhat difficult for Arwen when there were so many people around, and using the Force to lift heavy debris spared the hapless people underneath from needing to wait for heavy, slow machinery to arrive, had saved countless lives.

For their efforts in providing relief and aid to those in need, Ur-Sema Du was made a Jedi Master. It suited her, and Arwen’s master took to the role flawlessly. Maybe one day Master Du would sit on the Council, alongside Masters Yoda, Windu and Plo. She certainly had the temperament and disposition for it.

The missions were hardly the adventure that Anakin had assured her it would be, but Arwen was happy nonetheless. 

All too soon Arwen was sixteen, and finally finishing her last year of temple mandated studies. She completed her examinations for her regular classes with little fanfare, and just slightly above average marks, though she’d barely scraped by in politics. There were no examinations for either of her lightsaber combat classes, but rather the attending Jedi’s declaration of their participation and improvement over the years, and it was much the same for lessons in the Force and meditation. Piloting class had a final practical and written exam, but because she’d been flying with Master Du so many times she found it quite easy to get through, and judging by the relaxed faces and posture of the other padawans taking the exams they clearly felt similarly. She learned after the exams that there hadn’t been a padawan who failed this class in over three decades. Her true challenge came with her independent studies class.

As everyone in the class chose their own subjects to research there could be no standardised exam. Instead, a thesis was required, and Arwen was glad for the forethought she’d put into it, otherwise she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

The original survey was broad, a collection of several dozens of questions requiring both brief and detailed responses. When she had sent out the original surveys, exactly two hundred of them, they had been filled out with the condition that they must be completed again in six years. Unfortunately, she had issues chasing up more than a few Jedi to get them to keep their word. Most of them were simply busy, off-planet and on lengthy missions, but Master Krell didn’t have an excuse. He was in the temple and available, and she’d sent the survey to his datapad for completion. Then she sent a reminder to him. Then another. And another… until finally she had been forced to all but chase him around the temple in search for him, waving a spare datapad in his face when he tried to say he’d misplaced his, and reminding him quite loudly that she needed the information he’d agreed to provide six years ago to complete her thesis when Master Plo had approached.

After that was the long process of making more graphs and charts, drawing conclusions and writing out comprehensive texts based on the gathered information. Finding a way to include all of the information was quite difficult, and she inevitably had to leave quite a bit out in order to properly touch on the differences noted over the course of six years, but what she included was indeed interesting—to her at least.

Arwen received high marks for her final thesis, and Master Du added a red band to the bottom of Arwen’s braid to signify she had completed her studies at the Jedi Temple, and began studying under her Master entirely.

Now that there was nothing forcing Master Du and Arwen back to the Jedi Temple, aside from her master’s duties, the duo spent more time off-planet and on longer missions. Master Du was not a lenient taskmaster when it came to assigning studies, but she was certainly more flexible in schedule than lessons in the temple were.

Arwen’s favourite part of studying under Master Du was the free time—which of course was filled with saber practice. Soresu was her best form, drilled into her almost ruthlessly by Master Du once Arwen had begun growing closer to her master’s skill level. Ataru was far more difficult, but that was part of why she enjoyed it so much. She had no Jedi to teach it to her, as Master Du only knew Soresu, Shii-Cho and Niman in detail, and applying Jar’Kai to it made it ten times more difficult to learn. Despite that, she continued to improve in Form IV, and Master Du offered assistance where she could. Master Du was also quite adept at hand-to-hand, so she was able to continue practising that too.

The increasing divide in the galaxy, which had begun the year prior, saw that a great many of politicians and important figureheads for megacorporations, like the Trade Federation and Banking Clan, were travelling to and from Coruscant and a great deal needed Jedi escorts, or at the least supervisors, to make sure no assassinations or spying were occurring. She and Master Du hadn’t been too involved in those missions, but they had recently begun getting involved by way of offering aid to refugees specifically caused by the political rift. Planets had been seceding by the thousands, with more leaving each day and joining the newly founded Confederacy of Independent Systems. The divide in the Senate was one thing, but the divide amongst the peoples across the galaxy was another entirely.

The man working traffic control, the woman building ships, the child still learning to spell their name, the elderly man looking to retire, the small business owner paying high taxes, the family struggling to make ends meet—these were the people most affected, no matter how much the politicians acted like they were the ones most inconvenienced. Some people decided the Republic wasn’t for them, not now that there was another option, others decided that even though their planet's leaders had declared the Confederacy was the best option, that they would rather return to the Republic. Travel between planets now a part of different governments—if the Confederacy could even be called that—wasn’t as readily available as it used to be. There was too much tension, and the political divide drove people against each other.

And with so many people leaving their planets and looking for a new home at the same time, it was difficult to find space for everyone.

“These refugee camps were meant to be temporary,” Arwen said, looking over the endless sea of tents and hastily built scrap houses, “But they just get bigger every day.”

Master Du hummed, and Arwen didn’t need to look at her master to know she too was upset.

Centax-1 was the primary moon of Coruscant, and more than half of it was covered in skyscrapers. There had been just shy of one million suitable vacant homes and apartments on the moon, enough to house the first two groups of refugees that had come to Coruscant looking for a new home. Arwen and Master Du, as well as several other Jedi and many members of the Service Corps, had been responsible for taking down names and the number of members in the family and finding suitable accommodation, as well as setting up work opportunities. Thankfully, cities always had a surplus of available jobs.

“There’s no more room in the city—and getting them a place on Coruscant requires jumping through so many hoops and takes so long that they’d have better luck flying all the way out to the Mid Rim and to Naboo.”

“Naboo already has a surplus of refugees that they are struggling to house,” Master Du reminded her, “But I feel you are right.”

“And the Senate is too busy bickering about approving a Republic Army and tax rates,” the words tasted like acid in her mouth, “to care that there are millions of people across the galaxy suffering.”

“Yes, there are few good politicians to be found in these trying times—Senator Amidala is certainly one of them,” rarely did Master Du—or most Jedi, in truth—speak of politicians with approval. There were too many corrupt and negligent ones for any reasonable Jedi to trust the Senate to properly resolve any crisis with haste, “If it weren’t for her, I think the Senate would have voted to create an army.”

Arwen, though certainly not an expert on politics, agreed wholeheartedly, “Can you imagine? The whole galaxy would be at war. There hasn’t been a war on that scale in… what, thousands of years? In the times of the Old Republic.”

“Before the Ruusan Reformation. A dark age,” Master Du said, “We have very little information left of those times, nothing more than scattered pieces. Whatever happened in the last galaxy wide war, it destroyed a great deal of history. If we had records, perhaps more could have been done to prevent things like this from happening.”

“The refugee camps, or the secession?”

“Both.”

Arwen bit the inside of her cheek, “Is it really so bad that these planets want to leave the Republic?”

“What do you mean?”

“Plenty of planets have said they don’t want to be in the Republic in the past, haven’t they? I remember reading about that in politics lessons,” she couldn’t recall much from those classes, nothing but the broad strokes from the last few years, but it had been a large talking point at the time, and the current situation made those lectures a bit easier to recall, “Seems like most of the Senate is more concerned with keeping the Republic together, rather than being an effective Republic.”

Master Du hummed again, “I think many would agree with you.”

“The politicians lobby and bribe their way to the top, delay votes that aren’t in their personal interests, and focus on their own personal gain—how much money will this get me? How much power does this give me?—instead of doing what’s right for the people they’re supposed to represent. And it always looks like these politicians belong to planets that hold a lot of influence already; Senator Free Taa is one of them. These planets have power, money, influence, and they’ve been a part of the Republic for a long time. You’d think they would use those resources to assist others.”

“Power corrupts easily, especially in politics, and greed follows closely.”

“So it makes sense that these other planets, the small ones with not enough money or power, or simply with good politicians who refuse to fall to corruption, would want to leave, doesn’t it? They have no voice, no power, and when they try to be heard in the Senate, it takes next to nothing for some other planet or megacorporation, like the Banking Clan—who shouldn’t even be allowed to have a seat in the Senate—to just object or call for it to be dismissed, or rally their backers, or bribe someone else, and then everyone just collectively forgets about it. Of course they want to join the Confederacy. It’s a chance at everything they’ve been denied.”

“It does indeed seem to be in their best interests, and I understand the point you’re making, but think about it this way; the Confederacy of Independent Systems was formed only after Count Dooku denounced the Galactic Senate the Jedi Order. Now, he’s a prominent political figurehead, and the Banking Clan, Trade Federation, Techno Union and Commerce Guild have extreme power and influence over both sides.”

“Why does that matter? Master Dooku was a Jedi, isn’t he a good choice as a leader? He can keep the megacorporations in check, otherwise he wouldn’t have allowed them to join.”

Master Du gave her a measured look, “Do not let your personal feelings cloud your judgement on this matter, Arwen. Count Dooku, while not a bad man, has made some rather bold statements as of late. You would do well to remember that while he was once a Jedi, he is as shrewd and cunning as the best of the Senate. The megacorporations are not entirely necessary to allow into the CIS, and he had no reason to allow them on the Separatist Council if all he sought was the right for other planets to have their voices heard. I’d argue that their mere presence directly argues against that.”

Arwen frowned, “You think there’s a more sinister reason for that? That Master Dooku has a hidden agenda?” She had trouble believing it, but her memories of Master Dooku were brief and spotty at best. She remembered looking up to him, and that he had a commanding presence and was regarded as one of the best duelists in the Jedi Temple, but not much else.

“I don’t think we should discount the possibility,” Master Du said, eyes sweeping over the endless tents once more. Softly, she spoke, “These refugees are just the beginning, I fear. The worst is yet to come.”

Arwen’s frown deepened, thinking of the meagre food that was provided for the refugees, the water rations that were quickly lowering, the small tents and thin blankets, the awful waiting times to find a home and a job, the many moons and planets that housed entire cities worth of displaced people, and the countless others forced to stay in places they no longer felt safe in during political strife, “How could it get worse than this?” She whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“War is brewing.”

Arwen’s head snapped over to Master Du so fast she heard a crack, “War?” She said breathlessly, “I know the Senate is talking about forming an army, but isn’t it just fear mongering, or intimidation tactics? There hasn’t been a Republic Army since before the Ruusan Reformation.”

“I’d like to believe that too, Arwen—that their words are just that; words. But my instincts tell me that dark times lie ahead, and with each planet that secedes, another power grows.”

Something in Arwen’s stomach twisted harshly, and she wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or anxiety. Either way, she desperately tried to quell it, “And what will we do? The Jedi are not soldiers—I’ve been told that a lot growing up—but do we take sides? We are loyal to the Republic, but does that mean that we condemn thousands of planets and their peoples simply because they wish to be heard?” It didn’t seem right to her, “Would we give aid and relief to people who suffer from war only if they are in the Republic?”

Master Du sighed. It was a hopeless sound, filled with dread, “Based on treaties signed for the Ruusan Reformation, it certainly seems like that would be the case.”

Arwen’s gut twisted, this time with dread, “That isn’t right. Jedi are supposed to value life and peace above all other things. How could we claim to be Jedi if we let people suffer? How could we—” Master Du’s hand landed on her shoulder and Arwen stopped talking. Without needing instruction, she drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“This is all just hypothetical, Arwen. My instincts could be wrong—and I hope they are—but it will do neither of us any good to linger on these thoughts and let fear fester. All we can do is offer the help we can give right now.”

With a shuddering exhale, Arwen nodded.

A great deal of time was spent on Centax-1, though they rotated with other Jedi from the temple every few weeks. She was seventeen when they were relieved of duty on Coruscant’s first moon, as were the other Jedi that had been rotating with them, and a new Jedi team took over. All that meant was that Master Du and Arwen, perhaps some of the most experienced in offering relief and aid for those in need, were now available to go to some of the more difficult, disorganised and overpopulated refugee camps.

An outbreak of disease had caused a fair bit of alarm amongst the camp they arrived at in the Mid Rim, but they had it under control in a few weeks, with a surplus of medial droids and Jedi Healers available to help. 

There had been a battle on Antar 4, and that sentence alone was enough to make Arwen’s heart race—secessions caused a great deal of political uproar and civilian displacement, but there had been little in the way of violence thus far, and certainly not on a large scale. She had interrogated any Jedi she could find for information on what had happened, and the short of it was that the militant branch of the Gotal Assembly for Separation, the Roshu Sune, had committed acts of terrorism against the Republic, and the Jedi force that had been sent to stop them later severely underestimated the resistance they may face. There had been several Jedi casualties and many civilian casualties, and in the end their deaths had amounted to nothing. The Jedi, in a fantastically horrible attempt at victory, had used an electromagnetic pulse to overwhelm the Gotal’s sensitive head cones. It had worked, incapacitating the terrorists, but at a high cost; the civilians had also been subjected to the pulse, and many were left in severe pain.

The Republic counted it as a victory, but the populace of Antar 4 made it clear they sympathised with the CIS, no matter their official allegiance.

Soon thereafter, bombings began occurring on Coruscant. The Roshu Sune claimed it was their doing, and done in the name of Count Dooku. That had earned some backlash from many in the temple. Master Dooku would never condone something like that, it simply wasn’t plausible. The Jedi took Master Dooku’s silence on the matter as confirmation of that.

Only months later was the secession of Ando and Sy Myrth, and the number of separatist planets rose to over six thousand. Debates in the Senate were frequent, yet nothing ever seemed to get done. Still, they argued over the formation of an army, and now that Arwen had heard of the terrorist attacks, and seen with her own eyes the aftermath of the bombings on Coruscant, she became more and more sure that Master Du was right.

War was coming, and the padawan couldn’t conjure up little more than dread and worry. But the Echani in her was positively vibrating with anticipation; this was what her people did, this was why she trained, and she’d defend the Republic with everything she had—

An alarming chain of thought that set her on edge whenever it crossed her mind. Arwen entertained the idea of cutting down enemies with her sabers, using the Force to her advantage, thinking up complex battle plans and reconnaissance missions, leading troops to victory and saving innocents from death and suffering, and she had to force herself to stop every time it happened.

Jedi should not have any delusions of glory, and they certainly shouldn’t desire to fight—not in a war, or any context where violence was the first resolution. Besides that, there was no future where Arwen could see ever being permitted to take part in a war as a member of the Jedi Order, and she was absolutely not willing to leave. No, it was best to shove those thoughts into the very back of her mind, and meditate on them when she was alone. The most involvement she, and any other Jedi would have in a war, would be offering aid and relief.

She wasn’t sure she had the stomach for war anyway, no matter her brief anticipation. The Jedi had schooled the need for war away long before it had any chance to truly take root, and her own studies had revealed copious horrid details of exactly what war did to people, whether they participated or not.

War was not glorious, it was destructive and grotesque, and the people who stood on the sidelines, those most innocent and in need of protecting, often suffered the most.

Eventually, once the refugee situation had been brought under control, Arwen and Master Du were given an extended leave—the Council said three months, given their near tireless work the last two years, but privately she thought they wouldn’t be so lucky. Regardless, Arwen would enjoy her brief break while she could.

Coruscant had been relatively quiet the last few weeks—as quiet as Coruscant could get, at least. There hadn’t been any more bombings, the protests that had been occurring had all ended peacefully, and the Senate wasn’t kicking up any more racket than they usually did. Arwen buried herself beneath her studies as soon as she returned, eager to catch up on a few things before Master Du realised she’d been neglecting them, and spent the next few days finishing up research papers and assignments. When she finished, she searched for a sparring partner, but was unable to drag anyone away from their own responsibilities. She’d been hopeful for Tarrock to join her, but he confessed that he’d rather lost interest in lightsaber combat since the Separatist Crisis began and no longer practised with regularity.

It had been a long way to say no.

Arwen was left with no choice but to train by herself, which wasn’t an issue because she did that when Master Du didn’t have the time when they were off-world, but part of her excitement to come back to the temple was for spars. Instead, Arwen powered up a few firing droids and began deflecting bolts, upping the firing rate constantly.

Soresu came not easily, but naturally. Her tireless efforts with Master Du had made her fluid and efficient, and knowing that her best form was one almost entirely based on defence eased Arwen’s mind when she wrestled with the impossible thought of fighting in a war.

She was just in the middle of a high-fire round when she sensed him—Anakin. She’d sparred with him frequently enough that she recognised his Force signature when it was so close. She wasn’t particularly good at sensing other peoples presences, only if she knew them well, and even so the range wasn’t far, so that must mean—

Arwen spun, crossing her blue sabers in front of her in an X, and Anakin’s blue lightsaber met the centre.

“Nice try, Anakin.”

He huffed, disengaging his lightsaber, “Thought you were distracted.”

“I was. I can just sense you. When did you get back?” She switched hers off too, clipping them onto her belt.

“Yesterday. We were on Ansion for a border dispute.”

“Oh? How did that go? Another secession?”

“We thought it might be, but we managed to create a truce between the Unity Council—they wanted to secede—and the Alwari—they’re the nomadic tribes—and in the end they voted to stay in the Republic.”

“Oh,” Arwen said, then smiled, “That’s surprising, but nice to hear after what happened on Antar 4. We need more peaceful resolutions.”

Anakin nodded in agreement and the pair began walking out of the training hall, “When did you get back?”

“Five days ago. We’ve been all over the place these last few months, trying to get refugees out of camps and into real homes.”

“Oh yeah, Obi-Wan mentioned something about that. We were going to join you and Master Du for one of those missions. I think Master Luminara and Barriss went instead.”

“They did, but only for a few weeks. They had something more urgent to do in the Outer Rim.”

Anakin nodded, and the pair continued their relatively light conversation through dinner. They agreed to meet the next morning for a few spars, now much easier to coordinate without drastically different schedules, and parted ways for the evening.

The following days spars were hard fought and fun. Anakin was making leaps and bounds in Form V, and she in III and IV. The styles were well matched, and Anakin’s raw power made him a very good partner indeed, but Arwen still disarmed him after several long rounds.

Unlike the last time she had sparred with him, which had been several months ago, Anakin seemed to be taking the losses a little hard, the last one in particular. His cheeks were slightly red, his brow furrowed, jaw set, shoulders tense, and his fist white-knuckled around his lightsaber’s grip.

“Interesting parry at the beginning of that round,” Arwen said suddenly, “I’ve not seen it before. It looks difficult.”

Anakin exhaled shakily, “It’s a new one I’ve been practising. It’s easier than it looks.”

“Effective, though. Can you show me?”

Though she had no intention of learning Form V for quite a few years now, it successfully distracted Anakin for the next few minutes and calmed him down, at least until a group of younglings entered, chattering away before the beginning of their lightsaber lessons.

“I saw it on the holonet—seven people died in the explosion.”

Arwen and Anakin both looked over—another bombing?

“The Roshu Sune again?”

“The report said it's a suspected assassination attempt, so probably not.”

“She survived though, didn’t she?”

“Who?”

“Senator Amidala. Her decoy died but—” Anakin sprinted off, leaving Arwen calling after him. She debated chasing after him, but when she reached the exit he had already disappeared around one of the many corners and she lost track of him.

She saw him again in the afternoon, pacing the length of one of the halls. She could feel the anxiety coming off him in waves, and a strange anticipation that felt unfamiliar. Slowly, Arwen approached him, “Anakin? Everything alright?”

He didn’t even turn to acknowledge her, “Padmé almost died.”

“The senator?” Arwen asked. She was one of the few good politicians left, and her death would have been a great tragedy and loss, but she’d survived, and apparently with no injuries. She wasn’t quite sure why Anakin was so upset, “She’s alright though.”

Anakin stopped and glared at her, but his lower lip looked like it was wobbling. Suddenly feeling awkward, and not understanding why Anakin was behaving this way, she rocked back on her feet, waiting for him to speak.

He said nothing for a while, simply resuming his pacing, but eventually he cracked, “I’ve known Padmé since I was nine. I met her when she was Queen Amidala, posing as a handmaiden during the blockade on Naboo.”

Arwen nodded her understanding, even though Anakin wasn’t looking at her.

“I haven’t seen her since the parade, but she’s very… important to me,” Anakin looked at her now, and she could see the worry plain on his face. She hadn’t known he was close with Senator Amidala, or that he could care so much for someone he apparently hadn’t seen in ten years. Indeed, when Anakin had mentioned Naboo he seemed reluctant to share much more than the fact that he’d been there. Arwen thought that might be because he was under orders from Master Kenobi or the Council, as Anakin was prone to bragging.

“Have you been able to speak to her?”

“No,” he sounded almost pained, “but Master Kenobi and I have been assigned to protect her.”

“Then stop worrying, Anakin. You and Master Kenobi are more than capable of keeping her alive and safe.”

“We should be trying to find out who did this!” He snapped, “If we can get rid of whoever’s trying to assassinate her—”

“So it definitely wasn’t the Roshu Sune?”

Anakin huffed, “They’re not taking credit for it, and they always take credit for their bombings.”

“Isn’t the best option to let the experts investigate then? Or Senator Amidala’s own team? Maybe she already has a few suspects in mind—”

“She thinks Count Dooku is behind it.”

Arwen’s mouth snapped shut, and she had to actively push down the sudden wash of anger and disbelief she felt on his behalf, “Master Dooku would never do something like that.”

Anakin just shrugged, “That's what Padmé told the Chancellor, Master Yoda and Master Windu.”

When he said nothing more, Arwen narrowed her eyes accusingly, “You don’t believe that, right? He’s a Jedi—”

“He left the Order,” he said non committedly.

“He used to teach me—”

“Not even for two years.”

Bristling, Arwen stepped forward, “Master Yoda taught him, and he taught Master Qui-Gon, who taught Master Kenobi. Master Dooku was, is, one of the best Jedi in the temple. Why would he try to assassinate someone? And with an explosion no less. It doesn’t really fit the Jedi prerogative, does it?”

Anakin rolled his eyes, “Whoever it might be, I still think we should be investigating and tracking down whoever did this.”

Arwen sighed, willing herself to calm down. Anakin was stubborn to a fault, and far too passionate sometimes, but she would get nowhere trying to convince him of anything he didn’t want to hear. That was best left to his master. Besides, it wasn’t really her business anyway.

“Anakin.”

Speak of the devil, Arwen thought, turning to bow to Master Kenobi as he approached. He gave a short bow in turn and a pleasant smile. His hair was longer than ever, as was his beard, but he was still the same old Master Kenobi.

“Are we leaving, Master?”

“Yes. Perhaps next time you should check your comms device.”

Anakin gave a sheepish look and Arwen looked down to hide her smile, “Best of luck,” she said, in favour of teasing Anakin further, “May the Force be with you.”

Anakin and Master Kenobi parroted the phrase back to her and they exchanged bows before parting ways. She saw Master Kenobi even less frequently than Anakin, and even so their exchanges were mostly limited to greetings, goodbyes and very brief small talk before one of them had to go. Still, she would always remember him for the times he’d comforted her as a youngling and encouraged her to delve a little further into her studies. That decision, she was sure, was what had made Master Du select her as her padawan.

With little else to do, Arwen spent the rest of the day studying, and the next practising with her saber. Master Du had made herself scarce earlier in the day, warning her as soon as Arwen woke that their respite was likely to be over soon.

“There’s been some developments regarding Senator Amidala. I’m not sure what exactly, but Master Windu warned me that we’ll likely be called away soon.”

Arwen sleepily nodded, suppressing a yawn, “Thought three months sounded too good to be true.”

“Don’t act like you’re not pleased to have something to do again.”

She hadn’t seen Master Du for the rest of the day, but there were murmurs of another attempt on Senator Amidala’s life during the night. Obviously, Anakin and Master Kenobi had succeeded in protecting her, but for two attempts to occur within a single day?

Senator Amidala was a powerful woman, with a stout moral compass and the ability to persuade almost anyone given enough time. Master Du had made her watch plenty of recordings of Senate hearings, most of which went over her head, and while it made it easy to understand why a woman like Senator Amidala would have powerful enemies, it certainly didn’t narrow down the suspects.

Arwen managed a brief catch up with Tarrock just before dinner and, when she was unable to find Master Du during her quick scan of the room, she opted to eat alone. Her master liked to maintain strict mealtimes, but was often busy. Likely, she was eating while working, and would catch up with Arwen later.

When she didn’t return by late in the evening, Arwen grew worried. Master Du liked to take advantage of the peace and quiet whilst in the temple, maintaining a strict sleeping schedule that wasn’t possible when they were out on missions. Arwen was finally slipping into her bedroom when she heard her master come in. Glancing at the time, Arwen winced. Her master would be tired come the next morning.

“Master Du? Where have you been?”

“With Obi-Wan Kenobi, comparing notes on padawans,” she gave Arwen a pointed look.

“I haven’t done anything wrong lately,” she said, though she still wracked her brain for anything that she might have done.

“No, you haven’t,” Master Du gave her a searching look, and Arwen resisted the urge to shrink away slightly. She wasn’t often given these looks, not since she had first joined Master Du. The kind of look that made her feel like she was being sized up, examined, and picked and pulled apart, “Anakin has left for his first solo mission. I’ve been thinking you might be ready for one soon too.”

Arwen straightened up, eyes brightening, “Really? You think I’m ready?”

“Almost. A few weeks, perhaps months, and maybe I’ll let you head out on your own.”

She resisted the urge to jump up and down and celebrate, instead just barely curbing a ridiculous grin and bowing, “Thank you, Master.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. In times like these, lone Jedi have their work cut out for them.”

Though she agreed, and a small part of her worried that she wouldn’t be able to handle it—she was only seventeen—she couldn’t wait to set off on her own, even if it was just for a week. She was desperate to prove herself to Master Du, and to the Council. The faster that happened, the faster she would be knighted.

It wouldn’t happen within the next year, or two, or three, but she hoped to be knighted before she was twenty four—realistically, she wasn’t sure how much more she could learn under Master Du at that age—but she hoped it would happen earlier. The youngest anyone had ever been knighted was age 15. That honour belonged to Vernestra Rwoh, who’d died decades ago. Arwen had already passed that milestone, but age twenty was her goal, though she made sure not to get her hopes too high, and she was comforted by the fact that she and Anakin seemed to be progressing at around the same time. At this rate, she’d likely be knighted around the same time as Anakin.

Master Du woke Arwen in the morning after having received a comms call from Master Windu. Politicians and ambassadors were growing fearful of the ramifications for speaking out in the Senate—a very reasonable fear to have—and were requesting Jedi escorts to ensure their safe departure and arrival on their homeworlds. She and Master Du would be two of dozens sent out as escorts.

It continued on like that for weeks, escorting people to their homeworlds and escorting others to Coruscant on their return trip. Airspace traffic was even more chaotic than usual, and moving at a slow crawl with the constant threat of terrorists like the Roshu Sune sneaking in.

Though busy, it was dull work, and the constant travelling had Arwen either piloting or studying until she no longer had any assignments to do—a first for Arwen.

Their most recent mission would see them escorting an ambassador and his family back to Rodia, a planet Arwen was eager to explore if she was given the chance as she had never been there.

It was a simple mission, though it took several days given it was on the other side of the galaxy, and though hyperspace travel was incredibly fast, it didn’t eliminate time altogether. They arrived during the night on Rodia, saw the ambassador and his family safely home and began their journey back. They made it halfway back to Coruscant when they had stopped to refuel.

That was when Master Windu contacted them.

Ilum was just as cold as Arwen remembered it, and her previous trip had stained her perception of it. Her first trip there had yielded her a kyber crystal, yes, but it had also left her mottled with bruises across most of her body, a cracked rib, a severely bruised pelvis, bloodied fingers that were missing skin, and a plethora of other minor injuries that left phantom aches long after they had healed.

She couldn’t help the underlying fear this time, though she tried to curb it when she looked at the nervous faces of the younglings around her, and gave only encouraging words when they asked her what it was like inside. She didn’t want to cause any fear or panic, and what happened inside Ilum was unpredictable; specific to every person, a lesson that needed to be learned. Several, in her case.

But the ice caves had a much less painful lesson to teach Arwen this time around, and she left the cave with a crystal between her freezing fingers and a lesson she should have learned a long time ago; trust in the Force.

There was no more cortosis-weave to be found on the Crucible, but she had only checked just to be sure and with little hope, so she wasn’t disappointed when she came up empty handed. She still made a blade shroud, and made her shoto lightsaber identical in appearance, just smaller, for the sake of symmetry. Like her first lightsaber, the blade was blue, and something felt intrinsically right when she ignited them both, even if it felt strange to hold two at once.

Adjusting to even holding two sabers in a spar was a challenge in itself. She typically held her lightsaber in both hands, using only her right hand when particular moves called for it—like reverse grip—or when she used the Force with her left. Having another saber constantly in her grasp meant a whole new level of awareness that she hadn’t even considered when she’d begun sparring with only one hand in preparation. She kept her original lightsaber in her right hand, and her shoto blade in her left, taking to twirling them around in her grip when she wasn’t sparring. Simple spins of the hilt between her fingers, figure-eights, and occasionally tossing the unignited hilt into the air to catch it. Eventually, she’d work up throwing her ignited saber, when she was sure she wouldn’t cut off her hand accidentally.

“Showing off again, padawan?”

“No, Master,” Arwen smiled, “It’s helping me get used to the balance. The hilt for my shoto is shorter, and a bit lighter, so it still feels kind of off holding it sometimes. The more I use it, even when I’m showing off, the more comfortable it feels, and the easier it gets to use them both.”

Master Du hummed, “It’s harder than you thought?” She sounded amused. Arwen shrugged one shoulder.

“A little, but I don’t mind. The pay off will be worth it.”

It was an uphill battle though, and every day Arwen felt those telltale strains in her arms that told her she was improving. Even basic Makashi moves that she adapted for both sabers made her muscles ache and pull—and that wasn’t to mention the severe beatings she was getting during both regular and advanced saber lessons! It seemed everyone was getting their fill of revenge—all lighthearted, of course—and taking advantage of her vulnerable state. When she used training sabers against initiates who hadn’t made their own lightsabers yet, she returned bruised and battered, and when she returned from advanced saber lessons where they sparred with real lightsabers, she returned with a bruised ego, having been disarmed dozens of times.

But every loss was worth it when she grew more familiar with just how people handled fighting against two blades, even against someone as new to it as she was. Studying holocrons helped a great deal, and she made sure she could adequately perform the moves recorded there before she truly tried independently adapting moves herself where the holocrons left gaps in knowledge—and those gaps were big. She took to recording herself practising the moves by herself and during spars, analysing them afterwards with a critical eye and comparing them to the recordings she already had if they were available. It was a great help, to be able to look at herself and see exactly where she was going wrong—overreaching with the shoto blade in that recording, neglecting to use her lightsaber in favour of her shoto in another, feet too still as she focussed on using both at once.

Still, it took months of practise, analysing, and readjusting before she could claim any kind of skill in Jar’Kai. She was fourteen by the time she was winning spars semi-regularly, but she was more focussed than ever, her mind slipping easily into a meditative state when she sparred. Everything felt unpredictable, chaotic, but in the best way—finally, she could stand before opponents and let herself get lost in the clashing of their plasma blades, her eyes scanning over their bodies, looking for signs of where they might strike next, her mind jumping between where to strike with one blade, and where to defend with the other.

Force jump came easily once she could meditate properly again, and it paved the way towards more complicated uses of the Force’s physical aspects, ones she was eager to move on to, but held off at Master Du’s word.

Makashi was not something she had mastered even with a single lightsaber, but after several months of practise with two she already felt more skilled. Still nowhere near a master, but visibly better than she had been.

Arwen had placed a lot of value into Makashi, likely because she associated it so heavily with Master Dooku, who she hadn’t seen in years now and couldn’t recall with much clarity, but apparently occasionally visited the temple still. As an initiate, she’d always seen herself using Makashi in the future, but she had never considered that it might not be her preferred form. Soresu seemed to have taken the spotlight, and as well as incorporating Jar’Kai into the techniques she’d already learned, she was doing it as Master Du taught them to her as well. In this area, her master was most helpful, letting her repeat motions again and again, correcting her mistakes and allowing Arwen to put them into practice and then providing useful feedback.

She was busy all the time now, with barely a free minute between lessons, lightsaber practice, meals and sleeping, but her exhaustion was strangely pleasant, an indicator of a day well spent. Her own study of Jar’Kai was very slowly coming together, but had a long way to go—decades, likely, but she was okay with that.

But with Makashi moves successfully converted to Jar’Kai and practised to near perfection, came a new goal; Form IV, Ataru. It was ambitious, that much Master Du made clear, and she made Arwen perform as much of Form II to the best of her ability as she could within a few weeks so she could determine whether or not Arwen was ready.

“Ataru will not be an easy form to learn, Arwen,” she said, “Indeed, all forms present difficulty in some way or another, but this will be different from the difficulties you faced learning the others.”

“I understand, Master.”

Master Du hummed again, a thoughtful look on her face, “I do hope so, and I hope you’ve researched this—” a pointless question; of course Arwen had. Anything concerning lightsaber combat was quite thoroughly researched, especially now that she had plans to dedicate years to perfecting Jar’Kai and making is accessible to other Jedi, “Ataru is far more aggressive than the other forms, and although all forms draw on the Force, even minimally, Ataru is extremely demanding in your use of it—if you can’t draw upon the Force with any kind of regularity or strength, Ataru will be nearly useless. In fact, most Ataru techniques are impossible to perform without using the Force.”

Arwen nodded vigorously, about to speak, but Master Du just kept going.

“Perhaps you should wait another year or two,” Arwen deflated, “It’s far too offensive and demanding, I’m not entirely sure you’re ready.”

“Master, please,” she said desperately, “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I thought I couldn’t handle it, and you know I take these things seriously. I’ll give it everything I’ve got!”

Master Du pursed her lips, stroking her chin in thought, “Still, perhaps not…”

“I’ve spent months relearning Makashi, and I’m better at it now than I was before, and I still want to continue Soresu with you, and that’s part of why I want to learn Ataru; it’s Soresu’s opposite. Kind of. Form III is almost entirely defensive, and Form IV is almost entirely offensive, but both of them are geared towards facing multiple people. I want to balance my skills, and Makashi, while extremely useful for duels, isn’t made for more than one opponent.”

She watched Master Du carefully, could see her considering it, her resolve cracking.

“I think it would be good for me—it’ll challenge me enough to keep me focussed, and that focus should help me learn the more complex Force techniques Ataru uses, like flips and leaps. It’ll be the perfect balance.”

Master Du hummed.

“And you’re the one who told me to come to you about these things when I felt I was stagnating.”

Master Du looked up, brow raised, “And are you? Stagnating?” She asked doubtfully.

“Well, no… but I’m about to. I can feel it. I’ve learned everything I can about Makashi, shy of mastering it which will take years, and if I spend much more time on it, I know I’ll just get bored again. If I start learning Ataru now, then I’ve still got some momentum going—I think that’ll help too,” she looked up at her master with big, glassy eyes, desperately hoping to convince her. She’d get on her knees and beg if she had to—hell, she’d take on a mechanics class if that’s what it took.

Master Du sighed and, in a move very unlike her, tipped her head back and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, “Fine.”

“Yes!”

“But,” Master Du looked back at Arwen, whose fist was already raised in the air in celebration, “the same rules apply when I told you about learning Jar’Kai. Again, I’ve no proficiency in Ataru, especially not with two blades, only the few moves of it that I’ve learned in Form VI, so I won’t be much help, though I will try. Otherwise, you’ll have to source the holocrons and any other resources. If you are indeed set on becoming the first Jedi to create a comprehensive guide to learning Jar’Kai in all forms, then this is something that you must dedicate yourself to learning, by yourself if you must.”

Arwen nodded excitedly—she didn’t mind that, preferred it, even. Master Du trusted her enough to let her learn it, to teach herself what she could and allow Master Du to fill in what gaps she was able. And really, it was probably better that way. Most Jedi who learned Jar’Kai studied similarly, and the results were fascinating. Moves and techniques clearly rooted in certain forms, but adjusted for the use of a shoto, and often look personalised, depending on who was performing it. Those personalised tweaks were, as far as she could tell, part of what made Jar’Kai so difficult to learn, because everyone practised it slightly differently.

She’d have to make sure to clarify that in her studies, make note of the fact that adjustments were encouraged when learning Jar’Kai—the structure was far less rigid than learning Soresu, for example.

Master Nu didn’t look surprised when Arwen approached her only an hour after speaking to Master Du, requesting access to holocrons and archives with information and recordings of Ataru. She’d already asked Master Rancisis if he’d be willing to teach her anything, but he’d declined, saying he was too busy to find the time.

She didn’t believe him, but tried not to let it bother her that he lied. He wasn’t obligated to teach her Ataru outside of lessons.

Master Du had been right, of course, when she warned Arwen of Ataru’s demanding use of the Force, and it took many weeks of simply attempting basic moves with her sabers before she could perform them. A basic Ataru strike, quick and meant to be used in succession to overwhelm and overpower opponents, required tight movements, physically enhanced by the Force to give it greater speed and power, but her previous knowledge gleaned from Soresu was a great help. Indeed, Arwen was certain that if she hadn’t learned Soresu, or if she was even slightly less skilled in it, that Ataru would likely be out of her reach for a few years.

She threw herself into learning Ataru with every spare moment she had, though she didn’t have nearly as much free time as she would have liked when she took into account her lessons and all the studying she had to do to maintain good scores. When Arwen had neglected an assignment for her Politics class and failed to turn it in on time, Master Du had been quick to remind her of the consequences; failure to maintain good scores meant that she could not handle learning a new lightsaber form. If she continued to neglect her studies then she would have to discontinue learning Ataru, likely for at least another year, or perhaps even until she finished her temple mandated studies.

So, despite her tired, aching body, and exhausted mind, she made sure every single one of her assignments was handed in on time, and that her scores didn’t drop by a single point. She wasn’t willing to put learning Ataru on the backburner.

Once Master Quiel had deemed her knowledgeable enough to leave the flight simulator and get into an actual ship, Arwen had thrown herself into completing the minimum requirements for finishing up her piloting lessons. It was different than being in a simulator, but somehow felt more natural, more intuitive, and Arwen took to it well enough. She completed her examinations for flight checks, safety checks, responding to and sending out distress signals, using the navicomputer with or without a droid, how to troubleshoot basic issues with the ship, navigating traffic in case traffic control had an issue, performing complex manoeuvres, and completed timed trials.

All in all, Arwen had done well, and after receiving Master Du’s blessing, she was ready to discontinue the class so she could make time for practising Ataru. But the closer she got to Master Quiel’s classroom, ready to formally finalise the class as she and Master Du had already discussed with him, Arwen felt doubt creeping in on her.

Master Du had said she was more than okay with Arwen discontinuing the class once she was cleared to fly—she’d made that clear when she first brought it up—and while Arwen no longer dreaded the class, she certainly hadn’t discovered a passion for flying. She had no reason to keep studying piloting now that she could pilot a ship adequately.

But, once she got to Master Quiel’s classroom, Arwen sighed quietly, “I’ve changed my mind, Master Quiel. I’d like to continue with the class—if that’s alright with you?”

She hadn’t been too bothered with Master Quiel’s answering smile and proclamations that he was glad she was going to continue learning under him, but Master Du’s genuine, wide smile had been worth it.

“I’m proud of you, Arwen,” Master Du said, tying a red bead into her padawan braid, and that made it worth it. That was all she wanted—to make her master proud to call Arwen her Padawan Learner.

She was moved into advanced piloting afterwards, dropping the other class but still learning under Master Quiel. Now that she had the minimum requirements down pat, advanced piloting would teach her more difficult piloting techniques and required her to learn a bit more about the inner workings of ships. Not much, especially compared to what she would know if she took a mechanics class, but Arwen wasn’t willing to add on another several hours of learning into her schedule, though she was certain Master Du would have been even happier if she had.

Two beads in her hair was enough, especially considering she’d only ever intended to have the yellow one that signified her studies of combat—which was also expanding to include hand-to-hand, now that there were finally enough people willing to learn it. Her regular lightsaber lessons would now include hand-to-hand combat, and after a few lessons of realising it was nearly pointless to practise with her lightsaber with the other initiates and padawans there, she switched to fully dedicating the slot to hand-to-hand.

Belatedly, she realised hand-to-hand combat allowed her to slip into a similar kind of meditation that lightsaber practice had. It made her feel a different kind of joy too, one that conjured up a familiar stern voice in her head, telling her to move her feet and square her shoulders, the sound of fists connecting with punching bags and skin, grunts and yelps, and the warmth of the Echani sun and gentle winds against her skin.

Arwen couldn’t recall Madam Oren’s face with much clarity beyond the stern set of her brow and mouth, but the feeling that bloomed in her chest was something familiar and warm, and her foggy memory did nothing to cloud the fondness she felt for the woman who ran the orphanage she once called home.

The stances the Jedi taught were similar to ones she’d learned as a child, so she took to it well and advanced quickly, and she was fortunate enough to be in a class where Master Rancisis allowed padawans who had finished temple mandated lessons to partake. Sparring against older, bigger, and more experienced people kept Arwen on her toes—or her back, as was often slammed into the training mats by the stronger, more skilled padawans.

These spars felt a little more like home, and even though she was only fourteen it didn’t take long for her to get on par with the older padawans—through no fault of their own, Arwen simply had an advantage in her Echani heritage. She’d come a long way in reading body language since she arrived at the temple, and it helped greatly during combat. She knew she was nowhere near as good as someone who had been raised on Eshan, where people regularly conversed without even speaking, but she was good enough.

Feeling a strange but brief bout of homesickness for a planet she could barely recall, and never really got to see, Arwen dedicated more of her independent studies to Eshan and Echani culture, and made the decision to alter her attire. The brown and beige Jedi robes and garb she wore were traditional, but certainly not mandatory, and if Arwen was honest with herself she found the outermost layer cumbersome and impractical.

Even the regular tunic and trousers felt too flowy. They didn’t get in the way of lightsaber sparring, but she’d noticed a difference in hand-to-hand, with opponents frantically grabbing at her loose clothes as a last resort without even thinking about it. It was against the rules, but Arwen was glad they did it—it reminded her that a real fight didn’t have rules of engagement, especially when people grew desperate.

She couldn’t make armour, not even to honour her people's customs. It would be seen as too aggressive, at least in her case, and Master Du would likely not approve… maybe when she was made a Jedi Knight… but she could, at least, incorporate her culture into her Jedi robes.

Echani clothing, not just armour, was made to be lightweight and form fitting, functioning less as a fashion statement and more for utility's sake. If an Echani person couldn’t move comfortably and freely in their clothes, then they were useless, a hindrance. Arwen hoped to find a balance between the functional wear of her people, and the unassuming, unthreatening clothing of the Jedi.

In the end she settled on off-white and light grey—decidedly muted, but the colours were decently common amongst Echani Jedi that had come before her. Her tunics were off-white and fitted, and she kept a sleeveless, short sleeved, and long sleeved style that clung close to her arms. A grey and black belt cinched the tunic in and housed the clips for her sabers. Her pants were grey and her boots black. She kept two sets of robes, both grey—one that ended at mid thigh and closed completely up, and the other full length and far more flowy and traditional looking. The latter was for more formal occasions, at Master Du’s insistence, and the former for regular wear, in case she was ever caught off guard. Long robes would do her no favour in combat, and she didn’t want to get caught up trying to shuck them off when defending herself. No, shorter, and more fitted robes were the better choice for everyday wear.

Paired with her fair skin and white hair, she looked decently put together when she donned her new garb, more like a Jedi, and less like a child being swallowed whole by a brown sack.

And, as silly as it was to say, it made her feel more like a Jedi.

Arwen continued progressing in Jar’Kai at what she felt was a good pace, and with it her skills in using the Force. Ataru was the most acrobatic of any of the lightsaber forms, so being able to use the Force to bolster her physical abilities was essential. She experimented with reverse grip when she felt she had grasped a technique properly, feeling out the weight of the weapon and the way she needed to move it.

“That one looked a little awkward. Perhaps you should angle it this way—” Master Du suggested, stepping forward to adjust Arwen’s grip, “There, try again.”

Arwen swung her blade, twisting her wrist as she went, “It felt better. More fluid, but feels like a strike that needs more momentum.”

Master Du was a great help, despite saying she would be of little use when learning Ataru. Arwen found great value in her criticisms and suggestions, and having someone who was skilled at defending was the best way to practise Ataru, a form focussed almost exclusively on offence. Of course, her own intuition went a long way too, and she found great pleasure in days spent practising new techniques, applying her knowledge of Jar’Kai and attempting to make everything flow together.

When she saw Anakin next she was fifteen, and he was seventeen. They had a rare day of no lessons or studies—or none that they couldn’t put off to the next day—and when they had run into each other after breakfast they’d paired up and began aimlessly walking the halls of the Jedi Temple.

“—so Obi-Wan and I had to hide under the floor for the next two hours so we wouldn’t ‘compromise the mission,’” Anakin said, making a rather poor attempt at Master Kenobi’s accent that made Arwen snicker, “We could have just fought them! There’s no way there were enough of them to beat us.”

“Anakin, Master Kenobi is right,” she ignored his exaggerated look of betrayal, “If either of you had been found out, or people saw the marks of a lightsaber on their bodies there would be serious trouble.”

Anakin grumbled, launching into a tirade about people like them not deserving to walk away without punishment, which Arwen truly couldn’t argue with, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made in order to serve a larger cause. Disposing of a few lowly criminals and potentially exposing the Jedi’s involvement could jeopardise further missions, and render any information they gathered moot. Nevertheless, she let him rant until he grew bored and talked himself around into Master Kenobi’s point of view.

Eventually their topic of conversation turned to what it usually did, “Do you think learning Shien and Djem So was a good choice?”

“Yeah—best of both worlds, really. Defence and offence rolled in one, so I get what I want and what Obi-Wan wants. He still thinks I should learn Soresu, but he’s happy enough with Form V. Learning Ataru definitely helped me choose though. Did you know Form V—”

“Is derived from Forms III and IV? Sure did—I’m hoping once I’ve mastered them, I can apply it to Form V and it will be a bit easier to pick up.”

“Still set on mastering forms two through six?”

“Yes,” she sniffed at his doubtful tone.

“Right, good luck with that,” he teased, but dropped the subject, “Got time to spar? I’ve got a few moves I think’ll catch you off guard this time.”

This time Arwen was the doubtful one, “Not enough to beat me.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see.”

“Sore loser,” she said, but they were both smiling, picking up the pace and racing to the training hall.

It was nice to practise Jar’Kai against someone who knew a form that she didn’t—even if it was derived from the two she was currently learning. Anakin was a skilled duellist, never holding back or hesitating, and Arwen relished the competitive energy that sparked between the two. Like their less than friendly spar that had happened years ago now, they used the entire room to their advantage if no one else was present, and the pair of them definitely needed it for their attacks.

Form V, specifically Anakin’s preferred Djem So style, was a careful balance between offence and defence, and where Soresu sought to outlast and wait for an opportunity, and Ataru to force an opportunity of attack, Form V was all about controlling the battle and its momentum. Arwen would strike in quick succession with her dual blue lightsabers, forcing Anakin back and on the offence until he saw an opening and took it, forcing her to rely on Soresu until she saw an opportunity as well.

Anakin’s preferred form was a good match for him, and he certainly put up a good fight. He’d all but perfected the Falling Avalanche, a technique utilising a powerful overhead blow and made all the more dangerous with an assisted Force jump, and his parries were excellent. He did, however, fall prey to one of Djem So’s biggest weaknesses—it’s lack of mobility. Though he utilised the room as she did, it wasn’t made to be a part of that variant, and so keeping control of the fight and its momentum was no easy task for Anakin, not when Arwen finally began using some of the Force assisted acrobatics and moves.

She could only manage incredibly short bursts of speed over very short distances aided by the Force, but she was knowledgeable enough to use it to catch up to Anakin as he darted away after parrying Arwen and sending her careening back. With an unspoken agreement, the pair began using the Force more in their spar, beyond just lightsaber techniques. High jumps, bursts of speed and strength, pushing and pulling, until Arwen saw her chance as Anakin initiated his favoured Falling Avalanche technique, jumping high in the air and coming down quick enough and with enough power that she likely wouldn’t be able to stop him with the Force, not completely.

Instead, she crossed her two sabers, pushing up as his sabers connected with hers and sending him backwards a few steps. She pressed forwards, delivered a flurry of quick and powerful strikes on either side, forcing Anakin on the offensive again, blocking her strikes but losing ground with each hit. She feigned another strike with her left but went for a double hit on the right side, sliding her saber up as she caught him off guard and hitting her blade shroud against the plasma, disengaging his weapon and holding one blade at his wrists, and another at his neck. 

Anakin sighed but conceded, “How do you keep beating me? I can count on one hand the times I’ve beaten you.”

“If you were in any of my combat lessons you would have won plenty of times—you always seem to miss me when I’m just starting to learn something new.”

“You think so?” He asked, not a hint of doubt in his voice.

“Stop fishing for compliments,” she shoved him away and he laughed, “But yes, you would have. There are plenty of others that aren’t as good as you, and they’ve disarmed me more times than I can count.”

A blow to her ego sometimes, but necessary and not unwelcome. She didn’t need any false pretences of perfection and skill when she was far from a master at anything she was learning.

Anakin seemed pleased with that, “Sure you’re not just deliberately choosing to learn something new when I’m gone? Scared I’ll win too quickly?” He teased.

Arwen snorted, “Scared your head will get too big, more like.” Anakin shoved her back and the pair sparred again, then again, until Master Kenobi commed Anakin, asking him to finish up so they could eat and get some rest before a day of Anakin catching up on studies he was now doing independently under his Master’s tutelage.

Arwen wanted to spar with him again the next day, but she too had studies to do, so the pair opted for silently sitting in the archives and working, but Arwen didn’t mind. She didn’t really have many friends—or rather most people didn’t consider her a friend as they didn’t know her very well despite living in the temple with her for years, and she often struggled with familiarity levels, feeling like she knew those she sparred with incredibly well when they didn’t know the first thing about her.

Arwen barely even spoke to Tarrock anymore, he was always quite busy and their schedules didn’t really allow for frequent meet ups outside of meal times. The last time she spoke to him, he’d been going on about some new Force healing technique, and it had all gone over her head. Despite her lack of comprehension, he had spoken to his master, Master Nu’lok, about her newfound comprehension of the Force, and she was apparently quite eager to invite her to the Halls of Healing and test her aptitude, as they did with most younglings and padawans.

Anakin had tried it, and told her he’d never managed to get anything to happen at all, despite weeks of trying. Arwen hadn’t dared to get her hopes up too high, tempered her desires to be good at it, and simply hoped that she would be able to do something little. Her recent development in skills with the physical side of the Force were a good sign that she may have some aptitude, and that was all she could hope for. She would never become a dedicated Healer in the temple, it wasn’t something she wished to do, but it would be an incredibly useful skill to have if she or Master Du were ever severely injured on a mission.

Master Nu’lok scheduled a visit with several other padawans to test their aptitude after assigning some reading material and testing. When Arwen passed with more than adequate marks, she and a handful of others were permitted into the Halls of Healing to attempt to Force Heal in a few days time.

Master Du’s theory proved correct. Her quick proficiency in Soresu was owed to a preference for meditation during battle that her people were known for—or, in her case, meditation during spars. She never felt more in tune with the Force than she did when she was sparring, but she hadn’t imagined it would be the key to using the Force the way that other younglings had learned.

It was easier to tap into the Force when she sparred and, even though the Jedi who had instructed her made it clear that no one was to implement Force techniques without proper training, approval and supervision into spars, Master Du had said to disregard what they had taught her.

“What you thought would become your biggest downfall in training to become a Jedi may yet become your greatest advantage,” Master Du said. The pair stood across from each other on a mat in one of the training halls, with only a class of younglings on the other end of the room practising Shii-Cho basics, “In situations where others may grow frantic, you will remain calm. Where they will fumble, you will be steady. In peace and stillness, perhaps your mind cannot reach for the Force as easily, but in chaos you will be serene. The Force is with you, and in times where others may struggle to find it, you will find it, ready and waiting.”

First came Force pull. Arwen had only ever managed it with sabers. In spars, her mind was already focussed, and to reclaim a weapon that had been taken from her was instinct. When she managed to do it inside the classroom, no weapons in sight, it took time and effort, and often yielded poor results, if any. Now she knew why.

During Soresu practise Arwen would reach for things that Master Du had placed around her; a rock, a string of beads, a piece of scrap metal, a datapad, anything they could find. The more she did it, the easier it got outside of spars and saber practice, if only a little. She still couldn’t lift anything bigger than her head though.

Then came Force push, and oh was that one of her favourites. It had come naturally, while Master Du watched her deflect bolts from hovering droids, “Push one of them.”

Arwen hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t let herself think about how to do it or if she should wait for an opening. She’d kept one hand on her lightsaber and pushed the other one out, her mind reaching for the droid closest to her and sending it careening back into the wall.

Master Du had her implement Force push during their one-on-one spars, though she barely managed to push her back a foot, Master Du fighting her every step of the way.

“You won’t get better if I don’t challenge you,” Master Du said, the smallest of smirks on her lips. Arwen narrowed her eyes, a smile pulling at her lips as she tried to maintain focus. She pushed and pulled with the Force frequently, the droids coming and going easily, but against other people was where the difficulty lay. Master Du was of course difficult, but even other padawans and initiates in her advanced saber lessons were a struggle for her.

But, to her amusement, it seemed that her classmates had come to dread sparring with her. Now that she didn’t just rely on her lightsaber techniques to win, there was little they could do to put some distance between themselves and her. Force jumping might get them a few seconds, but she could push them out of bounds in mid air, or yank them back towards her a few feet while she closed the gap on foot. Add onto that her lessons in Soresu, and there wasn’t much anyone could do to best her now. She didn’t mind—the bigger the challenge she was, the harder her classmates fought. Those who weren’t yet padawans would certainly be the leading fighters in the tournament, and hopefully catch the eye of a few Jedi looking to take on an apprentice.

Soon came Force jump, though it was much harder to use than the other two techniques, and required using the Force and both pushing off the ground to gain unnatural height and using it to either slow or cushion the fall.

There was a slew of lightsaber techniques that utilised these Force abilities, but they were ones she was far off learning.

When she was thirteen, Arwen finally mastered Binary, or Droidspeak, and although she desperately wanted to keep the lesson slot open so she could practise with her lightsaber by herself again, she knew Master Du would be disappointed if she did. Instead, Arwen asked to double up on her independent studies, dedicating that slot to time spent in the archives doing research.

Between her progress she met with Anakin sporadically, usually less than once every two months, and the pair would spar and show the other what they’d learned, but between both of their lessons and Anakin going off-world frequently with Master Kenobi, there was little time for conversation.

Still in the throes of learning how to Force jump, Arwen grew… restless. Her classmates in both regular and advanced saber lessons no longer presented enough of a challenge to keep her advancing in skill. Enough to keep her focussed, always, but not enough that she ever felt she was at risk of losing for even a second. Master Du was a challenge, of course, but she could not spar with her master during lessons, and even after that Master Du had other obligations besides Arwen.

Despite her restlessness, Arwen tried to push it aside, telling herself she didn’t need a challenge, she just needed to keep busy. She threw herself into her independent studies with vigour, churning out research paper after research paper, making copies for Master Du and Master Plo when he returned to the temple. Kaleesh war tactics took up a good month, and she produced several detailed examinations of well-recorded battles, pointing out where some major faults had occurred, and the smaller ones that lead to a crushing defeat. Then she moved onto Echani armour and weapons, delving into the changes made over the last millenia and why they occurred, as well as preferred metals and the changes that were made to show the rank of military members. Then, she wrote an examination of several lightsaber techniques, taking information from her survey that she’d sent out long ago, and compiling information on reverse grip, double-bladed variants, and Jar’Kai—

Like clockwork, her mind tipped towards thoughts of Jar’Kai every time she stepped into the training hall. Now that would be a challenge; first she’d have to go back to Ilum, face another unpredictable and potentially dangerous trial, then make a shoto lightsaber, then she’d have to relearn almost everything about lightsaber combat since she’d arrived. Shii-Cho would remain the only thing about combat that she wouldn’t need to adapt, as it wasn’t suited for dual blades. Makashi was another story entirely—her proficiency in Form II would be nonexistent for at least a few months as she learned how to dual with two sabers, adjust her form accordingly, learn how to balance strength with concise and efficient movement when she’d only have one arm instead of two to power her strikes. Then there was Soresu, which she’d only partially learned, so that would be easier to adjust to—

Arwen was getting ahead of herself again, but she couldn’t help it. The more time passed, the more unsettled her mind and body got, her progress stagnating, and all she could think about was having another lightsaber. It wouldn’t be easy, but wasn’t that the point? Sparring was nowhere near as fun when she disarmed her opponent too quickly, and when she let them go on, it felt less and less like finding peace and serenity amongst the unpredictable, and more like fending off the same few moves on repeat, something mindless rather than something that made her focus.

Few people bothered to learn Jar’Kai—there was a lot of debate going back centuries amongst the Jedi about its usefulness, as well as reverse grip—so learning it was less traditional than learning the main lightsaber forms, and more unorthodox, in that it was learned mostly through studying old holocrons, utilising the Force, and understanding the lightsaber form it was incorporated into.

Any Jedi could pick up a second lightsaber and use it in tandem with their own, few could do it well, and even fewer made it their preferred style.

A challenge indeed.

When she managed to slip into a more meditative state when sparring with Master Du, she found herself wielding her lightsaber with one hand, just to see how it would feel. Usually she reserved one-handed for specific techniques that called for it, or when she was about to use Force push or pull and needed the free hand, so trying to keep her other hand empty felt awkward and strange.

She didn’t know whether to put her hand behind her back so it was out of the way, or keep it held out like she was about to use the Force.

“What are you doing, padawan?” Master Du asked at the end of their spar.

Arwen gave a weak shrug, “Just trying something.”

Arwen felt doubt creeping in on her. Hadn’t Master Kenobi said she had been too focussed on the physical side of lightsaber combat, and that it had been holding her back?

Arwen spent more time researching to off-set her thoughts about Jar’Kai, but now her mind jumped to when she’d disarmed Anakin and held two lightsabers in her hands. She hadn’t done anything fancy with them, just held them at Anakin’s neck, but she couldn’t recall it feeling uncomfortable.

She also couldn’t recall them feeling particularly comfortable either… then again, she’d been holding two full sized sabers, and shoto’s were made smaller specifically so they weren’t awkward or uncomfortable to use.

She was talking herself into it before she realised what she was doing, and quickly shut down the thoughts. Master Du had been patient with her, lenient and supportive of her drive to grow better with a lightsaber, but she’d always made it clear that a lightsaber was not what would make her a Jedi. Arwen didn’t want her master to think that was all she cared about, that she was incapable of focussing if she wasn’t fighting.

And so she kept silent, even as her focus waned and her attention span grew ever shorter. 

But it seemed like her best efforts were for nothing, Master Du sitting her down one evening after their Soresu lesson.

“You’ve been unfocussed lately, Arwen. What troubles you?”

Rather than look Master Du in the eye, she opted for staring at her brows, “Have I? Sorry, I didn’t realise. I’ll do better tomorrow—”

“Arwen.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking out the window of their shared quarters, eyes following the ever flowing Coruscant traffic in the distance, “It’s nothing important. I’m working through it.”

Her master hummed, “I thought you would say that, and usually I’d be inclined to listen, but this isn’t the first time I’ve noticed you drifting off during our spars. I almost struck you with my saber today—would have if I wasn’t being careful,” Arwen felt her skin flush red. She hadn’t even noticed, “This has been going on for weeks now.”

Arwen didn’t have the courage to tell her it was closer to months that she’d been stewing in her own mind.

“I’m sorry, Master Du,” she said, this time more sincere, her voice quiet, “I’ve been having trouble keeping focussed and—well, I… um… I can’t meditate about it.”

“Naturally.”

“And now I’m finding it hard to meditate during spars,” her master just hummed, waiting for her to continue, “It’s like my mind can’t settle properly. I’m calm, but I can’t really find peace.”

“You’re too restless, my young padawan.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“And do you know why?”

She bit down on her tongue, considering lying again. Jedi were not violent, they were not aggressive—so why was she at her best with a lightsaber in her hand and a slew of other initiates and padawans to spar against? But one look at Master Du’s face made her decide against it. If she couldn’t speak to her master, then who could she?

“I… I think it’s because I—” a lump suddenly formed in her throat, and she swallowed thickly, but it wouldn’t clear, “Master, I don’t want to disappoint you… do I have to tell you?”

Her master gave her a patient look, one Arwen felt she didn’t deserve.

“What does the Force tell you?”

Arwen sighed. Was it the Force telling her to get another kyber crystal, or was it her own mind? Or was that how the Force was telling her, by infecting her mind with thoughts of Jar’Kai and not letting her meditate? Or, more likely, was it just her own mind holding her back from using the Force because she’d grown too complacent with her skills?

Arwen found herself wishing she’d shown any interest, any inkling, towards becoming a Jedi Consular. Maybe then, with a green bead in her hair instead of a yellow one, she’d have an easier time interpreting the Force and meditating. Maybe she’d actually be able to meditate outside of spars without taking too long to settle, or needing a Jedi to help her.

Insecurity crept back in, a kind she hadn’t felt since before she’d become a padawan. Did Master Du really understand what she was getting herself into when she accepted Arwen as her Padawan Learner?

“It feels too easy, Master—sparring,” she forced the words out, looking away from her master, unwilling to see the disappointment she knew would be painted on her face, “I’m calm during them, but it all feels too predictable to be able to focus properly.”

“Ah, you’re bored?”

Her face flushed red again, ears burning, and her gaze snapped up to Master Du, “No! No! I’m—” she closed her mouth when she noticed Master Du’s faintly amused look, but it did little to soothe Arwen’s nerves, “It’s just not hard enough for me to focus—and I know that makes no sense, but that’s how I feel, and every time I try to meditate when I spar I just drift off, and fighting feels too easy now—”

“Deep breaths, Arwen,” Master Du said softly, though stern. She shakily did as she was told, face burning in shame, “Explain as best you can. Do not be afraid to tell me.”

With a deep breath, Arwen began letting it all out, letting her thoughts spill from her lips without much consideration, explaining her frustrations with meditation going back since she was just a youngling first admitted to the Jedi Order, how it had always been easier to focus during spars, and that Arwen thought she and Master Du had finally resolved the issue when she worked out meditating during spars came almost naturally to her. She explained her feelings as best she could, her relief at finally being able to use Force push and pull, something all the other younglings could do years before she could, and at finally being allowed to learn Soresu, then finally her stagnation. She’d come to a halt in learning how to Force jump, spars felt like little more than going through the motions, and without something to whether against, her mind had grown too complacent and unable to focus beyond the thought of a challenge.

It was clumsy and stuttered, but Master Du was patient, letting her air out her thoughts while she sat in silence. At the end, Master Du hummed, thumb and forefinger at her chin, “And what would constitute enough of a challenge to help you focus once more?” Arwen didn’t answer, “The Force works in mysterious ways, my young padawan. For some, it comes in visions. Others, in feelings. Some spend years in careful study and meditation, others travelling the galaxy. For some, the Force gives a clear purpose for a Jedi to follow, for others it gives only a guiding hand. For you, it seems the Force takes a more subtle approach, so you must be clear in your thoughts and intentions always. The longer you linger in this unfocussed state, the harder it will be to change. No matter how silly or even useless you may think it is to tell me what you think may help, or what’s distracting you,” she gave Arwen a knowing look that made her shrink back, “I would like you to tell me. Either it will help, or it won’t.”

“I want to learn Jar’Kai.”

Master Du blinked, her brows pulling together, “Jar’Kai?” Arwen nodded weakly, “Hm. Well, it’s not an easy thing to learn; you’ll have to relearn everything about Makashi, as well as what you know of Soresu. Though I suppose you already know that. I suspect that’s why it’s been bothering you so much,” she muttered, “And that’s another thing—I’ve got no skill in Jar’Kai. I don’t think I’ve ever tried to wield two lightsabers at once, and I’m afraid I’m not close with any Jedi who can.”

“Is that a no?”

“No,” Master Du said with a pointed look, “But I would like you to understand that this is not going to be as simple as learning a new lightsaber form. Jar’Kai isn’t even technically a form, it's a variant that’s applied to existing forms. There are no formal teachers, because most don’t learn it, so you’ll have to rely on holocrons most likely, and your own feelings,” Master Du levelled her with a stern look, and Arwen’s back straightened in response, “If you wish to learn Jar’Kai, then you have my approval, but,” she said when Arwen gasped, “You will need to go to Ilum first. If you do not come back with another crystal, you will not learn it. If you do return with one, then you will be responsible for sourcing holocrons and anything you will need to learn the techniques. You will continue in your saber lessons while learning Jar’Kai, and you will continue your lessons in Soresu while learning it as well.”

“Yes, Master.”

“I cannot impress upon you the importance that you take this seriously—if you think this will help you, then you must be the one to undertake this task and balance it with your other studies. I can’t have you falling behind in all your other lessons, do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good. I will speak to one of the crèche masters or saber instructors about when the next youngling group leaves. You will accompany them.”

“And if I don’t come back with a crystal?”

“Then it was not meant to be, and you will need to find another means to meditate and focus your mind, and perhaps try again next year if you wish.”

Arwen spent the next few weeks no more able to meditate than usual, but hopeful. Master Du was clear that learning Jar’Kai was her responsibility, and a part of her relished in that trust that she had placed in her, that Master Du felt she didn’t need to hold her hand through every step of the process.

In the lead up to her second trip to Ilum she spoke to Master Nu about being allowed to study holocrons pertaining to Jar’Kai, as well as any information in the archives that might contain something useful. By the time she boarded the Crucible bound for Ilum she was decently confident in the sparse theory she had been able to find, and she made a vow—she would be the one to compile all information on Jar’Kai she could find. She would be the one to record the moves and techniques in the different forms, and she would be the one to write a complete theory on the topic.

It would take a long time, years, maybe even decades if she wanted to cover all of the lightsaber forms, and that wasn’t including Shii-Cho, where it couldn’t be effectively used, and Form VII, which only two people currently practised, to her knowledge.

The Crucible was the ship that ferried younglings to and from Ilum, and housed Professor Huyang, the droid that had assisted generations of future Jedi on their pilgrimage to the planet, and in making their sabers.

Arwen was unfortunately not allowed to sit with the other younglings and craft her lightsaber. In her injured state, Master Ropal had all but forbidden her from leaving the medical cot he’d ushered her to, though he’d been kind enough to set one up in the same room as everyone else, if a little far away. Forced to lay on her stomach to alleviate the worst of her back pain, she fiddled with the kyber crystal in her fingers, a content smile on her face.

She’d been given a mild medical stim to relieve the worst of the pain, and to give the healing process a decent boost. Professor Huyang had given them a lesson on crafting their sabers, told them everything they needed to know, and once the droid was done speaking, she scanned through a holopad containing information on how to build a lightsaber. She’d read a similar one before coming on the journey, but with nothing else to do she contented herself with refreshing her memory.

She wouldn’t be allowed to get up for another few hours to begin crafting her lightsaber, not until Master Ropal deemed her healed enough, and by that time a few of the other initiates should be done, maybe half of them.

She mulled over her trials in the caves, coming to a conclusion on the lessons she’d learned—and she indeed learned several. Gola had needed only one; to accept help when it was offered. Peja had learned that sometimes the hard way is the only way. Berrit learned that he cannot always rely on others. They’d all learned a valuable lesson, something the Force deemed necessary for their journey on the way to become Jedi, but the Force had given Arwen several lessons; don’t make rash decisions, overconfidence is dangerous, the easiest path is not always what it seems, resilience can be a powerful ally, and, perhaps the most important one, selflessness.

Arwen’s crystal hadn’t been down in the depths of the ice, waiting for her to complete a daring journey below in search of it. It had been mere minutes away from the first wall she’d climbed in the caves, and only revealed itself once she’d put aside her own desire to succeed. Selfishness was not the way of the Jedi, and she’d ventured to Ilum with only her own interests at heart, ignoring Peja’s wise idea to stick together, Berrit’s suggestion to travel in pairs in case someone got hurt (as she had), and expecting to walk out unscathed with a crystal simply because she felt she had earned it before she even really got there.

Lessons learned, but not easily, and not without pain. Her entire back, to her horror, was mottled black, blue and purple, one of her ribs were cracked, her pelvis severely bruised, muscles strained severely, and fingertips bloodied and missing skin. Recalling the fall from the shattered bridge, she marvelled at the fact that it wasn’t worse.

It was not a day she would forget easily, and she vowed to keep those lessons in the forefront of her mind at all times.

Gola was the first to complete her lightsaber—a brilliant blue beam of light—and she sat beside Arwen not long after so she could inspect it.

“I saw you, you know, climbing the ice,” Gola said as Arwen handed the Rodian her saber back, “In that giant cavern, with the frozen lake at the bottom,” Arwen frowned. That had been a long time before they’d met up.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I did. I saw you slip, and I called out your name.”

“I didn’t hear you… didn’t see you either. I looked out over the cavern when I came out of the crevice,” a person should have been easy to spot amongst the white and blue hues. She wasn’t sure how she missed her, or how she hadn’t heard her voice. Even soft words echoed.

“I guess that was a part of your trial.”

Arwen hummed, and the pair fell into silence. It was another few hours before Master Bolla Ropal deemed her well enough to sit up, and he hovered close by as Arwen searched the Crucible’s storage containers for interior parts; a powercell, modulation circuits, an energy gate, a plethora of wiring, an activator, a focusing lens, and whatever else she needed. Her greatest trouble came with choosing the exterior parts—she wanted the emitter, a vital piece of a functioning saber, to match the casing of her kyber crystal.

A lightsaber's purpose was not to look pretty, and the realisation that Arwen was dedicating so much time to making sure her lightsaber looked good made her scrunch up her face, but she wanted every piece to look deliberately chosen and pieced together. With any luck, it would be the weapon she carried for the rest of her life, and she wanted to give it the appropriate amount of consideration.

Several pieces of a potential casing were curved, and Arwen was reminded of Master Dooku. For a moment, she entertained mimicking his chosen style—he’d been the one to teach her how to properly use a lightsaber when she’d first come to the temple, after all—but she quickly dismissed the idea. Master Dooku was perhaps the only Jedi she’d ever seen with a curved hilt, and she had no doubt it changed the way you held and manoeuvred the blade. She’d likely have to relearn everything about lightsaber combat and duelling she knew.

Arwen happily settled on a traditional straight hilt, though she took her time when considering what pieces she wanted. She asked Master Ropal for assistance a few times—would this hilt design be too long for her machine parts? Would she need to find longer wiring for this design? Did this one have enough room to fit the diagnostic switches on the inside instead?—until she settled on her saber.

Durasteel was the primary metal—sturdy, silver-white, and in abundance on the Crucible—and she found she preferred having a solid, unobtrusive colour as the main part after comparing it to a very blue metal she’d been considering. It was also the metal of the pommel cap and the belt ring. The grip of the hilt would be a tightly woven rubber, a darker grey colour, and the majority of the hilt's inner space was taken up by the power cell and necessary pieces that came before the crystal. The top of the grip, rather than housing an activation lever or buttons, had a twistable switch that, when used, would activate the power cell and allow the power to travel through. Above the grip and majority of the hilt was a thinner neck where the crystal and focussing lens resided, leading into the wider end that housed the emitter matrix and the emitter itself. The piece she was most excited for, however, was the blade emitter shroud.

It was matte grey, covering roughly one quarter of the blades first two inches, and wrapping around the majority of the neck where her crystal resided. It also continued further down the blade, intersecting a small portion of the grip about a centimetre wide and trailing all the way to the bottom of her saber, and she added three more stripes evenly around the hilt, cutting through the grip. Blade shrouds were not entirely uncommon, but they were ineffectual against other lightsabers anyway, unless they were made from Beskar, which the lightsabers plasma blade couldn’t cut through. However, Arwen had managed to secure perhaps the only pieces of cortosis-weave she’d ever laid eyes on. It was a metal known primarily in high-grade Echani weapons—a metal that was so incredibly rare and hard to work with, so difficult to come by and so expensive, that Arwen had only ever seen a handful of pictures on holopads. Even so, the metal had to be carefully woven with other metals, as there was never enough to make a full set of weapons or armour. Instead the Echani had learned how to weave it into other metals while still keeping its integrity, and perhaps its greatest use; cortosis-weave deactivated lightsabers upon contact.

Having even the tiniest amount like she did, the second a lightsaber's plasma blade came into contact it would shut off as the energy shot back into the crystal. It wouldn’t overload the power cell, or even damage anything, but it would force the wielder to reactivate it. Arwen had to be careful about the placement of the shroud, making sure it would never quite touch her own blade. Using the rest on a small section of her hilt meant that should anyone manage to hit that area, it should protect her blade from being cut in half, something she grew more worried about now that she would be allowed to spar with a real lightsaber, rather than a training one that just stung and bruised.

After getting her design approved by Professor Huyang, Arwen sat in silence, legs folded beneath her, and closed her eyes.

It was a long, slow process, but one that she enjoyed. Feeling the pieces of the saber rise and join, pieces slotting together after she’d cut them to size, wires connecting, and the casing closing it all in. The assembly alone took her over an hour, and it had taken her at least three or four hours to choose and cut her components to size, but when she felt the completed hilt touch her hand she knew she would have sat on this ship for days assembling without complaint if she had to.

Opening her eyes, she looked eagerly to Master Ropal and Professor Huyang, waiting for their approval. The droid scanned her saber, though it had no doubt seen her entire assembly process.

“You may activate your lightsaber.”

Arwen stood holding out her saber in one hand. The grip felt secure, and the long pieces of cortosis-weave intersecting the grip were thin enough to not get in the way. Her fingers held it securely, and her thumb inched upwards towards the switch, sliding the durasteel around when she felt the indented metal.

A blue plasma blade emitted from her saber, and she basked in its glow, in her success. She twirled it in her fingers like she’d done with her practice sabers so often, pleased to find it felt exactly the same.

The journey back to Coruscant was lengthy, and though Arwen wanted to spar with the initiates, Master Ropal had been firm in his orders for her to rest. She went back to the medical cot with a pout, but accepted more pain relief when it was offered. She slept for the last few hours of the journey through hyperspace and awoke poorly rested, with an entirely different ache settled over her body. Amongst the pain was also stiffness and strains, in her upper body especially, but Arwen refused to go straight to the Halls of Healing.

Disembarking the Crucible, Arwen met Master Du in the hanger, unable to hide her excitement. Limping forward, Arwen held out her saber proudly, allowing Master Du to inspect it. She turned it over carefully in her hands, silently looking it over.

“Durasteel, yes?” Arwen nodded, “Rubber grip—what’s this other metal?”

“Cortosis-weave—any lightsaber that comes into contact with it will immediately shut off.”

“Ah, now that’s certain to cause a few arguments during your spars.”

Arwen stifled her laughter, “Only for the first few weeks. After that, everyone should be used to it.”

Master Du smiled and handed Arwen her lightsaber, “How lucky that you managed to find it, then. I’m not sure I’ve seen a lightsaber with cortosis-weave before.”

“I think I took pretty much all of it from the Crucible. I’d never even seen it in person before now.”

“Not even on Eshan?”

Arwen shook her head, “It’s rare, expensive, and difficult to work with. Only really high-grade weapons and armour use it, and even then it’s only in small amounts. They’re used mostly in vibro-weapons, so I think only the really high-ranking, old-money types on Eshan have them.”

“Hmm, members of the Echani Command, for example?”

“If not them, I don’t know who else.”

“Perhaps you should do some research into the area.”

Arwen was already drafting up a new paper in her head by the time they reached their shared quarters in the Jedi Temple.

Saber lessons the following day were even more energetic than usual, now that every pupil had real lightsabers. Doing away with the training sabers wasn’t supposed to be celebrated—the only thing it actually changed was the risk of getting hurt. Now that they used real lightsabers, there could be no more tagging others with their blades. It would involve no small amount of focus and care, and Arwen took that very seriously, listening intently to their instructor's lecture about the matter.

The thirty minutes spent standing in silence was worth every second when Peja’s green lightsaber switched off when it made contact with her blade shroud. Peja, bless her sweet heart, seemed to think she’d pressed the button accidentally, and then reignited it—only for it to switch off again a few strikes in. The fourth time it happened, Peja grew distressed and believed she’d somehow broken her saber after leaving the Crucible.

Arwen quickly put her out of her misery and explained the properties of cortosis-weave, though the pair kept it between themselves, revealing the information to Arwen’s sparring partners only after they grew confused about what was happening.

As Arwen predicted, it took only a few weeks for everyone to adjust their movements accordingly, though she had yet to see Anakin and test it out with him, as he and Master Kenobi had been sent away again. She didn’t mind though—Anakin always came back with some new technique he’d learned from Master Kenobi, and even though Arwen almost always already knew the technique herself, it caught her off guard when Anakin would toss it into spars without warning. It kept her on her toes.

There was a renewed vigour to saber lessons now, and Arwen took advantage of it, even able to convince several of the others to stay later in the day to spar together.

She sparred with Master Du several times during the first few weeks of becoming her padawan, and relished in the opportunity to learn more about her the way she would traditionally, if she never left Eshan. Kind, considerate, focussed, calm, Master Du was a model Jedi Knight, someone Arwen hoped she could become one day.

Master Du was also a master at Soresu, and promised to begin teaching her soon, but first she addressed what her largest concern had apparently been.

Arwen sat with Master Du in their shared living quarters in the Jedi Temple, a cup of steaming herbal tea before each of them. Legs folded beneath her, and Master Du’s crossed, they looked at one another from across the short table.

“I’m happy for you to continue with all your chosen areas of study, particularly your independent studies. However, there is one thing I’d like to add.”

“Master?” As far as Arwen was concerned, she was studying everything she needed. Her schedule was as full as anyone else's.

“I’d like you to take piloting classes—not for the next five years if you don’t want to, but at least until I can deem you proficient enough, and then you can choose to drop it if you wish.”

Arwen pouted without meaning to, “But… Master, that’s when I practise with my lightsaber,” she’d very specifically not chosen piloting because advanced saber lessons were in the same slot and she hadn’t cared enough for it to ask to be placed in a different class or rearrange her schedule, and she’d not chosen to study mechanics at all because she preferred to practise with her saber in her free time.

“You can still attend your advanced saber lessons, but your, shall we say, self-study of combat will need to be put on the backburner, or completed at another time during the day.”

She fought back the urge to whine about it, “But why?”

“The next time I am assigned a mission, I hope to take you with me,” Master Du said and Arwen sat up a little straighter. Already? “Nothing dangerous, of course, but things outside the temple can be very unpredictable. Chaotic. I’d like to know that, should something happen to me, or should I need you to, that you will be able to pilot us away from the situation.”

It made sense, Arwen realised. She was good with a lightsaber, but fighting was a last resort, and she was only a child. No matter how good she did in tournaments, she was still young, and there would no doubt be plenty of people capable of beating her, Force or not. And, worst case scenario, if Master Du was hurt and incapable of taking them back to Coruscant or even to a safer planet, Arwen should know how to do it.

She bit the inside of her cheek, lamenting losing her extra hours with her lightsaber. Then again, Master Du had said she would teach Arwen Soresu…

“I understand, Master. When do you want me to start piloting lessons?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll talk to Master Quiel today and finalise everything. Now, finish your tea before classes start.”

Piloting classes felt longer than any other, but maybe that was because Arwen didn’t really want to be there, even if she knew the necessity of it. She was vaguely familiar with a few of the younglings and padawans in the class, but they’d already grouped up with each other when they’d first taken the class, and so Arwen sat in silence while she listened to Master Quiel lecture about the basics of flight—more for her benefit than anyone else's, but he’d been firm in saying that sometimes everyone needs a refresher course. One look at the bored faces around her told Arwen there was little truth to that statement in this case. Everyone else clearly already knew what they were doing.

It made her long for familiar faces; Tarrock, who she rarely saw between their classes and his time spent in the Halls of Healing, Berrit and Gola, who both took piloting but in a different time slot, Peja, who studied the ways of the living Force and didn’t have room for studying to become a pilot in her schedule, and Anakin, who had been moved to advanced mechanics and piloting classes basically as soon as he’d arrived at the temple.

Arwen weathered the class alone, paying attention as best she could and trying not to let her mind drift to what she could be doing. She reasoned that if she paid attention, she’d learn faster. The faster she learned, the faster Master Du would deem her proficient in flying and allow her to drop the class. Then she could get back to her regularly scheduled lightsaber practice.

In the coming weeks, she realised there was a lot more to learn about flying than she thought. Master Quiel allowed most of the students to continue with their flight simulations, but for her and a handful of others who’d joined the class late, he continued lectures. They covered the basics of safety checks, engine checks, troubleshooting common issues, and the merits of having a co-pilot all within the first few lessons she attended, and Arwen felt her brain quickly overloading with information. Then came all the different buttons and levers, clearance codes and traffic control, auto-pilot and droids—knowing Binary came in handy there. There were a few especially lengthy lessons on the different kinds of ships; shuttles, transports, freighters, yachts, cruisers—so many, too many. Arwen had created an extensive list of them to refer to, making note of everything Master Quiel said, sure that she would lose track of it all without notes. She wasn’t sure how everyone else seemed so at ease, barely lifting a finger to type on their datapads.

After many more lectures on the finer details of ships, there came brief lessons on engines and hyperdrives—too complex to delve into fully, and if they wanted more details Master Quiel recommended either reading up during their free time, or taking on a mechanics class. Arwen was not especially keen to do either of those things.

By the time Arwen was twelve, she was finally allowed to partake in simulations. It was complicated, trying to remember the order of buttons to push, the correct jargon to use when requesting permission to take off or land, how to hail other ships and send distress signals, how to use the navicomputer and plot a course without a droid or when the navicomputer broke down in case of emergencies. That last one was especially complicated, requiring a lot of complex mathematics that Arwen had spent hours practising with Master Du after classes to make sure she got it right. In real life, even a tiny mistake in those equations could mean bringing her ship out of hyperspace and directly into a black hole instead of out of the end of a hyperspace lane.

But, to her surprise, the doing was a lot more simple than the knowing. Most ships were laid out differently, but even without buttons labelled with their functions, it was easy enough to tell what did what when she grew familiar with them, and the more she sat in the simulator, the more she understood the bored looks on everyone’s faces when they’d been subject to another lecture. Like with combat, there was only so much you could learn by reading and studying. The real study was in the practical side, and while she still didn’t love her piloting class, she didn’t drag her feet on the way there anymore.

Arwen wasn’t the best flyer in the class, not by a longshot, but she was confident in the cockpit of the simulator, and able to perform almost all the tasks competently. The tasks they were assigned and graded on that mattered most were to do with safety and emergency procedures, and those were the ones she worked the hardest to do well in. The ones she barely scraped by with a pass were manoeuvring through asteroid or debris fields, dodging plasma bolts fired from other ships, outrunning pursuing ships, and a few others. The first few times she’d attempted those last ones she’d failed spectacularly, and it took her days of repeating the simulations and coming back after lessons before she got them right.

Anakin and Master Kenobi returned during that time, and Arwen contented herself with catching Anakin off guard with her new lightsaber. The look on Anakin’s face when his lightsaber switched off was worth his complaints that she was cheating afterwards. But as time went on, Anakin and Master Kenobi were present less and less, and Arwen’s spars with Anakin grew ever more infrequent.

Her own time spent with her master more than made up for that, however, and soon Master Du was instructing her in the basics of Form III, Soresu. But first came the theoretical lessons. In the case of combat, Arwen was more than pleased to listen. She’d already done a lot of research for her independent studies class.

“What can you tell me about the first three lightsaber forms?” Master Du asked, cross-legged across from Arwen.

“Shii-Cho is the first form, and it's taught to everyone in the temple. Most Jedi believe that for a long time, it was thought to be the only effective way to use a lightsaber.”

Master Du hummed, “And do you know why that is?”

“Some of the information in the archives says it's because it was likely created before the ways of the Dark side had been mastered, and the Jedi didn’t fight amongst themselves much. It wasn’t made for combat with other lightsabers, but against things like vibro-weapons, because Form I was derived from traditional blade-to-blade combat.”

“Well done. Some Jedi will say that Shii-Cho is an ineffective form, as it isn’t as refined as later forms. However, it’s important to remember that whenever other lightsaber forms fail, Shii-Cho is what Jedi fall back to, and it often saves their lives,” Arwen nodded her understanding, “It stands well as its own form, but it is also a vital stepping stone for all future Jedi. Without Form I as a base, it would be incredibly difficult to immediately start learning any other form. Now, continue.”

“Form II is Makashi, and it's a lot more refined than Form I. It requires precise and efficient movement, and relies less on strength and long sweeping motions, like Form I did. It was created by the Jedi when they warred against the Sith, because Form I wasn’t effective against another lightsaber.”

Master Du hummed again, “Can you tell me why Shii-Cho wasn’t effective against another lightsaber?”

“Lightsabers don’t have an edge like traditional weapons do, so the offensive, defensive, and parry techniques that Shii-Cho uses aren’t as effective against a lightsaber. Makashi focussed a lot on fixing that issue, developing much more difficult techniques that could be used to defend against or attack another lightsaber wielder. It’s become such a refined form that it's still the standard and preferred form for duelling.”

“Correct,” she hummed, “I read your paper on Makashi, and how it’s one of the only forms to encourage personalisation, style and flair, so I suppose you also know about dual wielding sabers?”

Arwen nodded quickly, “A lot of Jedi and Sith tried to incorporate a second lightsaber into their duels, but found them too awkward to use, and this is how the first shoto lightsaber blades were made. They were mostly used as an off-hand weapon, or as a backup if they were disarmed. Most Jedi only use a single lightsaber for Makashi now—that’s reflected in my survey, by the way.”

Master Du nodded, “I saw. Now, tell me about Form III, if you know much.”

“Soresu is almost exclusively a defensive form, and it was first developed to counter blasters, which were becoming extremely common across the galaxy. Neither Shii-Cho nor Makashi were equipped to defend against blaster fire. Soresu techniques focus on deflecting blaster bolts, and also send them directly back at the shooter. It’s not only for defending against blasters though, and it outclasses both previous forms in its defensive capabilities. Shii-Cho had a few defensive techniques for fighting against traditional weapons, and Makashi had techniques for avoiding being disarmed, but it was only meant for one-on-one combat, but Form III, while extremely useful in duels, is capable of defending against multiple attacks at once.”

“Yes, but remember that Soresu requires an incredible amount of calm and focus to maintain, and also agility and speed. To become proficient in Soresu your body must be tightly controlled, and allow for no openings in your defence. It requires that you be both in the moment, and looking ahead; ready for every attack coming your way, but looking ahead and planning strategies. A Soresu practitioner should be capable of outlasting numerous enemies for a longer period of time than if they were using something like Form I or II.”

“I understand, Master,” she made a note to do more research on Soresu when she had the time.

“Good. Let us begin with the most important part of Soresu; your mind. We will begin by meditating, and when I feel you are ready we will begin learning some of the basic techniques.”

As it turned out, Arwen would not be ready to move on from meditation for quite some time. She had always struggled with meditation outside of spars, but having it be a requirement for even beginner techniques had really showed her just how bad at it she was.

After a few weeks of stagnation, Master Du finally suggested she try meditating while sparring against her. There was to be no competitive attitude, no show-boating as she was prone to doing in front of her master, and no attempts to disarm.

To move forward, Arwen had to achieve a level of calm and focus she had yet to accomplish, but it felt miles easier doing it with her lightsaber in her hand than kneeling on the floor. To be focussed in battle was second nature to the Echani—a vital part of their upbringing and absolutely necessary to have any hope of surviving the many civil wars that occurred on Eshan. Loss of that focus for even a second could mean losing your weapon, your arm, your leg, your head.

Master Du proposed that was likely why she had always had better luck slipping into a meditative state during spars; it was as close to battle as she, and other young Echani, would get for a long time. It was ingrained into her very DNA, reinforced for generations.

“It’s a useful skill to have,” Master Du said quietly, “The Jedi only ever resort to fighting as a last resort, but there will come a day, my padawan, where you must.”

“You sound so sure, Master.”

Master Du hummed, “I am. It’s happened to me many times, and to other Jedi. Sometimes it’s expected—something you can sense a long time in advance, and in that case it is not so hard to maintain calm. Knowing it is coming gives you time to prepare, or at least not be so caught off guard. But a lot of the time it’s so sudden you will barely have a second to raise your lightsaber in defence. Perhaps you’ll be surrounded by many who wish to do you harm, for only a fool would attack a Jedi alone, and in those uncertain moments, you must be able to adapt quickly to save yourself and any innocents who may be present.”

Arwen nodded sagely, lightsaber gripped firmly. There was a faint echo in her mind, a distant voice that sounded like Madam Oren, calling out similar lessons over the clatter of vibro-blades.

Soresu came quickly after that—quicker than Makashi had, which had taken weeks of unlearning things that Shii-Cho had ingrained too deeply, and weeks after to become steady in, then months to become good at. Soresu felt not easy, but natural.

A weapon was always meant to be an extension of a warrior, a piece of themselves that they moved and controlled as they would a limb. Arwen knew what that meant, or she thought she had. She had understood it by the time she left Eshan, thanks to both Madam Oren and her old master, Maul, and her skills in both Form I and Form II had only made her more sure that she was one with her weapon. But this… every swipe of her blade felt fluid and steady, her wrist twisting the hilt just so as it caught a stun bolt on the plasma again and again. Her feet adjusted when another droid was switched on without warning, and she stepped several feet to the left and twisted, forcing both droids to face her head on so she wouldn’t be forced to turn back and forth to defend herself. She angled her body to minimise damage when a bolt managed to slip by, adjusted her position, and was then moving her saber once more.

The longer she did it, the more she adjusted, the more single-minded her focus became. Two droids, then three, then four, firing without warning and repositioning themselves so she was forced to rethink her position and what she needed to change, all while keeping herself from being hit.

It was only days later that Master Du jumped into the fray—quite literally, and without warning—and even though Arwen wasn’t expecting her to join in for at least a few weeks, she was ready for her. She could not hope to defeat Master Du in a spar, but winning or losing was not the goal.

Soresu users were meant to outlast their opponents, and Arwen would put in every effort to stay on her feet for as long as she could.

Master Du was swift and controlled, her face giving little in the way of clues to what she could do, but Arwen could read her body somewhat well. Between deflecting blaster bolts, which had been significantly reduced once Master Du joined her, Arwen kept her guard up against her master. Blocking and parrying the much taller and stronger woman's blows tested her strength greatly, but she remained steadfast, ever aware and watching.

Even with the knowledge that Master Du was barely putting in any effort, Arwen felt she was doing well. Her arms strained and burned with the effort, but that only meant she was being pushed to do more, to do better.

Arwen wasn’t sure how long they sparred for before a stun bolt slid past her guard and hit her in the temple, but when she woke up with a dull ache in her head she couldn’t even bring herself to feel disappointed or embarrassed.