Murder the Dawn: Chapter Twenty Three: A Hint of Hope, A Hint of Darkness

[ladyofleithian]

In which the full cavalry arrives, and Mace Windu has a brief musing on fate.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It was sitting out here in the middle of the arena that, somehow, Anakin doubted that they would be able to survive. Atop a reek, surrounded by Dark Jedi apprentices, somehow horribly beaten, with the corpses of other Jedi in the arena around them.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, “Remember the Code. There is no emotion…”

“There is peace,” Anakin said, softly. “I know.” And yet even now, it didn’t reassure him. He only hoped that Padme would be all right. She had to be. He wasn’t going to have someone dead because of him.

Meanwhile, Dooku spoke. “You have fought bravely,” the Count said, with something else in his voice – was it regret? – even as he did so. “You have fought valiantly. But ultimately, you were foolish. Give up your weapons, or be executed.”

It was even now that Anakin could have sworn that he heard…something. It started out almost like a whisper, a whirring at the edge of his subconscious, before growing louder and louder, and finally – a grin broke over his face.

Master Yoda was here. And the clones. The clones swung into action as they rappelled down to the ground, continuing to shoot down the droids, even as Yoda called out orders.

The ships landed, and Anakin, gently, sent a signal to the reek as he dismounted. Go. Get out of here. Quickly.

The reek snorted, before charging out of the Geonosis arena. Dodging blaster bolts.

Anakin only prayed that it would be all right.

Master Windu, meanwhile, was dueling with Jango Fett. Even now, Anakin ran towards him, to help him, only for --

“Anakin!”

Obi-Wan.

“There’s no time! Get on the ship!”

“We can’t just -- ’’

“Go!”

And against his instincts, Anakin leapt on. He only prayed that Mace Windu would be all right.

But then again, Master Windu was more than a competent swordsman. He was brilliant.

Of course he’ll be all right. You’ll see.

***

Mace Windu was not a killer by nature. But even now, watching his lightsaber cleave through Jango Fett’s head, as the Separatist army seemed to retreat (they seemed to know all too well that the odds were far from in their favor), he could not help but feel a sense of sadness, of resignation, wash over him. Jedi did not take pleasure in killing. Nor did they kill everyone who seemed to be a threat. Otherwise, what would a Jedi be but a vigilante?

He could see the boy, the small child, running through the battlefield, the now-empty battlefield, if only to pick up the helmet in his hands and cradle it, almost in devastation. Even watching it, he could only hope that the child would find peace someday, somehow, with the loss of his father. But even now, the Force was uncertain. Whatever path the child took, it would be a mighty destiny -- a destiny that would cause others to turn and run at the mere mention of his name.

He only prayed that the Force was wrong.

Then he boarded the ships with the other Jedi to head off after Dooku. There was no time to waste.