There are few stories that are told among the Jedi Order long enough to become myth. Legend. It takes importance to stand the test of time that way. A lesson has to be learned.
Anakin and Circe's story is told for generations long after they are go...
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The next day or so, Anakin spends alone. Occasionally he hears people shuffle around outside, guards changing shifts, people bringing him his meals. None of their footsteps are Circe's, so he doesn't stand for any of them.
He stays stationed at the only window in his room. It doesn't even have a good view, being wedged between the Temple and the Rec Building next door. If he tries hard enough, he can press his cheek to the window and see a few tufts of grass in the very corner of his eye.
Being stuck in a room is harder than he expected it to be.
Obi-Wan would want him to meditate. To take advantage of the peace and quiet, but nothing about his situation feels like either of those things. None of the footsteps are of anyone important to him so they just bother his senses. He longs to be out with the other Jedi, to know what the week's plans are and where they will go next. At night, he can barely see the stars, and he feels overwhelmingly lost without the assurance of space above him.
Another day passes, slow and painstaking. He eats his meals slowly, rehearses old fighting stances and combinations, practices his combat form until he's breathless and covered in sweat. Every time someone passes the door he pauses, ears honed for the balance of the steps, the shift in weight, searching that familiar sturdy beat of Circe's stride.
One the third day, he hears it. He hears her.
There is a muffled exchange of words that he can barely make out, before her voice raises in a loud, frustrated tone.
"You can't be serious!? It's been two days. You can't keep him locked away from the rest of us forever."
"Circe?" He says loudly, getting to his feet.
She takes a sharp breath before answering. "Anakin? Move out of my way, please. I'm going into this room."
Exasperatedly from behind the door, a guards answers. "Ma'am, there are no visitors allowed."
"Our worse felons get visitors in their jail cells! Who gave you these orders?" She retorts, "Anakin! Can you hear me?"
He walks to the door and places his palm against the door. "I hear you."
On the other side, she gives the two guards a glare before pressing her cheek against the door. "Are you okay? Have you eaten?"
"I'm okay. Has the Chancellor responded?" He asks bleakly.
She looks down at the floor, her forehead against the wood. "Not that I know of, or you would've been released. I'll ask, Anakin. I'll find him myself. I promise you won't be in there for much longer, okay? I'll find the Chancellor."
"That won't be necessary," An old voice says from down the hall.
Circe jumps away from the door, straightening at once. "Chancellor Palpatine! I didn't realize you were coming today; I apologize—"
