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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Phaedris knows that he is in trouble even before Sidious's image whirs to life in front of him. He is back in his white palace, the maze of halls and rooms beginning to feel less like a castle and more like a prison.
He stands in his room, hands behind his back and head bent in anticipation for his Master's call. His eyes ache. The room around him is like a pale shell, chalky and dry against his fatigue. How he misses the small bit of color and life he saw when he was out chasing Circe and luring her and Anakin to Kesis. Brilliant greens, and shades of blue in the sky, the sea, the birds that chased after his ship. The warm brown of a tree trunk. Of soil. The orange of a setting sun.
There were bad colors, too. There was red. The red of the blood on Anakin's fists where he ripped them open on his cell door, the splash of it against the wood. There was the soft pink of the bounty hunters back opening beneath his lightsaber. She bled red all over, too. He remembers the feeling of it, of her life bursting out from beneath her skin, how he had seen red before she was even wounded—his vision had gone blank with the color.
He had heard Sidious in his ear, telling him to chase the color, that it was the mark of an honorable Sith. He remembers his Master's red saber in the corner of his eye.
He remembers getting home and scrubbing his skin until it was raw. That even then, he could still see the blood. Smell it on his skin.
There is a small blip sound, and Phaedris' holo-machine whirs to life. Darth Sidious's image comes to life before him, his mouth drawn to a thin, tight line. Phaedris stills himself, keeps his eyes locked on his feet.
"You have returned from your trip to Dantooine." Sidious says, voice crackling from the distance of the call.
"Yes, Master," He answers, "The last loose end has been tied."
"So we would think, wouldn't we? Tell me, why have I heard whispers of a Jedi girl asking around Coruscant about our loose end?"
Circe.
"I had heard no such rumors," He says carefully, "But even if she is looking, even if she finds the hunter, it's a dead end."
"She has found the hunter."
Phaedris's heart sinks.
"Do you remember Kesis? When you went soft for her?"
He remembers seeing the fear in Circe's eyes and desperately wishing he could've been anywhere else in the universe than there, ordering the droids to restrain Anakin.
"I should have ordered you to kill her when I had the chance."
"Master—"
"You know, although we wasted a perfect opportunity of ridding ourselves of her," Sidious's image paces, "And as hell-bent as I was on torturing Anakin, I think perhaps we made the right decision in choosing Circe. I wanted to break him down, make him easier to control, but I see now that the best way to do that is through her."
He remembers the way her body dropped to the floor when the poison hit her system. The blood on Anakin's tongue, his throat raw from screaming her name. All red.
"His mind is broken now, thanks to you. If you hadn't spent so much time trying to make her leave, I wouldn't have even considered giving her the poison. That is the only good thing I will say about what happened."
Here it comes.
"But now she is out causing more problems. Anakin is obsessed with her. It seems every obstacle standing in my way was put there by this Jedi woman. And I see now that you, too, are losing your ability to fight against her. That you still cling to the idea that you could belong somewhere, that she could show you where, it is disgusting."
"My Lord." His voice is a whisper.
"Your soft, weak, impudent heart will be your downfall someday."
"I'm sorry."
"You're sorry." He jeers. "You were sorry when Circe evaded you after I arranged a mission that put her directly within your reach. You were sorry when you disobeyed me after I ordered you to hold Circe in the Kesis Palace. You were sorry when you could not kill the Younglings I sent you after and had to hire a foolish bounty hunter instead."
Phaedris thinks of the woman, how she was going to use the credits to return to her family on Kashyyk. All he has is memories. Wretched, poisoned, painful memories.
"Her blood is on your hands, boy." Sidious's projection turns away from him. "But it matters not. My new apprentice will not let me down the way you have. Anakin would never be so stupid."
Suddenly the room is very quiet.
"Your new apprentice?" Phaedris says quietly, daring to look up.
"Anakin is twice the warrior you will ever be. Now that I have broken him, his mind wrought with anxiety and fear, he is ready to take your place. He has always been the better choice."
The air is sucked out of Phaedris' lungs and replaced by crushing, twisting torture. Like someone has taken his heart in their hands and is crushing down, laughing at every drop of blood that falls.
"I can prove myself worthy," He says, mustering bravery behind his tone.
"Oh, don't humiliate yourself further, my boy. You know you've never been worthy of being my replacement. Deep down, you have always known it."
Phaedris shakes his head, his face suddenly soft, and heartbroken, and so young. "You're wrong. I was trained for this. You trained me to replace you. I have devoted every day to you and your goals. How could you choose Anakin over me? He's a fool! A Jedi!"
"You are the fool," Sidious snaps. If he were there in person, Phaedris would have felt the sharp sting of a slap against his cheek by now. "I have no further use of you. You are lucky I'm not killing you."
"Master—" He breathes, dropping to his knees. "Please, I've done everything you've asked. I will do everything else, without complaint, without failure. You promised me— I've worked so hard for you! Please—"
"Don't grovel, Phaedris, it's embarrassing. Your entire existence has proven to be nothing more than an embarrassment. This is just another failure tacked onto a long list of previous mistakes, and I would be ashamed to name you my successor." Sidious spits, "You are, and have always been, nothing to me."
The line goes dead and Phaedris feels like he's floating, suspended in midair and unable to touch back down to reality. He sinks back as memories well up in him like tears, memories of everything he's lost. Everything he's given.
It's all been wasted.
Phaedris sits alone, in his labyrinth of empty halls and utter silence, and he cries. He cries until he can't breathe.
