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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Anakin's presence on Eadu is a knife in Circe's throat.
She wakes in the middle of the night, thunder and harsh water crashing outside the window of her new room. The inside of the tower she landed at is dark and slick with years of erosion. The salt has withered the grey stone, chipped away at its grandeur, and now it is nothing but an empty spire.
But it is large, and quiet, and life has not breathed here for some time. And so the sudden arrival of something living forces her from her restless sleep. People, she thinks. She sits up, in more of a tomb than a bed—a great bedroom that has not housed anyone for far too long.
There, out in the storming grey winds, she can sense Anakin's brilliance. A sudden warmth flows over her, a flush of gold from the Jedi out in the rain, and she leaps out of bed. She wants cold. She wants empty. Curse the warmth and love that washes over her, damn the safety of his presence. It is like a plague on her now, a hot, feverish sick, and she wants to be rid of it.
He is too warm, she thinks as she flies through the halls, eyes trained out the towering windows that line her new home. He is too sweet, too safe, too comforting. She feels like a plant, or a carcass, wilting in the heat of the sun.
Bring back the cold, she thinks, Bring back my misery.It was better that way. It was kinder to let me freeze.
She waits in the throne room. It is the same slate-grey as the rest of the tower. She can hear the sound of water all around her, not just in the ocean, but of sea-spray pooling in the corners of the room, of water slipping down the walls.
Beyond the door, she can hear Anakin's footsteps. He is alone. Obi-Wan must have decided to stay back, to let him handle this by himself. Circe is grateful. She doesn't think she could face her mentor with the same strength she will face Anakin.
Obi-Wan has done nothing wrong.
Circe remembers a time back when she had first been trusted a mission by herself, years back. One of her first tasks as a Padawon alone, when she was still too young to really understand battle or violence. It had been a safe mission, one that she should've returned from unscathed and successful.
But things went wrong, she made some rash decisions, her inexperience only making things worse. She returned to the Temple with three broken ribs and a shattered bone in her left arm.
It had hurt so badly she couldn't even cry, or scream, or wince. She had just laid there, shaking and wanting to die. Wishing to be put out of her misery.
That was nothing compared to this.
Anakin stands in the steep doorway, his breath heaving irregularly. At the sight of him, Circe's heart leaps to her throat, so sudden she's afraid she's going to puke.
She can hear his heart, just as she did in Skydome. Hear the rush of his blood, the twang of his muscles as he flexes his hands nervously.
She fights the gag climbing up her tongue and lifts her chin defiantly, daring him to step forward. Daring him to bring his light into her chamber of deep, swallowing darkness.
