#ry gaul

[farmboy1]

Obviously the Jedi are going to save the force sensitive child since he is their hope for the future.

[farmboy1]

In a way this is how many Jedi ended up as Inquisitors for Vader and Palpatine.

[farmboy1]

I can see Luke and Han becoming like little boys if they ever went to a convention like that lol.

[farmboy1]

In a way this is how I imagine what happened to Mara. And unlike Lune, Mara didn’t have a Jedi to rescue her from Palpatine’s grasp.

[farmboy1]

I know Obi-Wan is probably blaming himself for all the grief Anakin gave the Jedi when he fell.

[farmboy1]

Do the Sith ghosts see Anakin and think he has potential to be a Sith like Palpatine or do they think he’s the Chosen One and curse him.

[crystalshined]

iii.

His room is exactly like he left it, with all the ghosts of friendships he just lost. On his desk still lay holo books Ferus recommended last week. The candy wrappings Darra tucked in the half open drawer poke out messily. They had to scramble for their lectures that day, running late. Tru recalls, and for a short while the place doesn’t feel like his room, it feels like it belongs to someone different. A different Tru Veld. Different and dislocated. He finds it horrifying.

He pries the drawer open and throws the wrappings in the garbage chute. 

In the corner next to the chute stands a dimensional plastoid printer that him and Anakin decided to fix together. They carried it from the level 1000 junk heap a while back. A very old model. Antique. They agreed to look for parts for it in their spare time. In fact, they almost finished it.

A childish urge to trash it overcomes Tru. Un-jedi like. Pointless. Perfectly aware of it he unclips his lightsaber.

This time the blade doesn't even ignite.

Tru glances at it with a pursed lip, feeling ridiculous and betrayed. 

Slowly, he lets out a sigh.

iv.

Ry-Gaul doesn’t have to knock, but he does. 

He also enters before an answer is given.

Tru, crouched over the antique printer, turns to the tug of his master’s presence.

Ry-Gaul regards him with gentle eyes, worried, old. He takes the lightsaber abandoned in the corner of the room, clips it to his belt. Tru lets him.

“When I was your age,” Says Ry-Gaul. His height folds on the edge of the bed. “I too, lost someone close.”

For once, Ry-Gaul speaks and Tru listens.

“I thought, like many do, that a hard mission will prove me, my fortes, but what it proved instead, was the lack of them.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“We aren’t machines, Tru. We make mistakes. All of us.”

They lapse into silence, and for a moment, the only noise is that of the printer running a scan on its parts.

“I shouldn’t have —”

“Next time, you won’t.”

Tru tugs at his sleeve. He doesn’t trust himself with that.