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No one calls Luminara in from the front when it happens. As a result, she doesn’t know what the strange feeling is that settles over her like a heavy blanket one cold, miserable day of fighting. When she goes to bed that night — her chrono set to wake her in four hours so she can be back on the front lines with her men, the distant sounds of blasterfire a lullaby guiding her towards sleep — she can feel it lodged in her breastbone, a feeling of unease, of worry, of something wrong.
It’s over a week later, when the planet she’s fighting on is finally liberated, that she is sent back to Coruscant for a week of rest and re-deployment. She watches the final Separatist ship rise off the planet, rain getting in her eyes as she watches it glide through the black-gray, storm-churned clouds, and turns off her lightsaber as the adrenaline slowly withdraws and she can feel bone-deep exhaustion from constant warfare overtaking her. This planet is a miserable place, the battlefield turned into a mud pit as the rainwaters rose and rose over the weeks of her deployment. She has been soaked to the bone with mud and rainwater and splashes of blood for so long she’s forgotten what it feels like to be clean.
Yes, she’s happy to be back on Coruscant, for about twenty minutes.
She’s feeling marginally calmer when her ship lands, since she’s managed a shower and a set of clean clothes during the journey, but the strange feeling in her chest resounds through her when she realizes that she’s been parked away from the hangar — because the hanger, in the distance, seems to be so much rubble. A sick feeling rises in her stomach, and as she stares at the distant wreckage, she can almost see smoke rising and hear short cries of terror even though it’s clearly been at least a short while since… it happened. Whatever it might be.
She has a sudden feeling like claws in her throat that she doesn’t want to know what happened. That she should try to forget what she saw. But while Luminara trusts in the Force and in her feelings, she has never been one to deliberately shield herself from information. Deliberate ignorance is worse than stupidity. So she sets her shoulders and goes into the Temple.
The first thing she notices is the overwhelming heaviness.
It’s summer on Coruscant. The heat hangs heavy, as it usually does, the sunlight streaming in a beautiful image but also an overheating disaster. Coming from Mirial, a colder climate, Luminara has often found summers unbearable on Coruscant. During her summers as a padawan, she’d often snuck into the city to buy popsicles, to cool down when the heat was worst.
The heat isn’t the heaviest thing, but it certainly is not helping the general feeling, imbued in the Force, of loss, betrayal, anxiety, and fear.
Since the war has started those feelings have been present. Anywhere with this many Jedi is going to been emotionally charged, noticeable to anyone Force-sensitive, and Luminara has been noticing these feelings for as long as the war has been happening. But never before have they felt so oppressive, so heavy, and so personal.
Something terrible has happened, Luminara’s subconscious whispers.
Luminara doesn’t disagree.
“Master Unduli,” says a voice from beside her, and Luminara starts and turns to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing beside her, his expression grave.
“Master Kenobi,” she responds. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He shifts on his feet, looking severely uncomfortable. “I believe we need to talk. The Council wished for you to come to see them as soon as you were back on-planet, but I requested to speak with you instead.”
“What about?” she asks, a cold feeling spreading through her body despite the oppressive heat. She notices, suddenly, that almost everyone nearby in the main hall is either avoiding looking at her or openly staring. She remembers Obi-Wan not returning her pleasantry, and takes in his stance. His emotions. He would rather be anywhere but here, talking to her now, but he’s doing it anyway, by choice, his sense of duty overtaking his personal feelings.
Something terrible has happened.
“It think it would be best if we could speak in private.”
“Of course,” she says automatically, and falls into step beside Obi-Wan as he strides into the hall. A group of younglings who had been openly staring and whispering are being quietly but furiously chastised by a minder as Luminara and Obi-Wan pass them.
One of the louder younglings speaks as they pass. “But shouldn’t Master Unduli have known—”
“Quiet, Brill,” the minder snaps. “Do not speak ill of a master for the actions of their padawan.” Then the minder blanches, seemingly realizing how close they are to Obi-Wan and Luminara, and shepherds the younglings away through their protests.
A moment later, they’re out of hearing range, and Luminara’s blood is running cold. “What happened with Barriss?”
From Obi-Wan’s tight, pained expression, he also heard the minder. “Let’s speak in private.”
It’s only due to years of practice at reigning in emotion that Luminara doesn’t snap at him or demand answers immediately. She folds her hands together and holds them in front of her as she walks, her nails digging into her palms.
They end up in Obi-Wan’s small apartment, which is tidy as it has been for as long as Luminara has known his habits, and he makes up a cup of Luminara’s favourite tea as she sits at his small table and feels the tension grow and grow. Her mind is spinning with possibilities, but she doesn’t let any of them follow through into full thoughts. That would be giving them validity, and she can’t do that for anything she’s imagining. It’s too awful.
Obi-Wan sets the steaming mug down in front of her and she takes a sip as he sits down across from her. The tea is nearly boiling, and combined with the summer heat it’s far too hot, but it’s comforting enough that she almost feels less tense as she drinks half the mug. Obi-Wan watches the whole time, his hands folded on the table in front of him, waiting.
She sets down the mug. “Tell me now.”
He does.
His words are clipped, detached, but she can feel the pain as he speaks. Going through the whole miserable story, from the bomb to Letta Turmond to Ahsoka’s apparent guilt to the real culprit. At the end he pulls up a holo and shows her a short clip from when Barriss confessed.
“This Republic is failing!” Holo-Barriss shouts near the end. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Distantly, in the background, Luminara can hear the Supreme Chancellor order the guards to take her away. The holo still focuses on Barriss’s face, heartbroken yet righteous, as she is led away, and the holo ends. Obi-Wan hastily shuts it off before it can repeat.
For a long moment, all Luminara can do is hold onto her mug of tea to stop her hands from shaking. She feels like she’s going into shock. Never in her life had she imagined this, being in this situation.
Barriss has many flaws. She’s self-conscious, a perfectionist, anxiety-ridden, desperate for approval. But Luminara would never have imagined her padawan, who she still sees in her inner eye as a young child with blue eyes massive in her green face and hands wrapped tight around the too-big hilt of a lightsaber, as a terrorist.
“Luminara—” Obi-Wan begins, and for one of the only times in her entire life, Luminara’s body acts without her brain’s approval, and she punches him in the face.
He falls out of his chair and she stands in the same moment, apologizing profusely as she helps him up. He holds a hand over his eye, which she can tell is going to have a hell of a bruise in a couple hours, and waves off her apologies as he stands.
“It’s quite alright,” he says quietly as he takes a seat. Hesitantly, Luminara sits back down across from him, and stares down into her tea. It’s not steaming anymore.
When she’d taken the first sip of that tea, she hadn’t know what her padawan had become. Her stomach churns, and she feels like she won’t be able to eat for a few hours, like there’s acid eating its way through the inside of her body. She pushes the mug away from her.
“I’m still very sorry,” she says, her voice wooden. “It was beyond unprofessional, and violent.”
“It’s fine.” He rubs his hand over his face. “I’m so sorry, Luminara. This has felt like a nightmare. And now with Ahsoka gone—”
“Ahsoka’s gone?” He hadn’t mentioned that. Obi-Wan winces.
“We offered to take her back into the Order and she officially resigned. Anakin… he isn’t taking it so well.”
“He was always too attached,” she murmurs.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “I believe that he’s quite angry with you, though the bulk of his anger is directed at Barriss. He is officially banned from visiting her, though, so you may be the next best target. I don’t think he’ll take violent action—”
“Unlike me.”
Obi-Wan half-smiles. “Yes, I suppose. What I mean is, I doubt he’ll attack you, but you may find it best to avoid him for the time being.”
“I understand.” Luminara stands. “Thank you for the tea. And… and for this.” She can’t put words to this. She’s still half-numb, blindsided, too shocked to truly feel anything.
“Of course.” He stands and walks with her to the door. Before she can open it, he speaks again, quieter. “The Council wanted to brief you when you returned. I requested to tell you personally.”
“Oh,” she manages.
“I thought it might be better to hear it from a friend. Instead of from a committee.”
“Yes,” Luminara says. “I think it was better. Thank you.”
“Always,” he says, and there’s depth in that one word. A promise from their days as padawans, growing up in the creche together, to watch each other’s backs always. I’ve got you. Always.
“Always,” she agrees.