Chapter Text
“The High Council Peter. It’s the High Council!”
Peter Parker, young padawan learner of the Jedi Order, scurried faster along the wide hallways of the Jedi Temple, his padawan braid slipping out from its place under his tunic collar with the rapid movement, as he tried to run while still looking like he was walking.
The Force thrummed around his ears. Peter almost swatted at it. He didn’t need the Force telling him he was in trouble. His mind was doing enough of that as it was.
Ned’s words bounced around in his head like a smashball. Why the High Council of all things? Perhaps the Reconciliation Council or the Interdisciplinary Council, but the High Council? After all, it wasn’t like they had committed treason or anything. All they had done was slice into the Galactic Senate secure channels, poke around until they discovered a secret backchannel and then accidentally overhear a message that could only be referring to the recent string of murdered senators… okay, they had basically committed treason.
Peter’s heart rate had not slowed since getting the com to ‘report to the High Council Tower immediately’, and the Force had turned from a dull thrum with his pulse to an almost physical presence beside him.
Ned Leeds, a fellow padawan learner and Peter’s best friend, seemed to be doing no better. A thin sheen of sweat could be seen on Ned’s shaved head, glistening in the sun every time they passed one of the high, narrow windows of the southwestern hallways of the temple, his own dark padawan braid streaming behind him as they hurried faster.
“Peter, what if we get kicked out for this? What if we have to be reassigned?” Ned’s face paled as he whispered, tugging at his warm floral overtunic. It was subtly patterned, reflecting his Corellian heritage. “What if we have to go into the agricorpse?”
Peter swallowed, Master Danvers’ voice echoing in his head, “The Jedi Service Corps is an honorable alternative for a Jedi, and anyone should be proud to serve among its ranks.”
But any padawan knew better.
The Jedi Service Corps was where initiates and padawans who failed at the trials went to spend their lives in one of the many areas the Jedi Order helped people throughout the known galaxy; the agricorps, a program focused on agricultural settlement, was one of the places they could be assigned to and was regarded by padawans to be a fate worse than death, hence Ned referring to it as agri- corpse. Republic Prison would be preferable to the humiliation of the agricorps.
At least Ned would probably be saved. Master Banner wouldn’t let Ned be exiled without a fight. As for Peter, he was probably headed there anyway. A cold sensation settled along Peter’s spine. He felt it pooling down his back and settling like a hard stone in his stomach- a feeling he had become intimate with over the past eight months. Dread.
It had indeed been over eight months now, and the Council had yet to appoint him a new Master. Peter still had reservations about receiving a new teacher, but if he wanted to be a Jedi someday (and he really wanted to be a Jedi someday), he needed a Master. The last thing the Jedi Council had told him was to simply continue his Temple classes. They would contact him when they had a replacement. No. Not replacement, he couldn’t think of replacing Master Ben just yet. New mentor. Entirely new mentor. But that had been weeks ago. Months ago. Peter had slowly come to realize that it would only be a matter of time before he was summoned to the Reassignment Council Tower to be placed somewhere out of everyone’s hair. Peter’s heart clenched in his chest, but it was an old pain. Familiar now. Expected.
Peter and Ned had not slowed their pace as they zoomed around a large marble column to the High Council Tower lift; too distracted to sense anything in the Force around them, and so it was no surprise that both boys ran straight into dark brown robes. Peter caught himself against Ned as they fell back over each other. The figure, who had been as stable as a durasteel wall, caught them in their stumbling with strong arms.
Peter recognized the Jedi in front of them immediately, “Scott! Erm, M-master Lang, I mean. We’re so sorry, we didn’t see you! We were just lost in thought a-and we were summoned to the High Council and were told to come immediately so we weren’t looking where we were going and-”
“Whoa hey. It’s okay! Serves me right, standing just beyond this pillar’s blindspot.” Newly appointed Jedi Knight, Scott Lang patted the magnate pillar, one of the core high-tensile supports of the enormous High Council tower. “You know, I once tripped Master Fury the same way.”
“Wait, really?” Ned asked.
“Yup,” Master Lang said, popping the ‘p’, “So trust me when I say: you guys are fine.”
Ned shook his head, smiling now and Peter chuckled. Suddenly remembering themselves, they bowed. Scott just winked at them and pressed the button on the wall to call the lift.
Master Scott Lang smiled as they waited for the lift, “Actually, I was waiting for you. I was sent to escort you up to the High Council.”
Any levity from the accident faded at those words and the padawans nodded and fell silent as the lift chimed its arrival. Scott entered the lift first, then the friends entered together, walking in synchronized trepidation.
Master Lang must have sensed something off because he sighed assuredly, “Relax, you two. You look like you’re about to face execution.”
“Aren’t we?” Peter looked up, his embarrassment from before condensing and swirling into a tight ball of anxiety once again. The Force hummed in reassurance.
“Hardly.” Scott winked, “I didn’t hear what happened, but lucky for you two, executions were made illegal for padawans ages ago.” He chuckled and ruffled Peter’s hair gently.
Peter made himself smile and then straightened his untameable curls back to some semblance of order. Realizing his padawan braid had come untucked who knows how long ago he also shoved it back under his collar, his fingers brushing past the grey-coloured mourning band. Peter forced his breathing to remain normal as the Force unknotted into grief inside him. Ned, ever sensitive to his friend’s emotions, gave him a tight smile. It was probably the most he could offer, given the circumstances.
Peter appreciated the gesture and worked to quell his feelings. Grief, whatever remained of his frustration, and even the embarrassment of running headlong into Master Scott was gathered, silently acknowledged and then released into the Force as Peter breathed out a long sigh.
With his feelings reigned in for the moment, Peter glanced at Master Lang beside him, absorbing his kind and positive presence. The Jedi Knight was pinching his robes, pulling at the sleeves like he wasn’t quite used to them on his arms yet, and then settled with his hands in front, the sleeves covering his interlocking fingers in a traditional Jedi pose. Completely contained and at peace. Peter brought his hands down in front of him and mimicked Scott’s entwined fingers.
Peter liked Scott. He trusted him. When Peter had been an initiate, Scott had been a padawan to Master Pym. He was funny, mischievous, and loved talking to the younglings. He was also an infamous prankster and used his insectoid species ability to get out of many sticky situations- literally. To this day, some of the tables in the padawan refectory were still tacky with slug slime. No one could pin the refectory Sincrad slug incident on him, and though everyone knew it was Scott, the Jedi himself always denied it with a wink.
However, Peter had really gotten to know Scott through their shared DNA type. No relation that they knew of, but Peter’s 2% insectoid ancestry meant that they had talked quite a few times, and Scott had even helped Peter when he was younger, explaining what might show up or happen because of his mixed DNA. Insectoids like Scott and Peter were susceptible to different insect abilities and as no two insectoids were the same, the abilities manifested in a variety of ways. Peter would always be grateful to Scott for his help, that he hadn’t felt so alone when he had begun to stick to things as a toddler or lost when he was suddenly able to lift heavy things without the Force and do crazy acrobatic feats- even for a Force user- when he was ten. Master Ben had always been a little out of his depth when Peter started to develop his abilities, so he asked for Master Pym and Scott’s help to train Peter properly as an insectoid, partial or not.
Now, Scott was a newly appointed Jedi Knight. Peter looked at him through his peripheral vision. Scott carried himself differently now. There was a new height to his posture, a proud tilt of his head. The long Jedi robe he was wearing sealed the deal. Peter’s heart ached as the Force stirred inside him, just under his skin, prickling and alive. Peter wanted that, he wanted it so badly. More than anything. But he knew, as his heart took on a different type of ache, that he was further from becoming a Jedi Knight now than he ever had been.
The lift brought them higher and higher above the Jedi Temple roofs, the ever-present lines of perfectly organized Coruscant air traffic now level with their eyesight, and now stretching below them as the lift climbed higher yet.
Peter liked to think that the five Temple spires were set high above the Coruscant city so that their importance and centrality to the Jedi Order was emphasized to all who looked upon the Temple. But now, as he viewed the long stretching cityscape, Peter began to rethink his hypothesise. There was something tranquil about being up above the noise and the population. It made one want to take in a deep breath and let out all tension and stress. It gave one perspective.
However, dramatic views and contemplation would only take a Jedi padawan so far. The lift came to a smooth halt and let out a musical chime, signaling their arrival to the uppermost floor of the High Council Tower.
Peter’s insides clenched anew, and he found himself holding his breath as the lift doors opened and the three of them walked right into the High Council Chamber of the Jedi Order.
Master Scott walked ahead of them into the Council Circle, the immaculately clean burgundy and gold floor shining under his boots.
Bowing low, the Jedi Knight raised a hand to the padawans behind him. “Padawans Peter Parker and Ned Leeds as requested, Masters.”
Peter and Ned bowed low as well, as the calm voice of Grand Master Nick Fury sounded powerfully around the circular room. “Come to the centre, Padawans.”