deercountry | (no subject)

"I did pick the right person, but I was telling myself at the time that it was stupid and selfish," he admits.

"I said something about him having a brother to look after-" He rolls his eyes at himself. "While having a pity party in my head. And he just...looked concerned and stopped me and told me we're family. And that's when I started crying." He smiles, rueful, but grateful, too.

"And then we talked, it wasn't...bad, exactly. But I dropped some things I know about the war he came from."

Obi-Wan continued to confuse her, even in absentia.

How could you have a family and no attachments?

Well, that was a puzzle for another time. In the meanwhile, Ariadne bumped her shoulder up against Ezra's, giving him a bit of a sideways hug. Not as good as an Obi-Wan Kenobi hug, but still pretty good.

Which was for the best, because she was reasonably certain she didn't have much to offer besides hugs. Certainly not advice. "You mean...things about the future? His future?"

Ezra bumps back, grinning briefly, before his expression sobers.

"Yeah. We were talking about separating out solider from Jedi. Because, well, even though carrying a weapon is traditional, there's a maxim I've come across in some older Jedi writings that say variations of, if you have to draw your lightsaber, you've already failed. But in his time the Jedi joined the war, because they thought they had to, to protect civilian and end it quickly. But the truth is...the whole thing was a trap."

"War always is," she said. Not an idiom because she was useless with them. It was something she believed. "The trick is walking into it and knowing that it's a trap."

Fighting the Red Dragon was a trap. Everyone knew it. It meant sacrificing peace and harmony and everything that Princess Amanda had fought so hard for. But what was their alternative? To stand by and let him destroy everything?

Unacceptable.

Ultimately, Amanda and Lysia snuck into the war quietly. Hoping that their secret resistance would be enough. And maybe it would be. Who knew? But at least they'd gone in knowing what they had to do.

"Well." Ezra was quiet a beat, thinking about it.

"Yeah. Kanan said similar things, when Hera wanted to join with other Rebel cells to start really trying to cause bigger problems for the Imperial forces. He wanted to stick with mercy missions and sabotage we'd been doing. That sort of thing. He fought with the Rebel Alliance, but he refused to accept an official rank."

He shakes his head. "But that's not...quite what I meant."

There was something entirely complicated about rebels having 'rank.' But Ariadne decided that was probably more about his universe than anything else.

"What did you mean, then?" she asked.

Ezra needed to talk. She needed to listen.

He takes a deep breath.

"The Jedi accepting command of the army of the Republic led to the death of the Order. Which is...I'm not saying that as a moral judgment. That it was what was deserved, or something like that. Because, for one thing, it wasn't just the generals who were killed." He shakes his head, again.

"I mean, the entire war was designed by the Sith, to lead to that point. While giving a convenient narrative for why genocide was 'necessary', I think. Obi-wan knew enough already to see the results of the trap, but I told him...how. I told him that the troopers that he knows and trusts, probably even loves, have something in their heads that will take away their free will, the moment Palpatine commands it."

Very quietly, he adds, "If one of the troopers were to come here, if that was...active, or could be activated - anyone with magic could read as a Jedi to them."

Given everything that Ariadne had heard about Palpatine, it wasn't much of a surprise. It was fascinating. And far more clever than anything the Red Dragon could ever have schemed--although his lieutenant might. Almost elegant, if any sort of war and killing could be elegant.

It also made her want to hate him.

She sighed, shaking her head. Trying to let the thought go.

"I suppose it's possible," she said. "Deerington and Trench seemed to play favorites with people from your world. But I'm sure we could find a way to control it. Deactivate it, or whatever the right term is."

"I might be able to...break through the mind control, at least briefly. Maybe. I wonder if Ahsoka did that for Rex."

He's always intuited that they saved each other when the Purge started, somehow. But he never asked.

"And I know it's done through the physical thing in the brain. That can be removed with careful surgery."

"We have healers and doctors," she pointed out. True, any loss of blood had the potential for disaster. But she'd much rather risk potential than a rampaging soldier, mistaking people for Jedi and slaughtering them. Especially if it wasn't even their fault.

Of course, Ariadne didn't really understand how someone could operate on the brain. But she'd trust that to those with proper training.

The point was it was manageable.

He nods slowly, after a moment. "Yeah. If it's comes up, we'll figure it out. It was just...a tough conversation. I know Ben blamed himself for so much." He looks out across Trench, from their perch.

"I worry about Obi-wan here and now spiraling along those lines, too. Anakin's...moved out, basically. I think he thinks he's limiting the amount of harm he can do, but it's also pretty stupid, in my opinion. I'm staying with Obi-wan, at least for right now."

She tensed, as always, at the mention of Anakin. But then did her best to just...let it go. There was a possible future in which she managed to forgive and forget, but Anakin wasn't on the path toward it. So the best she could do was try to move past the way he'd treated Dean. Her family.

"You're very kind, Ezra," she said. "And I think, sometimes, with all of the busy and important people swirling around the universe, people forget how valuable kindness is. But Obi-Wan, for all of his faults, is probably wise enough to recognize it. He may not say so. But he knows."

A deep breath.

"As for Anakin...I think the only way to save him right now may be his mate. Not that I would wish this place on her, on anyone. But I don't know who else can get him to come to his senses."

He watches that shift in her body language come and go, as his own brow furrows.

"I mean, I try to be. Because kindness is one of the most important things in the universe." Maybe the most important. "Obi-wan's one of the people I learned that from."

It honestly baffles him that Ariadne believes Obi-wan might ever forget that. Be distracted from that fact, maybe. Forget to be kind to himself, yes.

He shivers hard, second-hand memories of Obi-wan yelling at Anakin (Vader) to let Padme go while she choked, flashing through his mind.

"I asked Padme to be careful. I'm not - I don't think she really understood. I can't tell her-" he says, getting increasingly agitated. He shuts himself up, abruptly.

She looked down the line of her shoulder at Ezra. It was obvious he was troubled. And equally obvious that she didn't have the context for all of his troubles.

She had enough, though. And had seen enough to understand one thing.

Or, at least, wonder.

"Keeping secrets hasn't really done anyone a lot of good here. Mostly because secrets have a way of getting out."

"But it hasn't happened. It may never happen here," he insists.

"There's no point in telling people about the terrible things that they might do, or might happen to them. I told Obi-wan about the chips in the troopers because of the lack of choice involved."

"On the other hand," she said, not argumentative, just trying to be a sensible observer. "If you knew you made a mistake and bad things happened because of it...wouldn't you want the opportunity to make a different choice?"

At least, she thought that made sense. Ariadne didn't make mistakes often, but when she did, she could spend weeks ruminating over the different ways she could have acted, the ways she could have been better.

Maybe that was just her. Always thinking about possible futures and the like.

"I know Obi-Wan didn't have anything to do with the...chips? Chips. But knowing how that story ended could possibly prepare him for something else that might happen here. There's something about knowing what's possible...it...becomes a consideration. Makes you better at strategizing."

Ezra was silent for a long moment.

"Even before I left the galaxy I come from, I was prone to visions. It's...tricky knowing possible futures. You can strategize, yes. I agree, it can definitely work that way."

He sucks in a breath, and continues, slowly, trying to pick his words carefully. "Ideally...there's a school of thought, at least - that's what a Jedi, in balance with the world and themselves, does. Through their connection to the Force, they find the time and place they are needed most, to do what is needed to create positive change. That's what I was trying to do, when I ended up leaving my family behind."

"I suspect that's a much harder ideal to live up to in a place like this," she said. "Where the variables and faces are always changing."

She turned back to the view, debating how much she wanted to get into this next part. Ezra had been honest with her--as far as she could tell. And she wanted to be honest in return.

The problem was, she'd never had to explain this to anyone before. She wasn't sure she knew how to find the right words.

"Back home," she said, "while I would never call anything...predictable...things fell into certain patterns. And I was always very, very good at seeing those patterns. A lot of people thought it was luck that I always picked the right cup in a shell game or the exact perfect time to walk into a room to overhear some important information. But it wasn't luck. Just probability. I knew how to make the perfect possible future. But here? I can't really do that any more. Not the same way."

And it scared her at first. Not being able to predict things. But she began to enjoy it. Appreciate it. And, on occasion, even look forward to a nice surprise. No one ever surprised her in Valeria.

"Trench is a test. And we have to adapt in order to pass it, I think."

He openly stares at her for a moment.

"That sounds...a lot like how everyday prescience that isn't full on visions can work for Force-sensitives. And no, it's not as easy to get in tune with it for me, here, most of the time."

She turned to look at him, before looking back at the horizon. Then did a little bit of a double-take. Why was he staring like that?

Ariadne smiled, feeling a bit self-conscious.

"Half of the people who wake up here find that their abilities from before are gone and have been replaced by one of the...the blood types. They've been altered at the most basic genetic or spiritual level. Either way. It's madness for them to try to be exactly as they were before. They have to find new ways of doing things." She shrugged. "I guess that includes both of us. And possibly your Jedi friends."

He picks up a bit on the self consciousness.

"Sorry. Just - not even other Jedi necessarily feel the tug of prescience as much as I did, for as long as I can remember. It's probably half the reason, minimum, I survived without anyone looking after me, for so long. It seems like something I should have...known, about you. Sensed somehow." He shrugs awkwardly.

"I'm not a Jedi," she said, with a lilting laugh. "I can assure you that." She was way too emotional for one thing. And craved attachments way too much, for another. "And like I said, I can't really do it here. Not unless the variables are extremely controlled."

Yes, she still won most shell games she encountered. But that was kind of the perfect example of controlled variables. And even then, there was always magic she couldn't account for.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that if the Force isn't working the way it used to, maybe rely more on your blood."

"Well, no, being a Jedi is both a matter of training, traditions, philosophy, and choice. There are - or were before the Empire - many traditions and philosophies related to Force sensitivity."

He should have said Force sensitive, not Jedi, he supposes. But it is the Jedi way that he knows best.

"I do still have visions. There's a flip side to that." His voice drops lower, and softer. "Part of why the Jedi emphasize being in balance with your emotions. You can also get caught up in fear. Maybe make a vision self-fulfilling. Or even make things worse, because you're just...reacting without thinking about the fall out from your actions, because you're so frantic for a different result."

And Anakin in the most reactive person Ezra knows, at least in the state he's been since Ezra came here.

"I guess it's a matter of personality," she said, shrugging slightly. "But there's a lesson in that too. You need to consider the personality of each person you deal with, when talking about their future. Or what might have been their future, in another lifetime."

In other words, not Anakin.

As for the rest, for the most part, they seemed a lot more even-keeled. But perhaps she didn't know them as well as she thought.

Or as well as she wanted to.

"Which is why I've been really careful what I say around Anakin - although training should trump personality, at least enough to get him to slow down and think."

He rubs a hand across his face, in bafflement. "I don't get it. Ben could talk in circles, but was always patient and tried to be clear, when he was teaching mode. Force, Anakin himself was Ahsoka's master and she's amazing."