***THIS VERSION IS OUTDATED. SEE THE ADAPTED AND IMPROVED VERSION ON MY PROFILE***
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 b...
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The Temple is unusually quiet for the next week. Younglings flutter around the sunlit halls in their groups, carrying old texts and letters from their parents that came in over the weekend. Most Padawans have taken the opportunity to visit friends in the city, making the most of the rare time on their hands.
Anakin and Circe spend most of their days outside in the gardens, the white-haired girl reading in the grass, the tan boy picking clovers beside her. He is restless with nothing to do—hence the fidgeting with the small plants in his fingers—but he likes being with Circe. She nearly glows in the sun, her skin lit up with dappled yellow light.
White can be a cold color, too harsh. Too blinding. But Circe's hair is warm, and soft, and it flows around her shoulders while she reads, or walks, or lays back in the sun. Perhaps it is the depth of her slate eyes that softens her paleness, but he does not think her too cold, too harsh, or too blinding. He thinks her rather beautiful.
"Anakin," She asks one day, leaning over his sprawled body, basked in daylight, "Do you think the war is really coming to an end? Or are we just running ourselves in circles?"
He shrugs. "I don't know."
"It's been going on for so long. Our entire lives. Isn't that strange?"
"I guess. I don't think about it much."
She holds her hands above his face, watching the shadows of her fingers slide across his skin. "One day we'll come home, and life will be completely different. We'll be able to live peacefully. Every day could be like this one."
"Jedi don't retire. We'll always be working in one way or another," He says.
The breeze ruffles around them and sweeps across her face, smelling of flowers and grass.
"Yes," She answers, "But it won't be war. We won't be needed like we are, needed all the time to fight every day. We could just... exist."
"You and me?"
"Yeah."
He opens his eyes into a squint to look up at her. "What would we do?"
She smiles. "We could live on a farm, when the Order stops needing us for good. On a whole different planet. Or somewhere with water that we could swim in when it's hot."
"You would never settle down like that. You have too much change to make in the world, in our government. You're like Padme. You both think about bigger things than I do," He replies.
"Maybe, but I want to do that before the Order has no use for me. You'll see, we'll find a quiet life when we're older."
"I can't bear a life where I'm not in the cockpit of a starfighter," He says seriously, sitting up. "I want the thrill of battle, I'm nothing without it."
She frowns at him. "Anakin, that's not true. You don't need to fight to be important."
He laughs, like it's a funny joke. He probably means nothing when he does but Circe feels saddened by it.
