When You Come Home

-38-

The road was hard, and Anakin struggled to keep the morale of the troops above despair. With no official commander anymore, no one had objected when Anakin took upon himself the full responsibilities of CO, one of which included leading the boys with courage and hope. Qualities he was sorely lacking in, but he faked them as best as he could.

Another of said responsibilities was to determine what would be their next destination, and then to map out the best path to said place. This responsibility was more difficult to fake. He didn't know where to go, much less how to get there. He had received no orders from Premier Palpatine, and he had had no idea of Cody's next intentions. Usual protocol would dictate they return to the nearest Republic city and tend wounds and recover until their superiors directed them elsewhere. But Tatooine was so far from any home territory that Anakin had to improvise. The men would never last the two weeks travel to Coruscant without aid and backup, so they would have to stop off in land sympathetic to the Republic. Unfortunately, the closest, most ideal country was Mandalore. The 501st would likely still be there, and as Mandalore wasn't wholly against the Republic, it was the best Anakin could think of. Something about the bright, youthful eyes of the perpetually optimistic Ahsoka strengthened Anakin's wavering heart, and he knew that his boys worked well with the 501st. The familiarity would be enough to tide them back home to Coruscant. That was what he hoped, anyway.

So, with more determination and confidence than he felt, he led the way to Mandalore, half-daunted, half-grateful for the boys' implicit trust in him. No one questioned him.

The march was hard, and the days blurred into pain and misery, with a cold rain following them nearly the whole way. Anakin promised the sick and weak warmth and safety that wasn't his to promise. Mandalore would welcome them. The 501st would help them. Hope and happiness were mere days away, if they just held on a littler longer. One more step, one more moment, one more push. They could make it; they would make it. They had to, for each other and for Cody.

Anakin hated that he was resorting to using Cody's name to rouse the men, but he was running out of options. He knew, deep down, that Cody would be proud of them simply for trying, and that nothing they did would disappoint him. But recalling Cody instilled in the boys a sense of owing, of urgency almost, the desire to live up whatever standard they believed Cody had placed on them.

Despite their best efforts, a few of the injured slipped into peaceful oblivion, and Anakin hated himself even more. If he had chosen a different path, maybe they would have made it. If he had hesitated a little longer on the outskirts of Felucia, perhaps they would have avoided the torrential downpour. If he had picked another country as their destination, maybe they would reached it in time.

But what he hated most was that Cody wasn't there to put his hand on his shoulder and tell him that he did his best, that he had done all there was to do. Instead, all he had were his own wretched thoughts and the night sky to yell at.

On the dawn of the fifth day, they finally saw the grey buildings of civilization and the glorious sunrise in the glass windows of Mandalore. Everyone was exhausted, and Anakin could only hope his bet would pay off.

"Wait outside the palace," Anakin instructed Boil once they had wound through the snaking streets and avoided the dark stares of silent citizens. Steeling his courage, he walked up the steps and entered through the revolving, glass doors. A pair of sentries eyed Anakin with a mix of disgust and bemusement as they escorted him directly to the throne room. Anakin had no energy to appreciate the beauty of the palace.

Duchess Kryze sat atop her throne, one leg thrown over the other as her foot bounced slightly. Her emerald eyes pierced straight through his soul, baring open his deepest fears and his most hidden tears. He couldn't look at her for more than a moment. He dropped down onto both knees, partly from exhaustion and partly from desperation.