There are two lightsabers on Agen’s belt when he gets back from Geonosis.
A green blade.
A blue blade.
And stars, oh stars, there was only ever meant to be one.
There is a gaping hole at his side and slightly behind.
If he closes his eyes he can almost hear stumbling feet hurrying to catch up with his longer legs.
He can almost throw out an arm to catch a clumsy padawan before they trip.
But he can’t because there is no clumsy padawan with earnest, stumbling feet coming up behind him.
There never will be again.
Agen’s padawan is gone.
That wonderful, cheerful child.
It almost feels like a terrible joke.
That here Agen stands, outside his rooms, alone.
It should have been him.
Why couldn’t it have been him?
He would have given his life in an instant for that joyful little spark.
He would have.
He knows that as sure as he knows anything.
And yet… here Agen stands, outside his rooms, alone.
His door feels like an insurmountable obstacle.
Somehow… somehow it feels like this will all become more real, the moment he opens the door and is greeted with silence.
That this really wasn’t all the nightmare of a worried master stuck on a solo mission away from his young padawan.
Stars, it should have been a solo mission.
He rests his forehead against the door.
He should go in.
Should mourn.
He doesn’t want to break apart here.
He takes a shaky, ragged breath and inputs the code.
It’s the day he asked Tan to be his padawan.
He stumbles in before he can think about it.
It’s quiet, peaceful.
It shouldn’t be.
There’s a datapad set haphazardly on a side table that will never see its essay finished.
His padawan’s favorite plant, tenderly cared for whenever he could and passed around to friends when they were on missions. It will be Agen’s responsibility now.
His colorful mug, still drying on the rack, the swirls and colors faded.
A piece of flimsi tacked to the front of the conservator reminding Agen about long study sessions with friends.
He sits heavily on the couch and buries his face in his hands.
How can he say goodbye?
How can he bear it?
His little padawan with his easy grins and earnest care.
His little padawan who was going to grow, who was supposed to grow wise and strong and kind.
The galaxy is cruel, Agen knows that.
He never thought it would be so cruel as to take such light from him so young.
He chokes on a sob.
The first since he saw his apprentice fall.
It’s a sock that does it, of all things.
The memory of telling his padawan to take them back with him to the padawan dorms and Tan running off with a promise to remember.
He didn’t remember.
He’s never going to remember.
The anger is coming, Agen knows himself well enough to know that fury is close.
Right now there is nothing but an empty hole in his heart, a horrible gnawing pain.
A knock brings him out of his revelry.
He sucks in a deep breath and stumbles over to the door.
The sight of Master Eeth Koth only makes him cry harder. He feels like a child, a nearly knighted padawan exploring his home planet with wide eyes and a patient master trailing after him, not the grown master he is.
“Oh, Agen.”
His breath stutters and Eeth hurries into the room and wraps him in a gentle embrace.
Agen didn’t think he wanted to see anyone yet but… Eeth knows him, helped him navigate the confusing experience of learning his home culture and deciding what he wanted out of it. Master Eeth can help, probably.
Agen isn’t sure if he’s ever lost a padawan before but… surely…
Agen doesn’t know what to do.
Eeth guides them to the couch, he doesn’t say anything. He only holds Agen’s hands gently in his own.
Agen weeps.
There is nothing he can say.
There is nothing to express it.
This loss.
This light snuffed out forever.
Agen has no idea how long he stays like that, has no idea when the sobs turn to miserable sniffles, has no idea when his eyes settle blankly on the wall.
Eeth pats his hands gently and leaves him there without a word, wordless reassurance pressed to his shields.
Agen doesn’t know how long he’s gone for, it can’t be long. He presses a cup of warm tea into Agen’s hands and settles next to him, shoulders pressing firmly together.
“Tell me about him?” It's quiet, an offer more than a question, no expectation or judgment in it.
Agen takes a sip of tea, considering.
Is he ready?
Does he want to?
It is a long time before he speaks.
“He asked me, you know? I wasn’t looking, not really.” Agen shudders as he relaxes into the cushions. “I’m sure you can imagine, this little human boy. He didn’t have both his front teeth, that’s all I could think about. He walks up to me, tiny little chest puffed out.” Agen’s chuckle is a little wet.
“He charges up to me and just squints at me, like he was sizing me up.” Eeth hums. “I asked him if he was lost and he said no.” Agen takes a moment to breathe. “No, the Force told him I was going to be his Master.”
Agen closes his eyes at the image of his little Padawan, so small and brave. “So, could I please take him as my apprentice? I said I’d think about it. I almost took it back immediately, he looked so crushed.”
“How am I meant to do this?” Agen is already so tired of tears. “How am I meant to say goodbye? He was so light, Eeth.”
“I know.”
Eeth does not offer him answers. Agen does not need them. He knows the path, he does not know if he is strong enough.
“Meditate with me?” He doesn’t think he can manage alone, not yet. There is fear bubbling, that nothing will comfort him, that the Force and their beliefs will bring only emptiness and no relief. There is anger swirling, deep inside him. It whispers of revenge, of bringing immeasurable pain to those who've dared taken his padawan away. He will not buckle to them. He cannot desecrate Tan's memory with his own fear and anger but he is only so strong alone.
Eeth only gets up and shifts to a better position across from him.
Agen moves slower, more hesitant.
They settle facing one another, knees nearly touching.
Eeth lets go first and Agen takes a hitching breath before following.
The Force is tinged in sorrow, not only for his padawan, Agen knows. There will be many pyres to prepare in the coming days.
There will be no body to lay to rest.
Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.
Agen breathes, in and out.
He focuses on the peace he knows can be found. He can feel Eeth’s steady presence, a supportive pillar as he seeks.
The sorrow is a strange comfort, the Force mourns with him.
They mourn the steady lights lost together, the young, the old.
They are gone and he remains.
He will do what he can in the meantime.
He listens to the whispers of the light, the humming reassurances and weary sadness.
Agen breathes, in and out.
He remembers.
He mourns.
He says goodbye.
There are two crystals in Agen’s hand when Eeth leaves him that night.
A green one.
A blue one.
And stars, oh stars, there was only ever meant to be one.
Agen doesn’t sleep.
There is a war.
His padawan is dead.
He will heal.
He will find a way, some way. He doesn’t know quite how yet.
He will not be alone.
He is a Jedi, guided by the Force.
He is a Jedi, surrounded by his family.
His padawan told him once, in the aftermath of a rather unfortunate mission, that he would always have Agen’s back.
Agen had smiled and tugged on his braid, telling his little apprentice that he was a Master and one day Tan would be Knight. That it was the way of things to change and to let go.
Agen had been wrong about one thing.
Tan will not be a Knight.
Tan is one with the Force now and his kind padawan would not wish to see Agen broken by grief.
It is the way of things to change and to let go, even when it feels unbearable, even when it tears at his heart and soul.
Tan had been right about one thing.
He will always have Agen’s back.
Agen falls asleep as the light of morning dawns in the Temple, the first of many Temple sunrises he will face without his cheerful little padawan, a newly reconstructed lightsaber in his hands.