Private The Burden of Forgiveness

[Bernard of Arca]

“You are so much stronger than you know,
so much potential and such a shining star.
I could only wish to see what you truly grow into.”​

“I forgive you,” the words echoed from a space beyond time. They sent ripples through the shining black surface of an unknowable void. As they propagated, they gained in intensity, slowly, but relentlessly. They grew and grew until they were the size of tidal waves, utterly impossible to ignore.

Ahch-To

Bernard woke with a start and shot upright. His heart raced, his clothes were soaked through, and he fought desperately for a breath of cool air. Something heavy sat inside his lungs and burned them from the inside. He began coughing violently. His throat went sore while his nostrils stung, but eventually, some of the weight dislodged and water left his throat as he spat it out. His face contorted as the sharp taste of the sea overwhelmed his tongue. He continued coughing up water, gasping for air in between fits.

A wave crashed against him, nudging him, almost gently, to the side. He'd dozed off by a rock near the shore. Then, the tides had been low, but now they'd shifted and high tide came to wake him.

He coughed up the last water his lungs gave free and took several shallow breaths to steady himself. The muscles of his chest were taut, constricting his airway. He wheezed through the next few minutes of muddled consciousness until his mind was clear enough to form a thought.

I forgive you. The words echoed in the back of his mind, and with them came a searing sensation above his heart.

He fished out the kyber crystal tied to a string around his neck. It burned the tips of his fingers as he held it up for inspection. The jagged stone glowed green at its edges and pulsed a deep maroon at its core. It hadn't done that in years. He felt a new, yet familiar, weight bearing down on him as he watched the colours dance inside the crystal shell.

I forgive you.

---

Prosperity

The meditation sphere's walls were cast in a blue glow that came from nowhere in particular. Simple, geometric runes inscribed its surface. They were scattered but appeared to follow a pattern that was reminiscent of crude star maps that may have once been used many millennia ago.

Bernard couldn't map them to any sector of space he knew, but he could guess at their purpose. He'd heard of navigators who sailed space with only the Force, and he felt as though the peoples who had built this sphere had used this room for that exact purpose. The stone around him felt as though it was saturated with the Force through and through. Even without his connection to it, the impression was powerful enough to give him a taste of its shadow.

"Master Varobalder?" He called out into the space with restrained volume, wary of disturbing the tranquillity of the Jedi Sanctum with his voice. "I would have need of your wisdom."

Asmundr Varobalder​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

Prosperity lived and breathed with tens of thousands of pairs of lungs. Those within the structure, those without the structure. Those of days past, those of the present, and those yet to be seen. Like beautiful, flattened butterflies that harmoniously rose and fell within the lattices and interlacings of the empyrean's starry current.

Tilting ever so slightly, Asmundr nodded his head in the direction of the Arkanian when he entered. His eyes remained open all the while, golden flames dancing around his pupils. He never blinked. He never looked. But he saw.

The Warden inhaled and exhaled all that were, are, and would. A low hum filled the room as he did so, and the tracings along the walls pulsed and glowed in harmonious rhythm with the deep reverberations. The chamber's walls sloped inwards, arching around over venerable Varobalder, who was seated in the centre and focused on The Force itself. In this position, his base so connected with the ground, he looked more like a mountain than ever. Immovable, steadfast, resounding, solid –– a mountain that peaked and oversaw all those in the valleys of life below. Seeing the currents, the dips, the shadows, the grooves, the plateaus, all that was natural, all that was alive and strong and weak, all that was forresty, all that was submerged, all that within the void, all that within deserts, all that within snowcapped mountains.

All that was Bernard. It was vague, of course. Personal connections always were until they were invited but this one...particularly so. It was a connection that had at one point been completely dismissed from his touch on Korriban. Gone beyond his seeing meld. Instead of a flower within The New Jedi Order's garden, Bernard of Arca was like a boulder in a meadow. His training had hardened. Stopped growing. Diverged from his peers. Heavy, weighted down, despite all the sunlight that shone upon them. Still, a boulder could cast a dark shadow, or provide helpful shade.

"Of course, Bernard."

Rolling his hand from his lap, offering a gesture to take a seat across from him with his palm facing the centre of the archways.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he finally blinked. The luminescence within his eyes faded, replaced with soft amber.

"Anything for Coruscant's most generous elf."

His wide grin drew into a more mature, neutral line and he gestured again, vaguely.

"You have much on your mind..and.." that vague gesture navigated toward his chest, his fist stopping over his left side before uncurling to spread his fingers over his heart.

 

[Bernard of Arca]

The black stone walkway led to the centre of the sphere and up a few steps, to the platform on which the venerable master Varobaldr was seated. A glass surface constituted the floor there, rough and marred with small scratch marks. It was an icy blue colour, illuminated from below. Its appearance was reminiscent of an incandescent ice sheet.

"Of course, Bernard," the voice was softer than the master's appearance suggested.

Bernard dropped to kneel across from him, the clatter of his equipment quietly echoed through the chamber.

"Anything for Coruscant's most generous elf," Asmundr added and Bernard lowered his gaze to the space between them, still carrying an impassive expression. The tension that ran through his body wound tighter.

"You have much on your mind..and.." the Jedi master trailed off, finishing his thought with a gesture.

Silence settled between them. Bernard sat with his back bent, hands resting on his thighs, shoulders drooped. His posture was unbefitting a Jedi. He glanced up to Asmundr through stray strands of hair.

Now that he sat across from the powerful force user he felt small. There were only a few inches of height difference between them, but in this innermost sanctum of the Jedi, the mountain appeared many times his normal size. He stared down at Bernard with unrelenting eyes. Eyes which seemed to see right through Bernard's very soul. Every lie, every concealed truth, all the buried guilt, anger, and emotion was laid bare before the master's amber eyes.

He felt like an open book, a husky shell full of dreams, hopes, and secrets that could be plucked freely. He became acutely aware of the powerlessness of beings not gifted with the Force. A single thought stood between life and oblivion, between his secrets and prying eyes, tempered only by the benevolence of the being who sat across from him. He shifted, a chill running through his body, and looked away again.

"Master Varobalder," he began, voice meek and cracking, but he caught himself and cleared his throat. His voice was closer to base-line when he started again. "Master, I-"

Where had his words gone? Even as he'd entered the chamber he'd been able to recall the reason he sought the master's wisdom, but now that he grasped for it, all thoughts slipped through his hands like sand. He slowed his breath to find his centre. His mind raced with possible thoughts, lines of conversation, ideas, but none felt right. The silence stretched on as he fumbled for words. His fingers curled, tightening around the fabric of his trousers, and he resolved finally to cling to the first thought that came.

"Master Varobadler, when I was younger I thought I knew what it meant to be a Jedi. I knew great Knights, Masters, and even Padawan who embodied the ideals of our Order with a certainty they made you believe nothing but their truth of justice and compassion could ever exist. I admired them deeply, they became the star I looked to for guidance on my own journey. But now I ... now it's gone. They're gone, and I believe I lost ... I've failed to carry their light for them."

Fear lingered in the back of his mind. He tried his best not to acknowledge it, but its whispers had already begun to echo in his thoughts.

Asmundr Varobalder ​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

He didn't stir while Bernard of Arca sought the words he wanted to use to begin their dialogue. He didn't tighten, nor did he sink. He simply remained still.

Expectation. Again, the expectation had set another of his students on the path for feeling insufficient. Comparison was the thief of joy. His shoulders fell ever-so-slightly as he considered the words. The past was wonderful and incredible, worth reflecting on and honouring; all the men and women who gave their lives to circumstance and betterment. But it could be misleading, setting those of the present up when they felt the past couldn't fit snugly in their future.

Bernard was still so young, had still so much to learn. Far too much to write himself off as a failure so readily. The Force had left him empty, and he was filling the space with doubt. Again, like with Dagon Kaze , he fought the urge to immediately dismiss the notion of failure. It wasn't his place to tell others how to feel. It was only his place to help them navigate through the endlessness of their unique universes.

Instead, he encouraged more explanation. Leveraging curiosity as the initiator of the transaction –– expecting further self-reflection as currency.

"We think we know many things when we're young." Asmundr agreed, the low tones of his voice resounding with the acoustic support of the domed room. He nodded thoughtfully, emphasizing their mutual understanding for youthful knowledge. "And then, as we grow, our understanding changes. Grows with us.

Tell me about this feeling of failure, where is it coming from?"

 

[Bernard of Arca]

"It's ..." he glanced down at his hands. "It's hard to describe."

He knew the root of that failure. He'd lost the Jedi path the moment his emotions took control. Anger and pride blinded his reason and made him blindly trust his intuition about Lanik's double identity as a saboteur of the Jedi. The entire ordeal still confused him, between the encounter on the Embrace and his appearance on Ragoon V, but it was revealed, in the end, that Lanik had not fallen to the Dark Side. That revelation ran counter to everything Bernard had known and had cast all belief in himself into doubt.

What trust could be granted a Jedi who has slain one of his fellows?

"I think it comes from my brother," he answered, his words meandering in a ponderous way. His eyes returned to meet Asmundr's, and he relaxed the tension in his body a little.

"He was a great Jedi, someone I could look up to during my training on Arkania. I admired him deeply. There seemed to be nothing he couldn't accomplish. I ... I wanted to be like him one day. But then ..." he ..., Bernard trailed off before he said it, catching that tingling warning sign at the back of his mind. He readjusted and raised his arms in a half shrug, "but then I lost my connection to the Force. How can I even be a Jedi anymore without the Force, Master?"

There was a note of self-contentment in his question. The Force was the clearest sign he could no longer be a Jedi. For millennia the Jedi only selected those who were strong in their connection to the energy field that permeated everything. It was easy evidence of his deficiency. Whatever criteria Asmundr would use to judge him unworthy of the Jedi must have been easily met by this answer.

It seemed the fastest way to get him out of talking about what really troubled him.

Asmundr Varobalder ​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

The story began with a heavy word, laden with meaning: Brother.

Siblings were strange things a union forced by nature. They could be wonderful protectors, heroes, or the source of great agony and pain. For Bernard of Arca , it seemed the former, and Asmundr could already feel his heart stirring with the toll of empathy he could foresee. The great viking was wholly committed to the story, captivated by the two characters already and then suddenly...it was redirected. Truncated just as Bernard’s connection had been to The Force.

It was tragic to be severed from the breath of life, but all things were connected through the great supernatural sea. A thread that bound everyone together –– Bernard had only lost his ability to perceive it. Many Jedi had fallen to the same circumstance in the past; for varying timelines. Some fought against Ysalamir, which temporarily suspend Jedi from their connection. Some Jedi were more permanently severed –– which matched Bernard’s predicament –– he recalled the archives of the once Master Qel-Droma.

“After our time together, I suggest you spend some time with The Great Holocron, and the record of Ulic Qel-Droma’s exile. You may find glimpses of similarity. He too was stripped of The Force, but he had the heart of a Jedi.”

He made a thoughtful sound at the back of his throat. “The heart of a Jedi is a weighty statement; but it certainly goes beyond the basic association of Jedi being limited to a organization of Force users.

Like your brother,” Asmundr repeated, slowly and carefully. “And the Jedi before that you admired, was it because of their accomplishments through The Force?”

The question was followed by a pause, giving the Arkanian time to consider the implications of the suggestion. Asmundr wasn’t entirely forcing him to reconsider the original question, but giving him the opportunity to think through how one set of circumstances tied into another in the investigator’s complicated life.

He coaxed the consideration further: “Their light that you referenced, and your perceived failure to carry it on, that sounds like a much more burdensome consideration than a tether to the great empyrean that was prematurely severed.”

 

[Bernard of Arca]

Ulic Qel-Droma. The Jedi had fallen to the Dark Side and been a key figure in the wars Exar Kun waged on the first Galactic Republic. Like Bernard, he'd slain another Jedi, in his case a brother, and fallen into doubt, then severed from the Force shortly thereafter. Passages in the holobooks on the period had also mentioned an apprentice he had trained, though the timelines suggested this was well after the death of his brother.

His recollection of the details was hazy, but a note of relief played over his whole being as he recalled the texts. He'd spent countless hours dissecting his guilt. Mulling over every aspect of the events leading up to and including the murder of Lanik. From the genuine hatred reflected in his scars, to the elation he felt when he landed the killing blow, to the futility that settled when he heard the words "I forgive you", no aspect was left unconsidered. He'd analyzed his own guilt in the matter and had battered it with reason and rationalization until it was utterly atomized. Yet, no matter how much light he shed on it, every line of reasoning that he uncovered this way had led to the same conclusion.

He was guilty, irredeemable.

With that as the axiom, all futures he'd envisioned became dark and dreary. Possibilities that drew him into a spiral. The colours that depicted his future painted only darker shades of themselves with each consideration. What was only possibility appeared instead as certainty. Logic dictated as much.

But now that machine had a new piece of data to incorporate. One that brought with it a more hopeful palette. Dawn played across his eyes, though it was only a subtle sign, it filled them with a measure of vitality that had been absent before. Reflexively he looked down, doing his best not to let the shift show, and reaffixed the mental mask that was concerned about his disconnection from the Force. To observers who weren't astute, he appeared to be trying hard to remember, at best, or newly burdened by a grave truth, at worst.

“Their light that you referenced, and your perceived failure to carry it on, that sounds like a much more burdensome consideration than a tether to the great empyrean that was prematurely severed.”

His thoughts wandered there for a moment, allowed entry into a section of his mind locked long ago and buried deep, but their intrusion did not go unnoticed. Mental defence mechanisms kicked in and the thoughts were pushed aside again. He took several long breaths, settling an extended silence between them while the mask of detachment mended. Finally, he looked back to the Master, noticeably less emotive in his expression as he spoke.

"Their lights were extinguished long ago. I have made peace with that. The matter of my connection to the Force and its implication of my logical exclusion from the Order should be a greater concern, I do think," he stated. His tone was sharper, colder. An Arkanian winter's bite.

The past needed to remain buried.

Asmundr Varobalder ​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

"Their lights were extinguished long ago. I have made peace with that. The matter of my connection to the Force and its implication of my logical exclusion from the Order should be a greater concern, I do think,"

"Ah," Asmundr nodded knowingly. "So you do."

His spine straightened, and he leaned back to drum his fingers against his knees. The hair on his upper lip came threateningly close to the cluster of black on his chin as he sucked his lips in, giving consideration to the Arkanian's apparent focus on their disconnection with The Force. There was a tangle of emotion within the boy, bouncing back to the Jedi he'd let down and his current state of isolation. He'd become withdrawn, and so tightly knit within himself that Asmundr's duty would be to help him unstring all that confused tension.

"Very well." He admitted, rolling his shoulders as if stretching to prepare for the upcoming exchange.

"Is expulsion what you seek then, and I'm here to legitimize it? To pass that judgement?" His words might have suggested crispness, but his tone was cool and calm. "Are we to say the source of this reason lays solely in the fact The Force was severed from you, and because of that –– and only that –– you cannot fulfill your duties of a Jedi?"

Golden gaze studied the sharp features of the Arkanian, purposefully taking time to travel along the distinguished synth flesh of his face, and what was exposed of his neck.

"And then what comes next for you, Bernard? Once you're absolved?"

 

[Bernard of Arca]

"Are we to say the source of this reason lays solely in the fact The Force was severed from you, and because of that –– and only that –– you cannot fulfill your duties of a Jedi?"

"And then what comes next for you, Bernard? Once you're absolved?"

Bernard's eyes narrowed.

"Is it not the case that a Padawan learner who is found to be too weak in the Force must vacate his position within the Order?" he asked.

A venomous suspicion slipped into his tone. The Master's accusation appeared clear as day to him. Bernard knew the unfavourable traits his Jedi brethren could accuse him of, but cowardice was not among them. Pride flared as he watched the Master study what he presumed to be his scars. Permanent reminders of the reason he continued to fight, day after day.

"There is no absolution in expulsion. It is a shame on the target's honour. One that I will carry. But it will not free me of duty, Master. The galaxy yet requires protectors. I can offer it a blade still, even without the station I have worked my life to attain or the powers granted by the Force," he began.

"I don't choose to run from my responsibility, Master. I do not choose to be expulsed from the Order, like those who took the Barash Vow. My exile is the clear, logical consequence of the current fate that struck me. I am bereft of the Force and cannot serve to the exacting standards a Jedi must meet to be considered 'Jedi'," he continued, with clear agitation in his tone.

The expression he held tightened, eyes staring at the Master with all the intensity of hostility.

Asmundr Varobalder ​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

Bernard of Arca 's vitriol did not go unnoticed. It was almost impossible to recognize anything other than the piercing, matter-of-fact tone the Padawan delivered to the Master.

But past those words, all those sentences that had been tightly wound and snapped from his tongue, Asmundr could see the grief in the corners of his mouth and the angle of his eyebrows. His speech was tight, wrapped in something. Armour.

Or regret.

"I do not want you to share your duty with shame." Asmundr responded, his tone even and controlled. A palm faced out toward the Padawan, the tips of his fingers pointing up to the dome-shape above them. The walls runes throbbed rhythmically in the background, keeping them bathed in a faint, light blue glow.

"Jedi are typically recognized by their affinity for The Force. This is true. But I have a strong sense that reconnection is possible for you –– even if it is through sheer will." His golden eyes flared indicatively, as if silently flashing the words I have seen it.

"Your blade is not what the New Jedi Order needs." He continued. "It is you to understand that journey of reconnection, and all you are within that exploration."

 

[Bernard of Arca]

His mouth opened by the smallest margin, caught and frozen in a moment just before the utterance of a word, but he thought better of saying what was on his mind. The gateway to communication closed shut, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

The prospect of reconnection Asmundr laid out struck him twofold. First, it shattered the logical argument he'd drawn as his sword and shield against vulnerability. Second, it brought about the spark of hope, and all the pain its fire brought to light. He knew the master was right, but he was scared. Too scared to admit his fault and open the doors to the deeper wounds, and too prideful to allow anyone but himself the right to judge his innermost secrets.

He balled his hands into fists, bunching up the fabric of his trousers. The glare he held at Asmundr didn't let up, but his face was tight with concentration now.

But the Master was right. There could yet be hope.

It was the doorway to a path that would be as treacherous as it was difficult to walk that Asmundr offered. But it was an open doorway.

"How could anything but shame be left for me to bear, Master?" Bernard tried his best to keep the conflict from slipping through.

Asmundr Varobalder​

 

[Asmundr Varobalder]

As helpful as it was to see far beyond the moment with supernatural ability, there was a certain delight in maintaining human sight to appreciate the flicker of realization that Bernard of Arca exemplified. It was visible in the corners of his mouth, and the pull of his eyes. His shoulders seemed to soften, while his grip tightened. The complexity of his body language was only a glimpse into the mires of his mind.

"How could anything but shame be left for me to bear, Master?"

Unable to contain the sigh that was building at the back of his throat, the monster-sized Master exhaled heavily.

"Padawan," he started, emphasizing the moniker that belonged to those that were dedicated learners of The Jedi Order. The faintest tone of exasperation tinged his sentiment. As soon as he felt it weigh on the word, he licked the back of his top row of teeth and remedied his attitude. This boy was lost. He was confused. He was facing the world in a perspective that was shattered.

Still –– he had to move on.

Having hope was one thing, but to actualize hope required momentum.

"Using different words to ask the same question will not yield you new answers.

Given that you are not removed from The Order, unless you choose to leave, let us reconsider the most relevant lines of The Code together.

To fight ignorance through knowledge;
To always seek betterment;"

He paused, keeping his gaze levelled on the pale person across from him. Wanting to make sure the Padawan had enough time, he remained silent long enough for it to verge into the territory of uncomfortable. A whole five seconds.

"Seeking knowledge of self, and The Force, is a long journey. One that requires humility, and subjection of pride. Truly, Padawan, only humility can be the antidote to shame."