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It was the lack of time to cope, Obi-Wan decided, idly smearing a glob of fingerpaint on his nose. That was what had brought them here.
The war had been hard on all of them- from the Initiates who had grown up fearing the day they were taken as Padawans to the Elders who could only watch from safe distance as their people dwindled away- but it had been especially hard on the High Council. Leading the Order, leading vast swathes of the Army, handling the press and the Senate and the Sith (unable to decide which was worse, they grouped them together)... It was all too much for too long with too little relief.
It would have been better if they had a chance to take a break. After the universal ceasefire and the few weeks of fragile but holding peace that followed, the rest of the Jedi had been able to return to the Temple and relax, and the occasional explosive decompression had been acceptable for the Temple-bound Knight with a sudden lack of responsiblity. Not so, regrettably, for a High Council member.
No one had ever told them that the aftermath of a war was almost worse than the war itself. War was so simple. Take this planet, free those people. Fly to the other end of creation. Point. Shoot. Sleep. Wake up. Repeat. It was miserable, it was boredom mixed with terror, it was death clawing at their hearts to see how much they could bleed. But it wasn't complicated.
Now peace. That Obi-Wan thought, took work. Peace was figuring out how much of the Republic's limited food supplies they could spare for the people of Ryloth and deciding whether or not they should send any to Tibrin even though they'd fought with the Separatists. Peace was trying to placate the angry public over the Chancellor's death even when they had video of Palpatine commanding Dooku to do his bidding and hunt down Separatist war criminals where they met resistance at every turn. Talking the anti-war movement out of rioting over continued rationing and stirring up public opposition to the Clones' Rights Act, finding gainful employment and housing for men who had never expected to live long enough to have lives, overseeing the cleanup of military debris from hundreds of tired worlds. Peace was the Senate piling all that on twelve sets of shoulders and still expecting them to help negotiate a lasting resolution to the war.
Peace, he thought, had bollocksed everything up.
If Obi-Wan were any further from the end of his tether he might have managed to joke that at least the Senate hadn't lost confidence in them- they seemed to think they were capable of anything. But Obi-Wan was here, sitting in his Council seat gripping the end of his tether with his fingernails while the rest of the High Council waited on Plo Koon and Master Yoda to return with juice and snacks. One of them tugged on his trousers. "Master Obi-Wan?" He reminded himself not to rub his eyes with fingerpaint and looked down at a little Zygerrian.
"Yes Zira?" The six-year-old looked serious as a heart attack. It almost gave Obi-Wan one of his own. What happened? Was somebody hurt or-
"I gotta go potty please." Oh thank the Force. He smiled.
"Well, don't let me stop you." Zira scurried off, rebuffing Grogu's attempts to follow her out the door. He began to whine. Obi-Wan whisked him onto his lap with the Force, ignoring the scolding voice in the back of his head. "Now, now," he scolded, "it's naptime for you after you get your snacks." He settled the Yodlet into the blanket nest they had set up for him in Mace's chair. Grogu meeped in protest and snuggled deeper.
Zira reappeared, holding the door for Plo and Yoda. They passed around the treats, the younglings' reward for giving the meeting as much attention as they could muster. Nine small cheers went up and they dug in. Plo sat next to Obi-Wan and handed him a slice of cake and a cup of "fancy juice".
"Another successful Council meeting, hm?" Obi-Wan could hear his smile. He snorted.
"At least nobody stripped naked in protest this time." A favored tactic the more contrary Councilors. Obi-Wan took a long pull of his wine and watched the younglings devour their snacks, taking the moment of transition to let himself relax. All too soon the plates were gathered, the cups were stacked, and eight younglings trooped diligently to the refectory. Flimsi sheets and jars of fingerpaint were shuffled to the corner, mystery goo was wiped off the floor, and Grogu was covered with a blanket. He would sleep until they were finished with the real business and Yoda would return him to the creche.
With everything finally sorted, the three Masters took their seats and sighed.
"That went well, I think." Plo was truly an optimist. "Now, if I may, we should discuss a media push to drum up support for the clones. Their current employment levels are still below where we'd like then to be..."
=-=-=-=-=
It had not been done on purpose, he'd told Anakin, who had been howling with the laughter of a Padawan watching his Master suffer greatly. Rather, it was the result of three years of unimaginable stress and a series of totally normal Council arguments that got slightly out of control. The High Councilors were merely beings, as susceptible to moments of anger and failure as everyone else, and with the new pressures placed on them at the end of the war, well...
"Cracked their gourds, huh?" Anakin hooted.
"Anakin," he had scolded, "it's not funny. How are we supposed to find nine new Council members?" He stopped and eyed his former Padawan speculatively. Anakin quit laughing long enough to look horrified.
"Oh no, no no no." He held up his hands. "Wife, remember? Kids on the way? Not exactly the epitome of Jedi virtue. Wouldn't want me corrupting the Order with my... my, uh... I'm not doing it." Obi-Wan glowered quietly. "Don't give me that look!" Anakin had scuttled away from him and set the precedent that dogged Obi-Wan's efforts for the rest of the week.
The braver ones (or perhaps the more foolish, he couldn't quite decide) smiled politely and told him no to his face. Many took Anakin's route and admitted to flagrant violations of the Code (most of them, he was sure, were lying, or the Order would require a serious internal conduct review) or other wrongdoings to escape the chains of responsibility. His favorite had been Aayla, looking him dead in the eye, saying she had asked Bly to marry her. Most, however, saw him coming and ran. He knew it was nothing personal, but having dozens of people catch sight of you and take to their heels did a number on a man's self-esteem. Obi-Wan wasn't too proud to admit that what happened next was his fault.
The Crechemasters had kept a leery eye on him as he explained, with a smile wide enough to crack his face, that if every Jedi in the Temple chose to act like children then perhaps they ought to be governed by them too. After a short meditation session he had eight Initiates staring at him curiously.Eight was good, but he was still one member shy.
Grogu wandered too close in search of a stuffed frog. Obi-Wan snatched him up. "Would you like to follow me, younglings?"
=-=-=-=-=
Plo and Yoda should have stopped him. Really. They should not have allowed this. But instead they just nodded, called it the will of the karking Force, and negotiated a few free hours thrice a week for the new Jedi High Council to meet between nap time and dinner.
They had recieved... surprisingly few complaints in the month since. Obi-Wan had thought for sure that some of the Jedi would have begun grumbling about being led by a Council that was mostly illiterate, or that some of the other actual Council members would have protested their temporary banishment by now, but things were progressing peacefully, such as they could.
They had started calling it the Council of Youth.
Grogu was still incapable of verbal communication. Bepli only spoke Rodian and Nin was mute. The rest could participate in discussions for as long as they could focus, which ranged from five minutes at a spell to almost an hour, but even Katooni's eyes would glaze over after a while. Plo, the traitor that he was, spent most of his time ignoring Obi-Wan and Yoda in favor of entertaining the younglings. He had been forced to dedicate a special set of robes to Council meetings, stained from top to bottom with fingerpaint, markers, and glue, and became the official overseer for games of catch and blindfolded tag.
That left Obi-Wan and Master Yoda to the difficult work of generating twelve Councilors' worth of bickering to pass the time, as no serious business could be undertaken while the younglings pestered them for cuddles. There was a certain joy to being rebellious for the sake of rebellion, Obi-Wan discovered. Maybe Master Yoda was onto something.
"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed, ignorant of the silence that fell around him. "The 59th Council's Directive clearly states that-"
"-overwritten, the Directive is in our newest by-laws-"
"-there is absolutely no need to repaint the-"
"If I may." Plo Koon cleared his throat loudly. "What exactly is the argument about?" Obi-Wan looked at Yoda. Yoda looked at Obi-Wan. They both began tripping over an explanation.
"You need a Talking Stick, Masters." Katooni was watching them somberly, the other younglings nodding along. "Then you won't fight so much." Pinned beneath the stares of nine lovingly judgemental faces, Obi-Wan turned to Plo for help. Plo was holding his breath, fingers tapping against each other in the way that they did when he was trying not to laugh. If they were alone, Obi-Wan was certain, he would have been wheezing. Conveying the appropriate level of bitter resentment with only his eyes was difficult, but he pulled it off. He knew he did, because Plo's shoulders began to shake.
"Maybe we can make you one!" Shane said enthusiastically. Several others nodded.
"What are your favorite colors? We can paint it your favorite colors!"
"There's one in Master Havasu's creche, maybe we can steal it for you." Obi-Wan made a note to keep an eye on that one.
"Or we could make you a friendship bracelet instead," Zira added. Nin held up Grogu and wiggled him suggestively.
They were only assuaged by the reassurance that the Masters would love their own talking stick, especially if the Junior Council, as they had taken to calling themselves, made it for them. They voted to have their next round of snacks (the Masters had wisened up and started packing them ahead of time), Grogu settled down for his nap, and the Senior Council got down to business. Obi-Wan finally dared to ask the question that had been on his mind.
"Master Yoda, why have none of the other Council members- the actual Council members, I mean- asked to come back yet?" Yoda harrumphed.
"Being scolded they are. Know why they do. Besides, the talking stick I have," he said, smacking his gimer stick against the floor. "Know they will when they are allowed back."
Obi-Wan vividly remembered the meeting that had to the Council of Youth. Like many epic fights, it had started small- Master Rancisis and Master Mundi had argued over how much of the Republic's limited reconstruction budget should go to the Outer Rim versus the Mid, which had led Masters Tiin and Koth to suggest charging the Separatist capital planets to increase available funds, which had led Kit to argue that depriving the equally cash-strapped Separatists of money was likely to result in a renewal of conflict, which were the magic words that had led to the closest thing the Council had ever experienced to an outright brawl.
Obi-Wan remembered having a monstrous headache, then ignominiously decorating the floor of the Council chambers with his lunch before being shuffled out by Plo. The next Council meeting had been them and Master Yoda, who huffed and grumbled before announcing that the other nine Council members had been banished. As they couldn't have a Council of less than twelve, however, it fell to Obi-Wan to fill out their missing ranks until Yoda's fit of pique had passed.
He had to admit, it had been... relaxing. He liked his fellow Council members (Senior and Junior) and he hated to say it, but the continuous arguments- which had only worsened after the war ended- had been horribly stressful. It would have been better if he hadn't had a reputation. He knew that none of the others had deliberately taken advantage of The Negotiator, but subconscious or not they had begun relying on him to sort things out. And Obi-Wan, being Obi-Wan, taken it upon himself to try and mediate every dispute to a satisying conclusion as though letting things resolve on their own would be a monumental failure. Now, the most stressful part of the meeting was making sure there were enough napkins for everyone to blow their nose.
Besides, apparently Master Yoda had it all under control.
That did something to his blood pressure, but he wasn't sure what.
=-=-=-=-=
It was three sessions later that the Junior Council officially presented them with their Talking Stick. It was not, Obi-Wan was relieved to note, the one from Master Havasu's creche, a lumpy thing covered in purple glitter and tooth marks. This one was long and flat and smeared with rainbow colors on the back. The front bore twelve figures of varying artistic skill. "It's us, Masters," Katooni explained. "Tomi drew you, because she's the best artist, and then we all drew ourselves. Except Grogu, but we helped him make a handprint."
Heedless of which of them was actually holding it, the Junior Councilors hollered over one another about their creative process, how the Crechemasters had helped them, and what exactly the rules for the Talking Stick were (Obi-Wan, ignorantly, had thought the rules were "if you have the stick talk", but like true Jedi protocol that was subject to much debate). He clapped his hands and held them in the air. The muddle quieted down. Obi-Wan accepted the Talking Stick from Katooni.
"Well, I find this to be quite excellent, younglings. You've done a wonderful job and we're very grateful, aren't we?" Plo and Master Yoda nodded indulgently. "I think this should be our official Council Talking Stick. Would anyone like to second my motion?" All nine of them raised their hands. "Excellent. Shall we put it to a vote? All in favor of making this the Official Jedi High Council Talking Stick, raise your hands." Ten hands went up in the air. Zira lifted Grogu's until he got the idea and started waving. Everyone turned to the single holdout.
"Master Yoda," Plo said, "would you like to explain your vote?" Yoda humphed.
"A Talking Stick the Council already has," he said. Plo burst out laughing.
"We do?" Obi-Wan was baffled. "Where is it!" Yoda waved his gimer perilously close to Obi-Wan's nose.
"In my hands, it is. For 238 years we have had it." Obi-Wan stared.
Yoda's stick.
Was the Talking Stick?
"No it isn't! You've never let anyone else have it, so-"
"Talking out of turn for 238 years, you have been," Yoda finished smugly, cackling. Obi-Wan actually felt his neurons stop firing. He didn't know whether to laugh at such a classically Yoda statement or cry because he was under an absurd amount of stress and needed to let it out. Which really had nothing to do with the Talking Stick so he didn't know why that had triggered it and now he was making funny noises-
Grogu landed on his shoulder, wrapping his arms around the side of Obi-Wan's head in a miniature hug. Suddenly had had younglings in every available space- sitting in his lap, crawling onto his shoulders, tugging at his arms. Zira was looking at Plo and Master Yoda. "I think Master Obi-Wan is under a lot of stress," she said, parroting what she must have heard from the Crechemasters.
"I think he is," Plo replied. "Perhaps we should all sit together and meditate to help him feel better." Obi-Wan let himself be tugged to the floor with Plo and Master Yoda at his side. The younglings clustered around them, jostling for lap space and squishing against their sides. He let himself sink into meditation with the rest of them. He felt three years of loss, fear, and pain sweep up from inside him, anxiety and stress that he hadn't let out because he had to keep on going, and he let himself stop and release it. Eleven other minds touched his in the Force, thrumming with peace and the earnest desire to help. So he let them.
By the time they were finished the Junior Council was begging for snacks. The basket was summoned and they were passed around, Yoda brushing off Obi-Wan's attempt to return them to business. "A special night this is," he said. He smiled proudly at the younglings. "An excellent job, the Council of Youth has done. Fulfilled, your first mission is. Disbanded, the Junior Council will now be." The younglings didn't seem too heartbroken. If anything, they looked quite proud of themselves.
"Wait," Obi-Wan said, "I'm confused. The other Councilors are allowed back now? Why?"
"Master Yoda felt that our fellow Councilors, though inadvertantly, were placing too much of our burdens on you," Plo explained, sipping wine through his straw. "Their temporary banishment from the Council Chambers was Master Yoda's way of showing that he likes you best." He dodged a whack from the gimer stick.
"Favorites, I do not have," Master Yoda replied, nose firmly in the air. "The youngest of us, Obi-Wan is. It is my duty to look out for him." Oh. No wonder Yoda had always had a soft spot for Obi-Wan. He was the youngling of the Council. He definitely didn't respond by pouting and eating another pastry. "Learned their lesson, they have. Learned his lesson, Obi-Wan has. To normal, things can begin to return."
"But you will use our Talking Stick, right?" Katooni asked. The Masters looked down at the stick adorned with its carefully drawn portraits and decorations. A gift from the children to them. Plo chuckled again.
"How could we not?"
=-=-=-=-=
The Official Jedi High Council Talking Stick took pride of place on the wall next to the door where everyone could see it, excepting those times the Council was in session and the Stick was in use. The Council, according to all observers, got more done now than it ever had before.
And only once was it used as a bat.