Disclaimer: I own nothing. All credit goes to George Lucas for the creation of the wonderful star wars universe, and to the authers of the Jedi Apprentice series for Xanatos.

Chosen for Destruction

The figure stood on the marble stairs of the Jedi temple, serine and silent. Fountains of silver rose and fell from the gardens below, seeming to catch the sunlight and scatter it into a million shining colours. The humming of countless air speeders filled the air, but seemed somehow softened, as though the force itself would protect the serenity of the temple. A beautiful illusion thought the man, grey eyes vacant, lost in thought.

Xanatos sighed. Then he sank down wearily on the steps, and rested his forehead on a gloved hand, massaging his temples and internally preparing himself to face the Jedi masters.

He knew what he had told them was not going to be what they wanted to hear. He knew that in their opinion he was less than a Jedi, having failed the trials years before through his own impatience and pride. But he had travelled to see the masters anyway after learning mere months before that the Knight Anakin Skywalker was being hailed as the chosen one. He supposed he should be thankful he had been allowed to see them at all, really, given his history.

The problem was, Xanatos had studied Jedi lore fairly thoroughly before leaving the order. And everything he had read pointed to a strong problem with the prophecy, one he hoped he could point out before it was too late.

A rhythmic clump-clumping of feet behind him caused him to rise quickly, but the force did not cry warning so he turned calmly to examine the creature -no, droid- who approached him.

"The council will see you now, Master," it said with an odd half dip, the result of an insufficiently flexible body, before shuffling away towards the doors.

Xanatos followed, striding firmly towards the council chambers. As he walked through the maze of corridors, it occurred to him that he should have revised the current Jedi Order situation a little more thoroughly before his appointment. After nearly twenty years in a Telos jail he had become a little cut off from the outside world. Masters walked by whose faces he did not know. Snatches of conversation echoed to him from passing knights and younglings, but the places and events being spoken of were all too often unfamiliar to the fallen Jedi.

Finally he reached the doorway of the council chambers, and for the first time he hesitated, flushing slightly. But then he regained mastery of his features and once more his face was smooth, impassive. The doors opened before him and he entered the room, feeling a sudden pang as he gazed upon the nearly empty chamber. Were all but Yoda and Mace at war?

"Masters," he began respectfully, but then cut himself off. It was their prerogative to tell him to begin, he silently berated himself, not the reverse. Had he truly forgotten so much of the stuffy council protocol that had irritated him so as a child?

He stood silently, waiting, and feeling increasingly inadequate as Mace's steady brown eyes met his own. Yoda's eyes were also fixed on him; he could feel the prickling sensation on his neck.

None of this showed. He stood tall and distinguished, the streaks of grey in his formerly jet black hair and the lines about the eyes only adding to his dignity. A dark cloak fell in graceful folds to his feet, concealing his form. Grey eyes cool, he stared back at the dark-skinned Jedi master. He'd be damned if he were the one who looked away first.

"Much pride, I sense in you," said a sorrowful voice from behind him, causing him to turn to face the familiar old, green Jedi master.

"Master Yoda," he replied, squashing the tendril of anger that flickered at the sight of the master who had organised his somewhat... unusual... testing.

"Why to us, come now, do you?"

The question was reasonable, he reminded himself, and expected. That was no reason to go giving the details of his personal life. He fully intended to avoid going into the reasons behind this choice, if at all possible.

"I learned that the knight, Skywalker, has been named the child of the prophecy," he said honestly, meeting the critical gaze of the small master.

"That is correct," said the smooth, deep voice of Master Windu, causing him to turn once more to look at the Jedi. Xanatos nodded.

"Masters," he began grey eyes unusually earnest, "I am aware of what you believe the child of prophecy to be. I am aware, for I have read the old teachings of the masters. The chosen one shall bring balance to the force. Is that not what you believe?" he demanded.

Seeing the nods of the masters he continued.

"Masters, examine the galaxy. Look about. What do you see? If it is at all similar to what I see, than it is several thousand Jedi nobly following the light side of the force. Several thousand. And I see three, possibly four, sith to counter that. Does that look balanced to you? It doesn't to me. To me, it appears as though to balance the forces of light and darkness, the light would need to fall, or conversely the dark would need to rise. Your prophecy is a curse, for it predicts not the glory of the light side of the force but its downfall."

He had meant to deliver that calmly, not as an impassioned speech. He wondered if they would listen to it now... but of course they would. Something so obvious surely needed only to be pointed out to be recognised.

"Clouded, your judgement is. Incomplete is your knowledge of the force. Refer, this prophecy does not, to simple numbers. Evil, the dark side is. A growth which chokes all life. Flow through us, the force should, binding us together. Disrupt this balance, the dark side does. In restoring this, fall the dark side must. This is the true meaning of the prophecy," Yoda declared at length.

"That is correct," Mace Windu affirmed.

Xanatos felt disbelief encircle him like a cloak. Numbly he stared at the masters. They were not going to listen. They had decided, somewhere along the line, that evil was wrong and should not be allowed to exist, and had twisted the prophecy to suit themselves.

"Masters, that may well fit in with your teachings, but surely simple logic must shout to you your mistake. Can evil ever truly be gone? Of course not," he scoffed, "It exists within all of us, and even as the first Jedi embraced the dark side and fled to Korriban, so too shall they fall in the future. Look at me," he said, making a sweeping gesture with his fingers at his shrouded form.

"Was I not a promising padawan? But when faced with the loss of my rank and the death of my father at the hands of my master, I fell, rejecting what you stood for in my hatred and my grief. I would like to think I was not abnormally flawed. Perhaps I am... but if not, how do you suppose that you will prevent that from happening in the future? That some mystical cloak will somehow shield the dark side, preventing it from being used, or that human nature will sudenly be deprived of all evil instinct? I do not believe that you, greatest masters of the current age, would fall into such a stupendous error."

Neither Mace not Yoda looked overly impressed. It was a little like talking to stone, he thought despairingly. But he had to try. If the force was what you made of it and the dark side was a manifestation of human frailty, and he believed it was, than he had to resist walking away in contemptuous distain and try to make the Jedi understand the doom he could see approaching them.

Yoda appeared to be lost in thought. Hopefully he was considering the argument, but Xanatos refused to get his hopes up. Mace was looking at him, still that calm, steady gaze that made him feel three inches tall.

"How did you survive the acid pit," questioned Mace, neatly, if bluntly, turning the subject.

"I had a customised energy shield," Xanatos replied succinctly.

"I see."

Absolutely fascinating, thought Xanatos as he stood there, beginning to feel slightly numb in the legs.

"I...," Mace seemed to be wondering how best to phrase his question, a fact which made Xanatos feel wary.

"What made you turn from the dark side," Mace finally produced, and Xanatos wondered at its bluntness, before remembering recent conversations about Windu having lost both friend and padawan to the darkness. But how could he explain? The short answer or the long one?

"Serving the dark side is tiring, costly and ultimately unprofitable," he said, taking the easy route out. Not the whole truth. Far from it, in fact. Giving into the dark side was more like breaking the law. At first the soul revolted from such actions such as lying or theft. Then gradually, steadily, one got numb. Murder was the next step, or had been for him. And finally, one could operate slave rings, kill dispassionately and throw lives away like the sand on Tatooine and never feel the slightest pang from a conscience long since dulled to non-existence.

But it was not, he held, like a drug. It was not inherently evil and nor was it impossible to recover fully from. Revan was an example of that. Scholars were still debating the possibility of his embracing the dark side as a way to save the galaxy from a greater evil.

It had been a simple thing which had been the catalyst for Xanatos' decision to stop drawing on the dark side of the force. Two in fact, if he were to be entirely honest with himself. The first was the realisation that his judgement was being seriously impaired through lack of practice in making sensible decisions. He didn't want to make a habit of leaping in acid pits after all. Pride only went so far before it became rediculous.

The second was a book on the Potentium philosophy which he had happened to read. He began the first chapter scoffing at the belief that the dark side of the force was the result of drawing on the force to gratify the darker side of human nature. He ended by ordering every book on the subject he could find and burying himself in study to grapple with the concept of the force being universal, neither light nor dark, and that only the intent of the user determined the nature of any wielded power.

He had turned himself in to the Telosian authorities after that realisation. The reputation of having served time in jail would, he hoped, serve as a guard against the temptation of seeking political power in the future. And it also made him feel a little cleaner about his past. Self respect, yes, that was it. The knowledge that he was no longer ruled by fear; could turn over a new leaf as it were.

However, he doubted Mace or Yoda would be sympathetic to the idea. Yoda had, after all, exiled those who followed the belief from the order about a hundred odd years ago. To them darkness was darkness and once you were in you were stuck. He supposed to them it was simply a matter of time before he had a relapse.

And so he watched as Mace subsided into dissatisfied silence, and waited while Yoda considered all he had previously said.

"Destroy the dark side utterly, the chosen one will. Know how this can be, we do not," Yoda finally produced.

"But -,"

"Finished, this discussion is."

Xanatos bowed rigidly and turned to leave the room, controlled fury flickering in his eyes. Before he had gone two paces he heard Mace ask:

"Why did travel all this way just to tell us this?"

Xanatos froze mid-step. His face was unreadable, but there was a flicker of pain in his eyes, swiftly suppressed. How did one explain the feeling of watching blind men, men whom he had once revered, walking slowly but surely towards a deep hole from which there could be no escape? The utter pointlessness of it all?

"I hoped you would listen," he finally said.

And then he left.